In fact, there’s a fun mix of everything — the film checks off every item in the list of a scenario where things are prone to happen. The cozy house in the countryside, a desolate setting, city folk outside their element, a friendly stranger, among many others. However, the suitable development of these characters makes us forget about much of it being something we saw before in another movie. Harding’s script makes sure the tone is first set for our relationship with these characters. After that, well, the nightmare begins, rules get broken and Making Monsters becomes a movie that’s not easy to forget.

A couple consisting of a social media prankster Chris (Tim Loden, “Bloodlines” TV series) and his always forgiving fiancée Allison (Alana Elmer) decide to take up on an offer made by an old friend Jesse (King Chiu) to spend the weekend in the house that he just bought. It’s actually a remodeled church. There’s a first time for everything and it’s not at all eerie. Visiting such a weird place is exciting!

Fresh out of a doctor’s visit the couple have decided to settle a bit. Allison is trying to get pregnant and she asks Chris to not scare her for the sake of being stress free and having a successful fertility treatment (their claim to fame is a YouTube prank show channel in which Chris is always scaring the hell out of Allison). She remarks this as they begin their trip. Once they arrive, a nice man named David (Jonathan Craig) receives them and tells them their friend cannot make it in time, but they can wait for him inside. He’s a horror makeup artist (in real life too) so this place is full of masks and statues and costumes. Extra points for making the surroundings ooze with extra creepiness.

As they get more acquainted with David, the couple starts to loosen up. They get drunk, have sex and fall asleep. It’s idyllic to say the least. That is until they wake up the next morning without their cell phones at hand, no electric power, hidden cameras abound, and no David. When they decide to do something about it, they realize this relaxing trip to the countryside is not what they were expecting.

The film progresses very slowly. Almost to a point of absolute desperation. But once the couple discovers the threat behind the mystery, there’s a revolution in the dynamics of the film. What started out as lighthearted soon becomes a horrific experience with a sadistic masked man that will stop at nothing to deliver harm. His intentions follow a pattern that’s full of surprises (is it or isn’t it a prank?). This plot element makes Making Monsters a survival horror film with few glitches and more intelligence given to its characters than you would think. They’re not the typical dumb people trying to escape.

The prankster is not the idiot often found in found footage films, the killer is not the mastermind that seems to move at great speed (although seemingly to plod along at best), and the damsel in distress is hardly a damsel. What more could I ask for? Making Monsters is not the perfect sibling to “The Texas Chain Saw Massacre,” but its wonderful hint at social media and technology make it a damn good selection for a double feature.

And so begins Chop Chop, a film that follows this pizza delivery man to his next delivery — the home of Chuck (Jake Taylor, “The Case of Jonas Booker”) and Olivia Matthews (Atala Arce, “Sanador: The Healer”), a young couple who are preparing to enjoy a quiet evening together. Chuck has made a lovely candlelit dinner for Olivia, and the surprise sparks some intimate romance between them. Later, after dinner, Chuck excuses himself to the bathroom, and Olivia hears a knock at their door. It’s Teddy, the pizza delivery man, who tells Olivia, “It’s for you,” despite Olivia’s protests that they haven’t ordered any pizza. Unnervingly, Teddy refuses to leave, and Olivia finds herself facing an advancing intruder in her home. Luckily, Chuck comes to her rescue, but the ensuing moments place Olivia and Chuck into a situation they definitely hadn’t planned for that quiet evening.

Written by Rony Patel and Andrew Ericksen, while produced and directed (and edited and production designed) by Patel, Chop Chop is far more than your average, “Oh, what kind of trouble will our protagonists find themselves in next?,” kind of movie. Each scenario presented is more bizarre than the last, and the discomfort of each situation pushes the boundaries from horror (obviously) and action-thriller into dry comedy in the best of ways. Working together to try and find a way out of things, Chuck and Olivia maintain a kind of go-with-the-flow attitude that overcomes any anxiety or exhaustion most average folks in a similar circumstance would quickly succumb to. Their ability to suspend disbelief at the cast of characters they encounter is award-worthy, and serves as the crux of the entertainment for this crazy film.

