It Lives Inside includes many of these tropes and fans of the curse movies noted above will find much to enjoy. Furthermore, Dutta, who co-wrote the script with Ashish Mehta, innovates with the central character’s background. While curse films do come from Japan and Korea, there is a long tradition of white women encountering these horrors, from Naomi Watts to Alison Lohman to Sosie Bacon, sisters of the Final Girl protagonists of many a slasher, from Laurie Strode to Laurie Strode’s granddaughter. It Lives Inside focuses upon Samidha (Megan Suri, “Missing”), the daughter of Indian immigrants to the US, Poorna (Neeru Bajwa, “Criminal”) and Inesh (Vik Sahay, “Captain Marvel”). An Indian protagonist is something different, not simply because of skin color but because Indian folklore is less familiar to western audiences, and the immigrant experience allows for other tensions.

The history of Samidha’s family is expressed efficiently without being heavy-handed. Poorna largely speaks Hindi and expects Samidha to attend traditional events, while her daughter speaks English with no Indian accent, and prefers to go by the name Sam, hang out with (American) friends and spend time with boys, especially Russ (Gage Marsh, “Riceboy Sleeps”). This context also highlights a tension between tradition and modernity, as different generations do not understand each other. The familiar trope of the teenager distanced from her parents is therefore refreshed by this cultural background, and as Sam grows increasingly frantic over something strange happening, her inability to discuss the matter with her parents is a logical extension of that. Sam’s relationships with her school peers also draws attention to the universal experience of feeling different and out of place, but with the added weight of being from an immigrant family and designated as “Other.” This might sound like too specific an experience for general audiences to engage with, but as described by the great film critic Roger Ebert, cinema is a machine for generating empathy. It Lives Inside highlights the feeling of being looked upon as “Other,” in such a way that any audience can get a flavor for this feeling, much like another very different film of 2023, “Joy Ride.”

In case this sounds like a social drama along the lines of “Blinded By The Light,” “Moonlight” or “The Florida Project,” it is important to note that It Lives Inside is also bloody scary. Sam’s former best friend Tamira (Mohana Krishnan) approaches her one day at school with a strange story that Sam dismisses, only to disappear in mysterious circumstances. Sam then starts feeling a presence and spotting an ephemeral figure. This malevolent shadow that appears in closets and mirrors has the right level of uncanniness, humanoid and yet identifiably wrong. Dutta paces the film carefully, drawing the viewer into Sam’s experience as she steadily becomes more fraught and frightened. Uncertainty over possible madness gives way to set pieces with vicious attacks, featuring precise gore which is all the more compelling. Seeing a person literally ripped in two can be more comical than creepy, but the sight of small wounds appearing in a forearm with no visual cause allows the viewer to focus on this injury and wince accordingly, as well as being placed in the character’s frightening position of not knowing what is happening. These sequences ratchet up the suspense and culminate in visceral jump scares, that may lead to gasps and even screams.

As is sometimes the case with these things, once ambiguity gives way to certainty the film becomes less scary, as the explanation into what is happening is a little pat and provides a solution that you can probably see coming. Some possibly overdone flashback editing in the climactic scene signposts the direction. The coda, while effective, has been done better elsewhere. That said, throughout the film the stakes remain high and the central conceit of having to balance the demands of family and tradition with being a contemporary teenager are played out effectively, as the route taken by Sam is interesting as well as arresting. Overall, It Lives Inside offers an effective take on an established formula, encapsulating various social and familial tensions along with some serious terror.

Odessa A’zion (“Hellraiser”) plays Tara, a teenager in contemporary Fall River, and a descendant of the Borden family. Tara faces typical growing pains — her boyfriend Carl (Michael Cooper Jr., “On the Come Up”) is going away for college; she and her younger brother Caleb (Jackson Dean Vincent, “The Secrets We Keep”) bicker over their infant brother Jack; parents Emily (Leslie Bibb, “Running with the Devil”) and Ben (Dermot Mulroney, “The Mountain Between Us”) are having difficulties, leading Caleb and Tara to wonder which parent they will end up with. There is also the matter of Tara’s aunt Diane (Mary Buss, “Lord Finn”), locked away in a psychiatric hospital because she murdered her infant child, a crime linked to the infamous ancestor.

