GHOSTBUSTERS (2016) and the Dread of Difference – Part II by Jonny Numb


So here’s the thing: along with Green Room and Suicide Squad, Ghostbusters was one of my most anticipated movies of 2016. That’s right – an uberfan who had faith in the comedic track record of the actors and the quality of Feig’s previous efforts (Bridesmaids, Spy, and the short-lived TV series “Freaks and Geeks”) had me itching with palpable anticipation. As with any big-budget reboot of a long-dormant, much-loved franchise, the potential for greatness or awfulness is equally present, resting on the simple fact that you can’t please everyone.

Is the new Ghostbusters completely successful? No. At times, the actors are allowed to venture too far into improvisational territory (a flaw in all of Feig’s films), which stalls the pace. Some of the punchlines don’t land, and at times, the characters’ deliveries are so feverish that one feels the writers were going for broke in the sheer volume of attempted gags. In the last act, some of the action choreography is hard to follow (but that doesn’t make it any less thrilling). And the cameos from the original cast members often stick out like a sore, shoehorned thumb (I will say, though, that they saved the best for last). All that being said, one of its biggest successes is replicating the sense of camaraderie that informed the all-male teaming of the original: this has nothing to do with gender, and everything to do with smart characterization. I loved this scrappy new paranormal collective, from Kristen Wiig’s meek, puritanically-dressed college professor; Melissa McCarthy’s outspoken scientist; Leslie Jones’s street-smart, take-no-shit transit officer; and especially Kate McKinnon’s discombobulated, non-sequitur-uttering physicist (Feig gets some of the biggest laughs from cutaways to her incredible reaction shots). While Chris Hemsworth’s himbo secretary is a hit-or-miss one-note joke, it’s nice to see the Avengers star poking fun at Hollywood’s fickle attitudes toward the expectations that come with physical beauty.

Perhaps there’s some buried logic to the phenomenon of sight-unseen hatred toward Ghostbusters, something that could be attributed to J.J. Abrams’ ascent to the Spielberg throne as the newly-minted master of the any-season blockbuster. Spielberg has long been considered a strong storyteller and adept visual stylist, but has also earned heckles for his overt sentimentality and saccharine dramatic cues. With a latter-day Spielberg flick, regardless of the subject matter, it’s a fairly sure bet the type of film you’re going to get.

With Abrams, whose successful updating of the ultimate fanboy franchises – the one-two power punch of Star Trek and Star Wars – has rendered him one of the most powerful figures in Hollywood. But this has come not from a wild embrace of risk, but rather an aversion to challenge. Granted, his interpretations of these much-loved, generation-spanning series make for rousing, big-budget entertainment, but the level of risk doesn’t really extend beyond the wild-card actors he uses to fill out the cast (unknowns – or lesser-knowns – buffered by thespian lifers). And even then, the Star Treks lean on Leonard Nimoy cameos and characters who, despite the new faces inhabiting the roles, have already had decades of development. The same goes for The Force Awakens, where all the virtual ink spilled over Rey (Daisy Ridley) and her influence over the future of female-led blockbusters was marginalized by Abrams’ over-reliance on giving fans their due with the requisite appearances by Harrison Ford, Carrie Fisher, Mark Hammill, and the usual gang of costumes and CGI. Ridley is fine, but plays second banana to the wistful nostalgia most fans paid for, making one wonder at the reaction had none of the established characters and actors logged an appearance. Personal friends (more well-versed in the Star Wars mythos than I) tend to be of two schools of thought on the film: that it’s great in spite of – or because of – its heavy leaning on the plot of A New Hope.

Like Spielberg, Abrams is a fine storyteller who also happens to have his finger on the pulse of what the public wants. It’s interesting to gauge my reaction toward Super 8 – his foray into original storytelling – and how the stunning visuals attempted to wrestle the disjointed plot into submission. With nods toward E.T., The Goonies, and Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Abrams once again looked to well-established nostalgia to win over audiences and critics. I responded to the characters’ relationships while struggling with the arbitrary plot developments and ILM-styled overkill. The film has an 82% “fresh” rating over at Rotten Tomatoes, but its existence in 2016 seems relegated solely to jabs from critics comparing it to the NetFlix series, Stranger Things.