The players they encounter include, Jeremy Jordan (“Doug”) as Detective Minaya, a cop who receives a 187 call on his radio and begins a search for a red pizza delivery car; Mike Thompson (“Court of Appeals”) as the bathrobe-clad Jerry, that nosy older neighbor who always knocks on your door at just the wrong moment, and Mikael Mattsson (“Scariest Night of Your Life”), stealing the show as Clark, another man in a bathrobe whose days are spent doing who-knows-what . . . we probably don’t want to know, come to think of it.

Scored with some fantastic campy 70s cop TV show styled music, Chop Chop is a ride full of awkward silences, dry hilarity, and what-the-heck just happened scenes that are a riot to watch. It’s hard to pin down what kind of movie this really is, so suffice it to say, it’s simply a fun (and funny!) romp that’s sure to be a great addition to your next simple, quiet evening of pizza and a movie at the house.

The plot concerns a couple, Christine (Maggie Q, “Fantasy Island”) and Neil (Luke Hemsworth, “Westworld” TV series), vacationing on an island off the coast of Thailand. The opening sequence immediately creates a disconnect, as we see idyllic islands in the sun, but the soundtrack features mournful singing and ominous music. Mark Sayfritz’s score throbs throughout the film, helping to create an oppressive atmosphere that becomes ever more unsettling. A fisherman on a jetty is the object of a hidden and possibly predatory gaze, before the camera pans around to show holiday cottages. There is a pleasant blend of indigenous architecture and modernity in these small buildings, but as the film makes increasingly clear, there’s trouble in paradise. The camera continues its steadily shrinking range, capturing Christine and Neil in their cottage, seemingly recovering from a crazy night out. The scene sets the tone for the film as a whole, as there are mysterious elements within the room, including dirt on their hands and a mysterious pendant. Concerns over the previous evening are quickly pushed aside as they realize they are late, and the viewer gets the sense that whatever happened last night, it will come back to haunt them.

From this arresting opening, Bousman skillfully navigates a brooding and sometimes shocking combination of various horrors. Screenwriters Ari Margolis, James Morley III and David Tish construct Christine and Neil as engaging, balanced and flawed people. Sometimes they snap at each other, other times they are deeply affectionate, often they are confused and terrified. Q and Hemsworth have warmth and chemistry, giving a sense of a genuine relationship. The film also treats the conceit of Americans abroad with nuance. Christine and Neil attempt to speak the local language and treat people respectfully; at other times they fall into the stereotype of yelling in English as though this will make them easier to understand, while waving their phone or money around as though this grants them special treatment. While it may be easy to mock the out-of-their-element westerner, the viewer might want to consider their own position — if we were lost, confused and increasingly frightened, would we behave any better? All cinema, and horror especially, taps into the primal feelings of its audience, and these can manifest in unsettling ways.

Speaking of unsettling, the film does teeter on the edge of racial stereotyping and eroticized exoticism in its presentation of the island and its inhabitants. Overhead shots of the outskirts show houses in the midst of the jungle, indicating a move further away from the familiar. But is this also moving into wilderness, implying that the local people are savages? Bousman includes many cultural signifiers to indicate the presence of local culture and belief, and an American who has settled on the island, Samantha (Alex Essoe, “Passion Play”) serves as something of a white representative. But the overall tension is not resolved and the film’s racial representation is problematic.

As mentioned, however, horror is a great genre for challenging established beliefs. Amidst their confusion, Christine and Neil maintain their conviction for an explanation that fits their belief structure. This is typical of folk horror, placing beliefs in opposition to expose the flaws in both. As Christine and Neil learn more about the island’s culture, including its being untouched by a typhoon in 200 years, mysterious symbols and effigies that look remarkably like Christine, they become ever more convinced that the beliefs are “bullshit.” When they talk to professionals including a doctor and the police, they become increasingly agitated (as characters in films always seem to do). Most significantly, even when confronted with apparent evidence, they refuse to believe it.