Perhaps more pressing is that there are murders taking place in Tara’s neighborhood. The police initially treat them as missing persons, but the audience are treated to scenes of murder. These sequences are suspenseful as the victims sense someone is nearby, sometimes in isolated surroundings like a pre-dawn jog through the town, or during a walk home through woods. But other murders take place within the home, making it clear that nowhere and no one is safe. The murders are shocking and brutal, featuring ample blood spatter but also injury detail. This makes the film wince-inducing, especially when limbs are split, accompanied by screams of agony. No quick and simple kills à la Michael Myers here — while the killer’s face remains out of shot, the ax and its impact are there for all to see.

Who is responsible for these murders? Each victim is linked to Tara. Could someone be striking on her behalf? Is Tara losing her grip on reality? Or is there something supernatural at play? This obscured face or silhouette of the killer sets up a whodunnit, perhaps akin to “Scream,” and The Inhabitant does borrow from the slasher genre with its stalk and slay set pieces, though the wider context is more reminiscent of psychological/supernatural horrors like “Secret Window,” “Rosemary’s Baby” and “Gothika,” where the source of the horror is ambiguous. Lauder’s direction as well as Kevin Bachar’s script maintain this ambiguity throughout the film. At times we are drawn towards one suspect, but as more details are revealed, we are treated to other plausible answers. Dream sequences as well as a seance are thoroughly eerie, with quick cuts creating a distorted perception, closely tied to Tara and ensuring the viewer is as confused as the protagonist or indeed those around her.

Furthermore, the environment in which this takes place itself feels inhabited. Tara’s home is an extensive interweaving of rooms and corridors, a place of comfort but also tension and even menace. Tara’s relationship with her parents is as fractious as that between them, and her best friend Suzy (Lizze Broadway, “Ghosted”) is her closest confidant. It turns out, however, that there is more to Suzy than meets the eye. While her character is perhaps under-served, the attention paid to her allows the film to refer to various issues around identity and relationships. Sequences focused on Suzy are among the most tragic, not least because she is the one Tara can always go to, but Tara remains ignorant of much of Suzy’s pain.

Pleasingly, the film’s focus is maintained on the females, with the male characters — Carl, Ben, Caleb — kept on the periphery. Horror is well served when focused on women, because of the genre’s inherent concern with victimhood. The frequent victim position of women, such as Tara receiving unwanted male attention and the institutionalization of Diane, adds to the sense of women’s compromised subjectivity. The largely absent father suggests that Emily is neglected, and that Tara must force a space for herself, which is all the more difficult when her own mind is unreliable. Thus, one could read the murders as a violent eruption in the face of female suppression, just as much as a mental illness or a family curse, although the uncertainty that pervades the film allows for multiple readings.

This uncertainty is facilitated with a fluid visual style, including long panning takes as well as a delicate shifting of position within shot/reverse-shot patterns. During an early conversation between Tara and therapist Dr. Sanchez (Sabreena Iman, “The Line”), the camera pans behind one character’s head but instead of completing the motion in that position, we cut to a completion of the motion behind the other character’s head. Meanwhile, a jarring editing pattern continues throughout, as past and present, memory, dream and reality cut between each other. This style keeps the viewer off balance, as confused by what could be happening as Tara. This lack of clarity, combined with the visceral and indeed emotional violence, ensures that The Inhabitant is eerie, gripping and shocking, with an ambiguity between the psychological and supernatural as sharp as an axe blade.

In the opening of the film, The Power of the Dog, Peter Gordon (Kodi Smit-McPhee, “Dark Phoenix”), a Montana cattle rancher’s future nephew, whispers in a Malickian style voiceover, “What kind of man would I be if I didn’t help my mother?” The meaning of the statement, however, is not clear at the time. Directed by Jane Campion, the first female director to win the Palme D’Or in 1993 for “The Piano,” The Power of the Dog (the title borrowed from Psalm 22:20), is a provocative exploration of toxic masculinity and its effect on women and families, a theme that dominated the myth of the old West in American literature and films for half a century.

Based on Thomas Savage’s 1967 novel of the same name, the focus is on the relationship between two brothers, both wealthy ranchers, the overbearing Phil Burbank (Benedict Cumberbatch, “The Courier”) and his laid back brother George (Jesse Plemons, “Judas and the Black Messiah”), his civility a sharp contrast with his brother’s brazen and bullying demeanor. Brother George is the steady and subtle foil to Phil, but the dark and brooding score of Jonny Greenwood heightens the tension and suggests that all might not be well under the surface veneer of normality. There are no truly sympathetic characters in the film, however.