Which begs the question: Is there simply greater appeal for mainstream films that give audiences what they want, every time, with a minimum of surprise? While Marvel’s comic-book juggernauts continue to kick dirt in the faces of their seasonal competitors, the films themselves hit familiar beats and draw appeal largely from the impressive ensemble casts that tie the action together. Is there an emotional pulse? Sure. But when will this mass-marketed bubble burst?

To be concluded…

Part III available Wednesday, August 31!

Crash Analysis Support Team:

Jonny Numb (aka Jonathan Weidler) co-hosts THE LAST KNOCK horror podcast with @crashpalace, and believes that demons are best expelled through writing (sorry, ladies). You can find his movie reviews here, and at He is also on social media @JonnyNumb (Twitter & Letterboxd) and @jnumb1 (Instagram).

(Photo by

THE LAST KNOCK presents: Filmmaker Mark Dossett

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Mark Dossett didn’t just dream about making a horror film – he made it a goal, and his first feature, The Torment of Laurie Ann Cullom became a reality. Mark discusses how he made a horror period piece on a budget, what led him to turn down three distributors, why his star Shannon Scott is so amazing, and he gives us a look inside his upcoming thriller, As They Fall.

You can find Mark on IMDb and follow him on Twitter. Better still, check out his film, The Torment of Laurie Ann Cullom.

GHOSTBUSTERS (2016) and the Dread of Difference* – Part I by Jonny Numb

ghostbusters-2016-cast-proton-packs-imagesRowan (Neil Casey), the central villain of the new Ghostbusters, is a nerd. He’s so lame, in fact, that he erroneously flashes the hand-sign for “love” – not devil-horns – as he walks into an Ozzy Osbourne concert. His modus operandi is to provoke enough spectral disturbances around New York City that he unleashes a concentration of angry ghosts into the world. He insists that their voices, like his own, have fallen on deaf ears – “kindred spirits,” if you will, to his own underappreciated, “the-world-must-pay-for-my-failings” mentality.

When Rowan optimizes his powers, he resorts to the lameness of having a bunch of cops and National Guardsmen strike Saturday Night Fever poses for his own amusement. Furthermore, he even co-opts the classic “Ghostbusters” logo and repurposes it in order to take on his final form, which bears a resemblance to a slightly less blobby Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.

It’s hard to tell whether the character of Rowan was a bit of snarky commentary in director Paul Feig’s and co-writer Katie Dippold’s script, which hews closely to the story structure and character-development style of the1984 original. It was a given that a few kooks hiding behind anonymous social-media handles would take to the web to spin their opinions on why an all-female version of Ghostbusters could never work, but the reality was a more widespread outcry.

Like the Westboro Baptist Church, the trolls of the Internet found their target, lugging a ten-ton bucket of bile on their backs in an act of assumed pop-culture purism. When prolific YouTube personality James Rolfe (better known as the Angry Video Game Nerd) released a video stating why he wouldn’t be seeing the new film, he became a folk hero to those anonymous online voices while stirring the anger of trolls eager to burn a path to the film’s box-office failure.

I guess they figured Feig, Dippold, and everyone involved with the new Ghostbusters owed them something – that “something” being a reboot sans estrogen. The outrage even prompted distributor Sony to buckle, promising the outraged contingent a male-centric version, a development that has gone curiously silent. (And I gotta say: what a bunch of pussies for undermining their own film.)

I didn’t go out of my way to read any of the vitriol; I didn’t seek out negative hashtags on Twitter. I have enough real things to worry about in my life – things that affect me on a daily basis – without going out of my way to find more things to get pissed off about (I haven’t been a teenager or a twentysomething in a long time). Granted, I will admit that one of my favorite pick-me-ups is reading negative reviews of the Electric Factory (a popular Philadelphia concert venue) on Yelp – the difference being, I can vouch for the awfulness of the venue based on years of experience attending concerts there (fuck you, Ticketmaster!).

For me, the art of slagging something only takes on artistic value when you’ve actually exposed yourself to what you’re slagging. If you’re basing your opinion solely on conjecture, rumor, and a 2-minute trailer without having seen the film itself, then you deserve to be shamed when someone who’s done their due diligence calls you out on it.

Granted, I read articles about the backlash for months before the film was released. While it is customary to respond to remakes, prequels, and sequels of well-regarded films with apprehension, the pre-emptive scorn loaded upon Feig’s Ghostbusters was more hair-raising than witnessing an actual supernatural occurrence. We horror fans might be the most apprehensive of all, perhaps because our much-beloved genre receives so little respect in the first place: many among us bristled at the notion of The Hills Have Eyes being remade, only to discover that, hey, Alexandre Aja actually knew what he was doing!