This evidence is significant: As the fear of the film kicks off Christine and Neil find footage of the night before on Neil’s phone. Notably, they watch this more than 15 minutes into the film’s runtime, which is when the title Death of Me appears, providing a jump scare for the audience. Additional found footage crops up later, but our heroes continue to operate on the basis that it cannot be true. Despite their certainty, the film style becomes increasingly distorted: As Christine exhibits strange symptoms, jump cuts and overexposure indicate her fracturing reality. Eerie sights appear and disappear, including figures with mutilated eyes and mouths as well as disturbing inserts of malevolent surgery. These moments are contrasted with repeated shots of Christine and Neil sitting on the idyllic beach, which should be reassuring but only serve to make events more uncertain. Bousman blends body and psychological horror with the folk horror milieu, as Christine’s mind and body start to revolt against her. We have also seen some drug taking, and sometimes Neil seems less than trustworthy. Is Christine really going mad, or is she being gaslit? The film incorporates these gender concerns as well, as Samantha expresses concern over spousal abuse and there are various attitudes towards maternity.

The last of these attitudes comes late in the film, as events start to escalate. An approaching storm arrives (what was that about 200 years?), images become increasingly freaky, Christine appears to pass out and wake up several times, and the bodily harm gets worse. From disembowelment to self-mutilation stabbing to gunshots and car crashes, the violence escalates to the point where the viewer can likely predict where we are going. But while Death of Me sometimes succumbs to cliché (including random phone calls, knots that are not tight enough, bleating over free will and even burning torches), the film ultimately works because of its empathy. Although we know where we are going, Christine and Neil’s journey is one of such increasing desperation that we could well ask ourselves if we would fare any better. Even the final jump scare is more “Oh no!” than “Oh yikes!” Death of Me takes the viewer along for a frantic ride with its characters, ensuring that we remain as confused, and as scared, as they are.

Space is vital in this film, as we begin with exteriors then move inside for the majority of the action. The exteriors introduce us to four of the ensemble cast, the sound of birdsong and the charming English countryside juxtaposed with three youths getting high in a car. With brisk efficiency, we understand that Nathan (Ian Kenny, “Sing Street”), Terry (Andrew Ellis, “Teen Spirit”) and Gaz (Jake Curran, “Stardust”) are an established group of friends and also partners in crime. Efficient writing lets us know that Nathan is the leader by force by personality (up to a point), Terry is the weak follower who largely does as he’s told, and Gaz is the wild card. His unpredictability is emphasized by the arrival of Mary (Maisie Williams, “The New Mutants”), our ostensible heroine and Terry’s girlfriend, immediately suspicious of the unfamiliar Gaz. These four quickly take on the stereotypical roles of a home invasion group, their character traits becoming more overt as we see them in the house. Once inside, the space becomes increasingly threatening, but the source of the threat is fluid.

Uncharitably, our four home invaders could be thought of as chavs — working class young people with little in the way of prospects who resort to drugs and crime. Their encounter with the comfortably middle-class Doctor Richard (Sylvester McCoy, “The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies”) and Mrs. Ellen Huggins (Rita Tushingham, “My Name Is Lenny”) highlights a class dynamic that becomes more apparent as the film progresses. Initially, the Huggins seem a bit strange and kooky, before their behavior becomes increasingly disturbing. Much like Mary, the audience may wonder what the hell is going on?

As our uncertainty increases, so does the menace of the film escalate, and this escalation is key to the film’s horror. Property is trashed; characters reveal their damaged histories and past sorrows; when violence occurs, it is unvarnished brutal and shocking; there are moments of outright depravity. Bobbie Cousins’ production design emphasizes durability, as the wood paneling of the Huggins’ home as well as the concrete walls of a basement and garage are used to convey comfort and entrapment, though not as might be expected. The charm of an unassuming country doctor (played by the typically unthreatening McCoy, familiar to some from TV’s “Doctor Who”) is distorted by a sinister medical smock and goggles, while recordings of a children’s program on an old tube TV and VCR become increasingly creepy, expressing an underlying sense of inertia and being trapped in the past.

Berg cuts swiftly between faces during scenes of threatened and actual violence, including some graphic use of power tools, and also utilizes long takes that further express confinement, roving around the space before returning to our starting point. These protracted shots capture escalating events, the combined effect of the filmmaking emphasizing that there is no escape. Drugged characters lead to visually inflected shots of distorted vision, and entrapment of women both physically and psychologically expresses malevolent patriarchy. At one point, even the aspect ratio constricts, the ultimate expression of entrapment as we are literally seeing less, our attention focused on a smaller space while the larger threat remains out of sight but very much in mind.