Though Cumberbatch is a recognized British cultural icon, named in 2014 as one most associated with UK culture, his performance as a turn of the century Montana rancher for me was less than convincing, a barrier that ultimately kept me at an emotional distance. The expressive cinematography of Ari Wegner camera beautifully captures the inscrutable loneliness of the Montana landscape (filmed in New Zealand), however, and the far off mountains and isolated miles of empty space hint of an emotional emptiness and failure to communicate.

Stopping at the Red Mill restaurant, the brothers meet Rose Gordon (Kirsten Dunst, “Hidden Figures”), a widow who runs the restaurant together with her lanky teenage son, Peter. Protective and kind, George and Rose begin a relationship that leads to marriage, a union that also brings Peter to live with them on the ranch. Setting his sights on becoming a doctor like his father, (deceased under suspicious circumstances), the ultra-sensitive boy is home from boarding school, his looks and body language a strange fit for a frontier outpost in the 1920s, yet validated by the outstanding performance of the Australian actor McPhee.

Subject to taunts from Phil who calls him “Miss Nancy” and whistles from Phil’s rowdy cowhands, Peter reacts stoically but we are not sure if he is a willing victim or a shrewd manipulator who is biding his time. Honored by a shrine posted on his stable wall, Phil has tender memories of the long dead Bronco Henry, the man he refers to as his mentor who taught him the ins and outs of being a man. Jealous or pretending to be, Phil makes life miserable for both Rose and her son, mocking her attempts to practice the piano by whistling the song she is trying to play and labeling her as a “cheap schemer.” Unable or unwilling to defend Rose, sadly George watches as she falls into binge drinking and her deterioration is difficult to watch.

Even more noxious then before, Phil protects himself by telling dinner guests after he refused to wash before dinner that “I stink and I like it” and, in case anyone is put off by that, tells them that he is a classical scholar who studied at Yale University, a revelation that comes as a shock to the diners, not to mention the viewer. The banjo-playing loner who does not seem to have any friends, close or otherwise, has a private sanctuary near a lake in the woods where he strips, immerses himself in mud, takes a swim, and then lies half naked in the sun. Things suddenly seem to shift in his relationship with Peter, however, after the boy discovers Phil’s private place and stumbles upon the erotic male magazine “Physical Culture.”

They are drawn even closer after the rancher learns that Peter spots the image of a dog barking in the mountains, a talent of which Phil thought he was the sole possessor. Telling him not to let his mom “make a sissy out of you,” Phil takes on the role of Bronco Henry, training Peter in the subtle art of what he thinks will turn him into a man, showing him how to ride a horse, teaching him how to tie a rope, and sharing stories about his mentor, Bronco Henry. Unwittingly, however, he tells him that “obstacles need to be removed,” words Peter takes to heart.

These are words that foreshadow a twist ending in The Power of the Dog that is deeply unsettling.

Considered as a standalone narrative with its own concerns, Spider-Man: No Way Home explores identity, (great) power and (great) responsibility, as well as one’s place in the world. The last of these proves the most significant, as Spider-Man/Peter Parker (Tom Holland, “The Lost City of Z”) must establish his place as a teenager (referred to by Dr. Strange as “just a kid”), a post-Avengers superhero, and someone who finds themselves literally at the epicenter of a multiverse-quake. Despite these quantum-level implications, the stakes of the film remain pleasingly human, making the film more intimate and personal than the “Infinity Saga” as well as the recent “Eternals” and “Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings.” Peter’s concerns are his own life, his relationships, his future and those closest to him, most prominently MJ (Zendaya, “Dune: Part One”), Ned (Jacob Batalon, “Spider-Man: Far From Home”) and May (Marisa Tomei, “The First Purge”). This concern for the human allows for audience investment in Peter’s plight and Spider-Man’s peril. The emotional moments therefore hit hard, ranging from punch the air moments of sheer joy as well as some crushing sadness — two instances in particular are likely to induce tears.