Funny: I am as big a fan of the original Ghostbusters as anyone else. That film, and especially the long-running cartoon series, served as my gateway drug into the worlds of horror and the fantastic. Even though the film is not formally classified as being a part of the genre, you can find it reviewed in VideoHound’s Horror Show, John Stanley’s Creature Features, and my first-ever book on the genre (which I still own) – Movie Monsters (“Ghostbusters is scary and funny,” author Gary Poole proclaims). I can nerd out about the Murray-Aykroyd-Ramis-Hudson films with the most devoted of nerds, and that is something I take great pride in.

To be continued…

* Author’s Note: The title is a deliberate nod to Barry Keith Grant’s The Dread of Difference: Gender and the Horror Film, which I would recommend to anybody interested in gender studies as it relates to the horror genre.

Part II available Wednesday, August 24!

Crash Analysis Support Team:

Jonny Numb (aka Jonathan Weidler) co-hosts THE LAST KNOCK horror podcast with @crashpalace, and believes that demons are best expelled through writing (sorry, ladies). You can find his movie reviews here, and at He is also on social media @JonnyNumb (Twitter & Letterboxd) and @jnumb1 (Instagram).

(Photo by IndieWire.)

THE LAST KNOCK presents: Films of Frankenstein

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Mary Shelley shocked the world with her “Frankenstein” novel in the mid-1800s, and it’s still a shocker today. We not only indulge in her tale and questions it raises, but how Victor Frankenstein and his monster have been interpreted and reinterpreted through many decades of film, from Boris Karloff to Robert De Niro. Even so, the Frankenstein mythos comes with many thematic layers explored in many a movie, so join us on the operating table as we put together a podcast piece by piece and bring it to life.

This episode’s SCREAM OUTS from Twitter: 

@AmandaBergloff @MFFHorrorCorner @playvioletmovie @mercershark @SunshineBoyProd @kevin_sluder @jensluder @baron_craze @stevecourtney79 @PasspChells @LividEmerald @RealJillyG @MelanieMcCurdie @RonGizmo @dixiefairy @Isaacrthorne @iamgoreblimey @Tammysdragonfly @LoudGreenBird @GTGMcast @EmilyFlory @corybrin and Paul J. Williams from Facebook

THE LAST KNOCK presents: Interview with Actor Brad Potts

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Brad Potts is a salt of the earth gentleman who served his country, acted on stage, and has been on the big and small screen since 2003. Don’t miss his interview as we discuss his horror roles of past, present, and future, as well as his work with TLK favorite, Maria Olsen, and one of horrordom’s most celebrated, Bill Oberst. Hell, we even talk about strong writing, and how Rod Serling’s “The Twilight Zone” exemplified quality storytelling. Most important, you don’t want to miss Brad’s stories of stage and screen!

You can learn more about Brad from his IMDb page, check out his acting reel on YouTube, visit his website, and you can also follow him on Twitter.

SOUTHBOUND (2015) – Highway to Hell by Jonny Numb

Southbound-FB[89 minutes. R. Directors: Roxanne Benjamin; David Bruckner; Patrick Horvath; Radio Silence]

After it was over, I wondered: does Southbound win by default?

I know, I know: it’s not about whether you win or lose, but how you play the game (ha, ha)!

In the boundless terrain known as the Millennial Horror Anthology, the lessons of films like Creepshow, Dead of Night (1945), and Tales of Terror have been mostly forgotten. Notions of narrative and aesthetic consistency – and the challenges contained therein – have been jettisoned, replaced by disparate tales propped up by weak wraparound stories (the V/H/S films being prime offenders). Sometimes, a wraparound story doesn’t factor in at all, leaving what is essentially a lazily-assembled short-film compilation (such as the catastrophic ABCs of Death 2).

I have talked elsewhere about my overall disenchantment with this trend, and how these projects often come across with all the charm of high-fives at a circle jerk.

Then along comes Southbound. I heard a few voices in the social-media wilderness (@AFiendOnFilm; @loveandmonsters) buzzing about it prior to its DVD release, but had no inkling of its plot (outside of its anthology structure).