As is often the case with a really effective horror movie, the subtext is as interesting as the text. The simplest way to describe The Owners is that it shifts from home invasion to folk horror, progressing from “Panic Room” to “Get Out,” with elements of “You’re Next” and “Eden Lake” along the way. It is, consistently, a tale of class warfare. The lower class are motivated by the chance to escape their socio-economic designation, which develops into a form of revenge. Meanwhile, the middle class are threatened, then become condescending and threatening in their own right. Concerns of class immobility are made literal, including paralyzing drugs, damaged spines as well as locked rooms and chains, building to a shattering climax.

Overall, The Owners is a precise, tight, nerve-shredding film that takes a simple premise, a few characters and one location to tell an effective story with multiple meanings. It is well worth checking out, but be prepared to curl into a fetal position afterward. And if you ever thought robbing a country doctor would be a simple way to get money, think again . . .

It soon becomes apparent that Gemma and Tom are stuck in Yonder for good, but the arrival of a baby in a cardboard box labelled “raise the child and you will be released” offers the potential promise of a way out. The child in question, however, described by Tom as “a creepy mutant” has more than a touch of sinisterism as he mimics the couple’s interactions with one another, is emotionally detached and seems to favor letting out ear piercing screams — particularly at breakfast time.

A brooding and somewhat nihilistic rumination on the futility of life, the close influences of Vivarium are the great science fiction writers, John Wyndham and Philip K. Dick who gave us works such as The Day of The Triffids and Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? The theme of ambiguous corporations is also heavily explored in the science fiction genre and similarly here, the threat of an unknown authority assuming control of all aspects of human life without sharing motive or reason feels omnipresent.

With its post-apocalyptic style setting, fear is evoked not through jump scares or monsters but through the isolation and loneliness that Tom and Gemma experience; a clear meditation on modern day anxieties that many of us harbor when it comes to suburban living. The food is “tasteless,” the streets are lifeless and there is nothing to do but let time tick away. While the couple start off spending time together, determined to break free from the dystopian maze of houses by holding hands and making love, this quickly becomes fragmented. Tom soon begins to leave the breakfast table prematurely each morning in order to resume digging a hole in the garden that he is convinced will lead to a way out and we watch as the intimacy in this previously loving relationship begins to deteriorate

As the distance between Gemma and Tom widens, we find that she gravitates closer towards the baby, which has now evolved into a boy, in an effort to learn more about this unearthly seeming being, calling him “a mystery.” Tom however, develops a quick and firm disliking to the new addition (who remains nameless throughout) and one of the film’s most tense moments comes when he and Gemma disagree over whether they should continue to care for him or relinquish their responsibilities in the hope that this might trigger a positive change in their circumstances. The feeling of fate closing in on the couple is also expressed visually as seen when Tom lies down to sleep in the hole he is digging and Gemma next to the boy with both the ladder and the bed acting as bars. Imprisoned in their situation literally (for they cannot get out of Yonder either by car or on foot) and metaphorically (as shown through the imagery), there is throughout a looming air of doom.

Vivarium succeeds in solidifying an early empathy for the two central characters through their genuine chemistry in the opening scenes which are — in contrast to their time in Yonder — brightly lit. The sense of hope and connection that exists in their relationship enhances the loss we will later feel as their optimism slowly drains away. This is beautifully and poignantly conveyed during a scene when they play their car radio loudly whilst dancing in the street in a moment that embodies their freedom and oneness. As the young boy, the performance of Senan Jennings (“Royally Ever After”) is so disturbing you cannot bear to look and yet so compelling that you feel his magnetism onscreen with definite echoes of Martin Stephens turn in “The Village of the Damned.”

Director Lorcan Finnegan paces the film really well, both allowing us to feel the monotony and frustration that Gemma and Tom feel while also drip feeding us with enough plot development to feel as though things are moving along. Vivarium has a cold and lifeless aesthetic which works in tandem with the removal of any joy that Tom and Gemma experienced before arriving at Yonder as we watch the life being literally sucked out of them. The sky, which is filled with perfect “cloud shaped clouds” as Gemma remarks, feels reminiscent of Marguerite’s paintings, lending a direct and fitting reference to surrealism — a style that pervades the entire film. What Finnegan gives us is a suburban nightmare which builds on all aspects of fear, from those which we can all recognize and identify with (ever been wondering lost somewhere only to realize you were back were you started?) to the hallucinogenic and unfathomable.