Within the wider franchise, this is only passingly an MCU film, with references to the Avengers and their exploits, as well as the presence of Doctor Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch, “The Courier”), Wong (Benedict Wong, “Annihilation”) and the ever-dependable Happy Hogan (Jon Favreau, “Solo: A Star Wars Story”). While there is a mid-credits scene, this is largely detached from the overall narrative while the post-credits scene is a trailer for a forthcoming film. Within the narrative, we never actually leave New York, which continues to serve as an evocative environment both welcoming and threatening.

Speaking of threats, these come from the wider Spider-Verse, as in some ways Spider-Man: No Way Home is a live action equivalent of the animated “Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse.” This is most apparent from the appearances of past villains. Teased in the marketing, the appearances of Dr. Otto Octavius/Doc Ock (Alfred Molina, “Little Men”), Norman Osborn/Green Goblin (Willem Dafoe, “The Lighthouse”), Max Dillon/Electro (Jamie Foxx, “Robin Hood”) and more run the risk of being pure fan service. However, all these elements are beautifully balanced. Fan service is much maligned and can seriously hamper a film, as demonstrated by the recent “Ghostbusters: Afterlife,” but in this case, the fan service works as organic parts of the overall narrative.

The different elements of the film work so well together not least because, perhaps surprisingly, the film takes its time. Excessive length is a criticism often made of blockbusters and Marvel films are no exception. “The Avengers” and “Avengers: Age of Ultron” arguably have too much squeezed into their narratives, while “Eternals” may feel overstretched. “Avengers: Infinity War” and “Avengers: Endgame” justify their length with multiple characters and plotlines, but at 148 minutes, Spider-Man: No Way Home might seem too long. However, this length is used to give space and time to character and relationship development. Long discussions between Peter, MJ and Ned, as well as Strange, May and Happy, allow the characters and indeed the actors to breathe. Tom Holland has been an engaging Spider-Man since swinging into action in “Captain America: Civil War,” and here he beautifully displays Peter’s transition from naivety to growing resolve and eventual anger. As MJ, Zendaya brings the right level of snark that never spills over into smarm. Batalon’s Ned goes beyond the sidekick “guy in the chair” role and also displays some previously unknown talents. The central trio’s scenes are a delight due to the genuine warmth and humor between them, scenes that are sometimes allowed to play longer than strictly necessary for the plot.

To balance out the obscenely talented “kids,” the older characters are also explored in depth, especially in the interchanges between Peter and his various antagonists. Again surprisingly, these iconic figures are permitted emotion and regret, becoming more than cackling villains — although they do not let us forget the power of a good cackle (yes, Willem Dafoe, that means you). This allowance of time and space also extends to the style, especially in a bravura long take in the first act when Watts’ camera tracks around Peter and May’s apartment, as various people arrive, arguments begin and continue, and major truths are revealed. In a spectacular action sequence, Spider-Man battles with Doctor Strange in the mirror dimension, easily matching the vertiginous yet coherent grandeur of 2016’s “Doctor Strange.” Further set pieces are also exhilarating, especially the trademark sequences of Spider-Man swinging through the city as well as the climactic battle. These sequences pull the viewer into Spidey’s world as much as the miscast spell draws in unexpected visitors, and part of the fun is anticipating who will turn up.

This anticipation proves to be hugely significant in terms of the film’s relationship with its audience. Various screenings across the world, including the one attended by this critic, have resulted in spontaneous applause, whoops and cheers from cinema audiences. This remarkable audience behavior speaks to the pleasure that the film invites, a pleasure that never feels like pandering or fan service for the sake of fan service. Rather, the pleasures of the audience are integrated into the film’s functions and one character says “I love you guys” it almost feels like the film is speaking directly to its audience. The balance of these different and potentially self-indulgent aspects is an impressive feat, and places Spider-Man: No Way Home in the top tier of the MCU, among the best of the Spider-Man films, and one of 2021’s strongest blockbusters.

After his French teacher talks to him about a cultural exchange program, Tim finally believes he’ll get a friend that understands him, as he deeply loves French cinema and culture (his favorite film, oddly enough, is Jean Pierre-Melville’s “Le Cercle Rouge”). However, once his exchange partner, Stéphane Belmadi (Avan Jogia, “The Artist’s Wife”) arrives, he’s exactly the opposite of what Tim hoped. Instead Stéphane is a sex-crazed, culturally illiterate, and overall, inappropriately conducted individual, which prompts the equally culturally illiterate citizens of Hobart to perpetuate racist stereotypes towards him. Tim immediately regrets enrolling in the cultural exchange program, thinking Stéphane will ruin the little social life he has left. But, of course, that won’t be the case as they’ll bond over one another and develop a friendship that will last a lifetime.

