
A Quiet Place movie review: hushed horror
An apocalypse unlike any onscreen before. A film often almost unbearably tense, in part because it audaciously reconsiders the role sound plays in eliciting our emotional response.

An apocalypse unlike any onscreen before. A film often almost unbearably tense, in part because it audaciously reconsiders the role sound plays in eliciting our emotional response.

A little bit psychedelic, a little bit queasy, a little bit experimental, a lot existential, this is a jarring, visceral portrait of the around-the-world sailor in over his head.

As a piece of craft, this is a smack in the face to Hollywood’s bloated blockbusters. As a piece of pulp, it brings a sharp, smart feminist twist to familiar tropes of cinematic paranoia.

A brilliant, if demented, concept could have been The Purge for parenthood, but it is inadequately explored, and then abruptly dropped by a sudden ending. The entire third act of the film is missing.

Cursed twins who speak in faux-byronic enigmas, a crumbling manse full of dead birds and velvet drapes, and strained psychosexual nonsense. There’s nothing eerie here, just the puerile and misjudged.

A slow, mild exploration of guilt, grief, bigotry, and militant sectarianism, all in the context of a treatment for a zombie virus. Tepid and frustratingly underdeveloped, with few surprises.

The story of a fascinating woman retold in the most reductive, least resonant way possible, while actually sidelining her. Even cast as a simple haunted-house tale, it’s not even a little bit scary.

A quietly chilling nightmare of human frailty and strength, tense with a nameless disquietude. A supremely accomplished little film.

Quick takes from the now-wrapped 61st London Film Festival.

A horror movie for grownups, dripping with the dread of a fairy tale of yore, primitive and atavistic, drawing on profound human pain and fear.