And don’t get me wrong: when done well, I enjoy me some horror anthology. The most ambitious of this subgenre blend a wide variety of characters and scenarios to great effect, creating unpredictable terrain that holds the viewer’s attention throughout. This is a sandbox where filmmakers can have great fun juggling disparate premises, and let their imaginations run wild – one of the reasons I love Lewis Teague’s Cat’s Eye so much (outside of its feline protagonist) is that the absurdity of its stories bleeds into reactions of both humor and terror.

There is something to be said, truly, about Southbound from a story perspective: there is a definite flow to the proceedings that gives it the free-form feel of a dream, something that is sorely lacking in the horror anthology efforts we’ve grown accustomed to. While the tales blend into each other, that isn’t to say there is a relationship between characters and stories, per se (or is there?). The bottom line is: this gives the film a sense of overall cohesion, instead of a group of shorts cobbled into a loose feature.

We open on two blood-spattered guys, Jack (Matt Bettinelli-Olpin) and Mitch (Chad Villella) speeding down a desert highway, while black, jellyfish-like specters loom in the distance; parking at a rest stop, they find themselves stuck in a fatal loop where a crime from their recent past is literally inescapable. The next segment follows an all-Grrrl band stranded along the roadside, given a lift by a ‘50s-sitcom couple who offer lodging, dinner, and perhaps something more. The third story has a tortured hit-and-run driver (Mather Zickel) desperately attempting to do what’s best for his victim. The next tale revolves around an obsessed father (The Jesus Lizard’s David Yow) seeking the whereabouts of his estranged daughter. And the final segment brings the story full circle, centering on an act of revenge carried out via a tried-and-true home invasion template.

It’s not a spoiler to mention the intermittent appearance of Carnival of Souls on random TVs throughout the film. After all, that 1962 classic – with its at-times literal blurring of fantasy and reality – dealt firmly in matters of spirituality (in both a religious and secular sense), and notions of karma as a vengeful exterminator unto itself. In Southbound, characters are either haunted or perpetrate the haunting, and their comeuppance often hinges on an ironic cruelty that invokes the wheel-of-fortune randomness that punctuates everyday life. Even the victims, like Mary Henry in Carnival, carry traits of circumstantial tragedy while raising the paradox that they are authors of their own fates.

It bears noting that there are some exceptional performances to be witnessed here, from Zickel – who goes through emotions of fear, guilt, and acceptance in what is essentially a one-man segment – to rising genre ingénue Fabianne Therese (John Dies at the End; Starry Eyes), who shines as the haunted band leader who finds herself isolated from reality and alienated from her friends. And in a seemingly peripheral role, Maria Olsen (of the forthcoming I Spit on Your Grave: Déjà vu) is given the film’s greatest introduction, and delivers a performance of menacing, understated intensity. To top things off, Glass Eye Pix head honcho Larry Fessenden offers up an aural presence as the gravel-voiced radio commentator whose ruminations on fate and consequence stitch the stories together.

All that being said, does Southbound, for all its effort to be a throwback to the honorable tradition of the horror anthology, deliver the satisfaction horror fans seek?

I’ll say this much: some of its images, sounds, and twists are still rattling around in my brain. It is compelling at times, but also meandering and inconclusive. The run time is a compact 90 minutes, but I couldn’t help but wonder if some segments would have benefited from more character and (sub-)plot development. I realize the ambiguity is intentional, and it does complement the film as a vision of Purgatory. But part of me wonders how great Southbound could have been with even more detail added to the individual stories (it certainly would’ve made its cumulative moody weight that much more oppressive – in a good way).

Who knows…perhaps repeat visits to this particular lost highway will yield more satisfying results. Until then, it’s a good horror effort within an outstanding year.

3 out of 5 stars

Crash Analysis Support Team:

Jonny Numb (aka Jonathan Weidler) measures his life in coffee spoons, and writes reviews once every couple years at He co-hosts THE LAST KNOCK horror podcast, and can be found on Twitter and Letterboxd @JonnyNumb.

(Photo by ConTV.)

THE LAST KNOCK presents: Snuff Horror

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Snuff: pornographic films where an actress is murdered on screen for sexual pleasure, has instilled fear in many for decades, and has been investigated by the FBI and other law enforcement agencies. This ultra-horrific urban legend of gross misogyny has found its way as fodder for several horror films. Are they worth watching? Do they have merit? And what’s worst: is “snuff” real? We navigate this terror to bring you some answers – and snuff out the rumors.