Living in a secluded town filled with almost every Canadian stereotype possible allows Mazer and Long to craft a rather scathing portrait of living in Brian Mulroney’s Canada, one that reeked of prejudices against other nations and systemic racism all in the guise of a “Canada-first” approach. The film’s Mulroney voter is represented by Justin Hartley (“This Is Us” TV series), who plays gym teacher/sheriff (it’s a small town after all!) Gary Rothbauer. At all costs, he wants to assert Canada’s cultural dominance. He will do just about anything to paint Stéphane as a foreigner who doesn’t belong by using racist insults or framing him for alleged “crimes” against the town’s emblem, the white squirrel. Hartley’s performance as Rothbauer is an entertaining hybrid mix of Letterkenny meets Super Troopers, which results in an actor having quite literally the time of his life playing an individual that only cares about himself. He’s so egotistical that he’ll even push a shoe store owner to suicide as he tries to get an even more discounted rate of an already discounted shoe. There isn’t a single scene in which the viewer sympathizes with him: His mustache and glasses scream “ME!” while his boisterous demeanor and how he acts towards everyone maintain it.

It’s a shame that Ed Oxenbould’s lead performance as Tim Long doesn’t really match Hartley’s fun. Oxenbould tries to bring the same charm as a teenager in “Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.” Still, it doesn’t really work here, as Tim is more of an introvert than Alexander. He wants to be embarrassed by Stéphane’s presence, but it feels more nonchalant than anything else. There’s almost no reaction elicited from him as Stéphane shows him some of his porn instead of appreciating Melville’s “Le Cercle Rouge,” which is odd considering how much he likes the movie. Or, speaking of “Le Cercle Rouge,” when he becomes embarrassed in front of his class, thinking he’s showing the film, but the VHS was swapped with a home movie Stéphane made of him as Tim describes his love to Brenda (Jayli Wolf, “Run Woman Run”), there are almost no reactions from him. And yet, Stéphane quasi-ruined his life as the entire school thinks he’s now a moron.

Jogia adopts a carefree attitude as Stéphane, which allows him to soar farther than Oxenbould. Whenever they’re both on screen, your focus isn’t on the main character but his exchange partner. You never know what he’s going to do, which makes some sequences funnier than I anticipated, but that doesn’t mean the film doesn’t have its fair share of predictability. Long will obviously get embarrassed by Stéphane’s (quite funny, if we’re honest with each other) antics until they start to form a bond. That “bond,” however, becomes broken when Long is embarrassed by Stéphane, which will cause them to drift apart. You’ll likely know what happens at the end, without fail, only by reading these lines. Mazer doesn’t do anything to subvert the audience’s expectations and would rather craft a carefree and safe comedy for audiences built on interesting character dynamics. Whenever a film tells the story of a small town, you’d want the town’s characters to be colorful and their dynamics strong. Luckily for Mazer, The Exchange absolutely excels on that front.

The characters make The Exchange a rather entertaining comedy, fueled with two great performances from Josh Hartley and Avan Jogia. Hartley represents everything wrong with Canadian Tories, whereas Jogia’s laid back demeanor helps him reach hilarious comedic heights as Stéphane. The comedy is sharp and laugh-out-loud hilarious at times, which pales in comparison to what Mazer did in “Dirty Grandpa.” In fact, this outing almost makes up for his mishaps with “Dirty Grandpa,” especially after he co-wrote the script for the legendary “Borat Subsequent Moviefilm.” His next film is a soft reboot of “Home Alone,” set to release on Disney+ later this year. If he respects Chris Columbus’ classic tone and inventive traps, it should be a home run for him and coupled with this may well propel him to new and exciting heights as a comedic filmmaker.

Driving these annoyances, sorry, adolescents, to their penance is Ms. Persephone (Clare Kramer, “Road to Hell”). Kramer’s presence recalls “Buffy the Vampire Slayer, a TV show that also took the trope of high school being hell as more than a metaphor. Unlike that show, however, The Dead Ones is sorely lacking in wit, invention and tension. There is plenty of gore and some horrific moments, but there is also convolution for the sake of convolution and a rather tasteless handling of subject matter that warranted greater sensitivity as well as dramatic weight.