We meet new couple Larissa (Amanda Crew, “Jobs”) and Matt (Adam Brody, “Ready Or Not”) moving into their new house. Larissa is also pregnant with their first child, a fact that Matt doesn’t seem very keen on. Does it have to do with his mom leaving, or feelings of uncertainty that come with the change to the status quo of their coupledom? Perhaps. Despite his mother’s abandonment, Matt has done very well for himself, putting himself through law school and working in a law firm — there really isn’t much focus on his work so I am not sure what exactly he does. There is an overly-friendly secretary, which I completely expected to develop into something, but never does, leaving me to wonder why this was highlighted.

Larissa, on the other hand, seems subsumed into a state of waiting for her child to be born. She is a music teacher, which is referenced at the beginning when she plays the piano the day they move in, and later on when Matt mentions music students. All is fine and dandy for the couple, until they have sex and she goes into labor while getting the mail. We’re not sure if there was something wrong before that, or if Isabelle, their wheelchair bound neighbor next door who stares creepily through the window, is the one responsible. They lose the baby, Larissa is dead for a minute (as the movie emphasizes to us consistently) and Matt is warned that he might start glimpsing changes in his wife. I wouldn’t think that medical personnel would run around telling patients this, especially since they probably have had people flatline before and then come back from it.

As Larissa’s mood changes erratically, it feels like postpartum depression, but of course compounded because she has lost the child. What I don’t understand is how Matt can leave her alone and go back to work. She is on medication, has a history of mental illness, and their baby is gone — how does it make sense to let her linger about the house by herself? It definitely felt like a commentary on the lack of awareness of this condition, since both Matt and a priest he found at the hospital thinks she is possessed. To that end, there are a few horrifying sequences of Larissa experiencing delusions, imagining that she hears their child, thinking that she is holding their child when it is just a stuffed toy.

This is where the spooky plotline kicks in, which in turn sends the movie off the rails. Larissa’s sister Jessica (Krista Bridges, “Knuckleball”) comes to visit and takes her to see some spiritual guy Pedro (Michael Miranda, “Georgetown”), who warns her of a malevolent spirit who wants to take over her life. He tells her to be careful and not to let the spirit in, but then sends her on her merry way. The sister also leaves after that. This doesn’t make sense to me. Again, why is Larissa so isolated and continually left alone? If a guy that I trusted warned my sister about some spirit that was trying to possess her, I would never leave her side and help in any way possible.

After the visit to Pedro, the haunting begins with a fervor. Some of the jump scares are quite unnerving, and I like that some scenes are in broad daylight, yet I felt most uneasy and disturbed by Isabelle’s presence. Zoë Belkin (“Carrie”) is good as Isabelle, but her back story is limited to Satanic rituals and a mother whose role I don’t really understand. She envies Larissa and the life that she has, and is angry that she is wasting it.

This reflects poor insight on mental health struggles, where individuals are judged for not appreciating the life that they have, as if it is within their agency to completely turn it around. Larissa needs support and empathy, not a husband she has to convince not to divorce her because he cannot handle the scenario anymore. I can understand Matt’s frustrations, and I recognize that his desire for normalcy is a way for him to compartmentalize, but he offers very little compassion for his wife.

Then we reach the ending, which, let’s just say, is a total cop-out and makes everything prior to it a waste. Crew and Brody are good actors and have the ability to flesh out deeper characters, if only they were given the opportunity. Like I mentioned earlier, some of the horror sequences are well done, with some interesting visuals as well, but it is in the handling of grief and mental illness that the movie stumbles. There doesn’t seem to be the understanding that the abyss is not something a person can crawl out of with a simple snap of the fingers. Maybe it is reflective of how we as society still struggle with our comprehension of mental health. If so, the message doesn’t come across acutely, resulting in a movie that is structurally messy and one that ends up missing the mark.