This episode’s SCREAM OUTS from Twitter: 

@PromoteHorror @PopcornFrights @RonGizmo @VicsMovieDen @peterkidder @MelanieMcCurdie @machinemeannow @BohemianCelt @SiaraTyr @MirandaNading @ChadSchmike @rosebyanyother7 @AFiendOnFilm @OlettaTheAuthor @FriscoKidTX @LoudGreenBird @isaacrthorne @palkodesigns @EmilieFlory @dixiefairy @d_m_elms @ButcherBabies @deepfocusllc @corybrin and Paul J. Williams from Facebook


THE NEON DEMON and the Provocation of Beauty (2016) by Jonny Numb


The-Neon-Demon-Film-Nicolas-Winding-Refn-8-892x467[118 minutes. R. Director: Nicolas Winding Refn]

The world of fashion modeling is ripe with metaphorical potential. And while nobody would seem more suited to bring a new and unique angle to this topic, Nicolas Winding Refn’s The Neon Demon is a conundrum that piggybacks off some of the best examples of this interesting subgenre, while infusing the proceedings with a variety of scattered horror fruits and nuts.

While theories are left ambiguous in Demon, Refn posits that models could be blank-eyed zombies; machine-tooled cyborgs calibrated for a world hung up on the concept of physical perfection; aliens beamed down to Earth from another planet; or bloodthirsty, Elizabeth Bathory-styled vampires looking to maintain their Forever 21 looks by any means necessary.

This is the type of film that Austin Powers, lulled into submission by the lethal Fembots, would love. It presents a paradoxical world of beauty and danger where mystery and piercing color schemes are the true aesthetic currency, something that comes as a given from the man who gave us the divisive, style-drenched panoramas of Drive and Only God Forgives.

Considering Refn’s icy, meticulous attention to color and symmetry within his shot compositions, the match of creator to subject is appropriate. Demon, a brazenly unclassifiable film that swims in a steaming genre soup is, like its characters, marked by the exclusivity of club rules. Narratively dense, it runs nearly 2 hours and follows a myriad of story threads, few of which are met with satisfying conclusions. The ending, which has all the stylistic trademarks of a Calvin Klein fragrance ad, contributes only more thickness to a well-muddied narrative path.

But for all intents and purposes, the type of story Demon tells will determine whether it will pique individual viewer interest: following the well-established narrative catalysts of films where bright-eyed, beautiful young women seek fame (Starry EyesBlack Swan; and especially Mulholland Drive), it borrows freely and unabashedly from its forebears, while the director inverts expectations by gorging style over substance. This approach tows a tricky line between virtue and self-indulgence, and will be a point of contention for people unversed in Refn’s hyper-stylized aesthetics. For a director whose previous film was jeered at Cannes, he seems to be going for the jugular in widening the gap between his fans and detractors.

Lulled by the shifting color hues on a velvet surface (or the surface of a distant planet, who knows?), the opening credits bear a tongue-in-cheek “NWR” watermark, as if Refn is presenting us with his 2016 entry in the cinema fashion wars. He then progresses into a macabre tableau centering on Jesse (a deliberately somnambulant Elle Fanning), a 16-year old who has fled small-town Georgia and her deceased parents to establish a name for herself in Los Angeles. In a surreal string of events, Ruby (Jena Malone, oozing steely authority throughout) takes Jesse to a party, underscored by a strobe-lit performance art piece, and introduces her to Gigi (Bella Heathcote) and Sarah (Abbey Lee), two wide-eyed, highly competitive models.

While the performances are uniformly excellent, Refn’s presentation of his mostly-female cast is problematic. In Drive, women were presented as either passive spectators to male-centered action, cannon fodder, or topless eye candy; in Only God Forgives, women were presented as passive sex objects with no function outside of fulfilling the desires of the men of the piece, or gender reversals on monstrous villains (for as ruthless and brilliant as Kristin Scott Thomas is in that film, it is a role that could’ve been inhabited by a male with few script changes). For example, there is a shower scene in Demon that provokes a disconnect between prurience and narrative necessity; photographed in slow motion, in pale lighting, and accompanied by Cliff Martinez’s otherworldly synth score, it contains important cutaway shots to a specific character’s point of view, but its protracted nature seems to be Refn staging a deliberately leg-crossing sequence of sheer excess. While the film shunts its male characters to the periphery (despite a greater significance being teased for all), the women are not necessarily “strong” by design or default – if anything, the vagaries of the script leave them as more signifiers and symbols than fully fleshed-out beings (which, to add to the frustration, is appropriate for the story). My perspective: the icy presentation of femininity, beauty, and sexuality synthesizes well enough with Refn’s aesthetic fixation on surfaces (both literal and figurative) for the lack of texture to make sense on a narrative level.