The film’s problems come from both the script and direction, which is frustrating because the basic premise is interesting. Zach Chassler’s script offers the potential to explore teen angst and violence, through the stereotypes on display here. There is also an ambiguity throughout the film, which invites the viewer to unravel what they are seeing as well as why. Chassler incorporates classical allusions such as Ms. Persephone taking her name from the queen of the underworld in Greek mythology, references to ancient Egypt and Dante’s “Inferno,” not to mention a mysterious gang who turn up at the school dressed as the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

Despite the potential, director Jeremy Kasten fails to create tension due to a constantly discordant and jarring visual style. The opening of the film features found footage of a bullying prank gone too far, as well as rapidly edited images of bloodied faces. As a starting point this works to unsettle the viewer and let us know something bad is happening, but Kasten maintains jarring edits and unmotivated push-in shots throughout. Bunch of characters standing around talking? Whip pan between them, cut to another angle, cross the 180-degree line, sudden push-in shot to someone’s face. Dark-clad figures preparing equipment including chains, guns and a bomb? Quickly pan between them, cut to another angle, cross the 180-degree line, sudden push-in shot to someone’s face. The visual aesthetic of the film lacks control but seemingly for the sake of emphasizing “there is no control!,” a point underscored in dialogue at one very heavy-handed moment. Effective horror includes tension, often achieved by long takes and wide angles, which allow menace to develop within the frame. Even without these particular visual tropes, many a successful horror film works because of deliberate pacing, where normality is presented, ready to become disrupted by the intrusion of a threat. From “The Exorcist” and “Halloween” to “It Follows” and “Get Out,” careful pacing and precise use of visual techniques help to build tension, suspense and ultimately fear.

With his constantly violent style, Kasten fails to establish normality, which means that the film has nowhere to go. This front overloading extends to the characters, as the four leads are not only clichés but also glaringly constructed as outsider freaks. Emily self-harms and cuts patterns into her skin, which you could be forgiven for thinking might have occult significance (they don’t). Scottie is such a bad boy that he spent time in “juvie,” where he acquired conveniently appropriate knowledge. Fans of “You’re Next” might anticipate Scottie utilizing special skills that he learned in juvenile detention; they will be disappointed. Mouse has a story about a mouse called Mouse (convolution for convolution’s sake), and is a victim of parental abuse, presumably to make it clear that she is REALLY MESSED UP, except that she comes across as no more or less disturbed than the other three. The most interesting thing about Louis Friend is that his name is the same as one of Dr. Hannibal Lecter’s anagrams (iron sulfide), which might make the viewer wish they were watching “The Silence of the Lambs” instead.

As the narrative unfolds, we come to understand the character histories, but the brushstrokes are so broad as to be uninvolving. It is a sign of a bad film if you start worrying about the weird plot choices, such as why this apparently week-long detention is happening at night. If you are wondering about that before the big reveal, that suggests that you never settled into the film. That is because there is no normalcy to settle into, everything is garishly unsettled from the beginning. Therefore, the only place to go is into gruesome gore, most of which prompts a response of “Yuck!” rather than “Yikes!” With a lack of character depth to engage with and atmosphere to step into, the film is emotionally inert despite its visual dynamics. An injection of humor might have helped, as seen in the utterly deranged and very funny “Ghost Killers VS Bloody Mary,” but wit and comedy are as lacking as scares, while a final act redemption feels like a cop-out. There may be some pleasure to be had in unraveling narrative threads that sometimes seem synchronous and at other times parallel, but the device ultimately feels mechanical and forced.

Beyond its dramatic deficiencies, there is also a disturbing flippancy with the film’s attitude towards social issues. If a film is going to present a controversial issue it is not unreasonable to expect a genuine engagement with that issue. The topic of high school shootings is deeply contentious and can be dealt responsibly, as seen in Gus Van Sant’s “Elephant” as well as Lynne Ramsay’s “We Need To Talk About Kevin.” The Dead Ones treats this difficult subject in a manner that seems irresponsible and exploitative. Horror films and exploitation films alike are great for exploring social issues, such as teenage violence and identity politics, as well as giving the audience a fun roller coaster ride. However, films that are nasty for the sake of being nasty come across as cheap and unimaginative, and give the rest of the genre a bad name. This is the case with The Dead Ones, which despite its flashy visuals offers as much life as those its title refers to.