The recurring imagery of Demon, in another bit of obvious aesthetic deliberation, uses mirrors to emphasize the illusory nature of the modeling business (many over-the-shoulder shots, or off-sided glimpses of characters casting distorted reflections; and yes, a bathroom mirror gets shattered at one point). The actors’ reliance on wide-eyed glares is vapid in a way that drains the sexuality from the film’s amorous moments; in fact, there is a jaw-dropping sequence near the end that creates a blunt visual metaphor of beauty as a form of sexual violation, ice-cold to the touch. Complementing this further is Ruby’s ornate yet empty-feeling mansion – all long, echoing corridors and high-ceilinged rooms, recalling the sets of many classic Universal and Hammer horrors.

“My mother said I’m dangerous,” Jesse intones to Ruby near the end, and one wonders at the implications of that statement. Despite top billing and her visage being front and center in the film’s ad campaign, Fanning comes across as a cipher in her own story, while the more powerful (on the surface, anyway) women manipulate her for their own ends. With the images of penetration, consumption, and birth that mark the film’s closing minutes, the facial blankness and soft-toned naivete of Jesse leaves one’s mind venturing into the “what ifs” that spring up from her minimal backstory and hallucinatory initiation into the high-profile, high-cost world of high fashion. If there are answers to be found within The Neon Demon, none of them come easy, but the decoding process is part of its lethal charm.

4 out of 5 stars

Crash Analysis Support Team:

Jonny Numb (aka Jonathan Weidler) measures his life in coffee spoons, and writes reviews once every couple years at He co-hosts THE LAST KNOCK horror podcast, and can be found on Twitter and Letterboxd @JonnyNumb.

(Photo from

THE LAST KNOCK presents: Hodgepodge of Horror VIII

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So many horror movies, so little time! This is why we’re bringing you our eighth installment of “Hodgepodge Horror” where you’ll get a chance to hear about some new and old films in the genre that may be worth seeing, or definitely worth avoiding. And, of course, there’s a chance Crash and Numb will argue about one film or another. So dive in with abandon (unless the shark from JAWS is directly underneath you), and give a listen to what horror movies we’re watching now!

This episode’s SCREAM OUTS from Twitter: 

@TheHorrorMaster (John Carpenter) @LianeMoonRaven @FriscoKidTX @isaacrthorne @machinemeannow @RSBrzoska @_greatnorthern @DanielMlYoung @RealJillyG @Miss_Dibbly @MFFHorrorCorner @Karinm37 @MelanieMcCurdie @RayZor_33 @HorrorSyndicate @BlackCabProds @Israel_Finn @KeyzKeyzworth @KissedByFate2 @pugmum1 @horrorfilledfun @palkodesigns @Horrorview @aj_macready @wilkravitz @Theladyphantom @AFiendOnFilm @LoudGreenBird @VicsMovieDen @d_m_elms @GrindhouseFilm @ShoutFactory

THE LAST KNOCK presents: Horror Double Feature: HUSH, DARLING

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Just because a horror film’s made on a small budget, and shot with minimalism in mind, doesn’t mean it’s cheap and easy. Both Mike Flanagan’s HUSH and Mickey Keating’s DARLING are low budget, independent films with small casts, manageable effects, and few locations. But what they offer horror fans may be twists on old themes where tropes are turned on their heads, and solid storylines are inhabited by intriguing characters. So listen in and find out if we put a hush to the buzz, or declare them both darlings.

This episode’s SCREAM OUTS from Twitter: 

@ScreamHorrorMag @EmilieFlory @60Secondstodie @RonGizmo @RSBrzoska @sarahsweets83 @BleedingCritic @Promofilia_ @RealJillyG @MuldoonPatrick @LINTstagators @Tammysdragonfly @MelanieMcCurdie @AFiendOnFilm @nicolemalonso @OklahomaWard @AmandaBergloff @machinemeannow @saulnier_Jeremy @GreenRoomFilm @mrbluelouboyle @LAMANIACmovie @GreenRoomMovie @talk2cleo and Paul J. Williams from Facebook!