Evil Dead Post: Take Dump 10/9/26

Buckle up for a hot take! The Evil Dead is, far and away, the best maintained horror “franchise” in cinematic history. In case you’re ignorant, The Evil Dead was a low-budget gorefest released in 1981, shot in the Tennessee woods by Sam Raimi and a group of pals from suburban Michigan, successfully proving they had the ghoulish goods to make it in Hollywood. It was followed by a 1987 sequel, which didn’t merely continue the story of undead demons awoken by an evil book, but upped the squeamish slapstick to overtly comic levels, playing off the campy charisma of Bruce Campbell as the heartbroken but indefatigable Ash Williams. 1993 brought Army Of Darkness, abandoning the woods for a medieval castle, Ash now a swaggering hero out of time, forced to battle stop-motion skeletons with a sword and “boomstick” instead of turning fallen compatriots into pus piñatas. Where sequels usually bring diminishing returns, when not losing the script, these three films enthusiastically chased surprising new terrain.

As Raimi established himself as a surprisingly varied auteur, hitting blockbuster gold with the ‘00s Spider-Man trilogy, fans wondered if and when he’d return to the Necronomicon. Sure, his Ghost House company produced plenty of horror movies (most notably the American Grudge adaptations and 30 Days Of Night). 2007’s Drag Me To Hell even revealed Raimi still had a knack for sick jokes and spirited set pieces. But what about Evil Dead 4? Where was it?

Finally, Evil Dead, directed by Fede Alvarez, was released in 2013. With Ash only appearing in an post-credits easter egg, and the film centered on the fraught relationship between a struggling junkie and her friends, many viewers - including myself - were too aggrieved by the vibe shift to appreciate that the movie, while no logical follow-up to Army Of Darkness, is fucking awesome. Jane Levy gives a wickedly jaw-dropping performance as Mia, leaping from dopesick to demonic to furious final girl, and the violence is as inspired as ever. After all that Platinum Dunes chaff in the ‘00s, it was easy to write off Evil Dead as another wan reboot full of pretty people sniping at each other before getting picked off. But it wasn’t long until I realized the movie was a huge cut above that cliche. 

That easter egg paid off in 2015, when the series Ash Vs. Evil Dead debuted on Starz. It’s an industry-shaming injustice that Campbell never got an Emmy for the role, Ash now an aging stud well practiced in holding back the anguish, like a boozy, middle-aged Han Solo allowed to swear, and happy to do it.  For three seasons, the show profusely delivered on the promises of the original film trilogy. This helped me not just revisit Evil Dead with less grudging eyes, but actively anticipate 2023’s Evil Dead Rise, directed by Lee Cronin. Rise tells the story of a single mother and three kids in a crappy L.A. high rise, another surprising left, while still playing cruel, unearthly pranks on the characters for daring to read from a flesh-bound book of Satanic ritual. Prepared to be unprepared, I dug it from the get-go. All five are POPCORN CLASSICS.

The production pace picking up, Evil Dead Burn hit theaters this summer, with Evil Dead Wrath planned for April 2028, assuming we aren’t literally running from the gates of hell. Initially, I was all in for Burn, directed by Sebastian Vanicek. A woman attends the funeral of her estranged, abusive husband, trying to make nice with the grieving, victim-blaming in-laws. Only hubby got possessed by the survivor of Rise right before he perished. The affect is not unlike a Tony Award Winner for Best Play overcome by gruesome, frantic violence. Imagine a zombie Virginia Woolf exploding through the door, tearing at George’s face before snapping Martha’s neck.

While horror heads should appreciate a movie with a scene filmed upside down, involving a leg razor that understandably lacks branding, I have to admit that Evil Dead Burn does peter out by the end. Is it a spoiler to say this is a movie where the emotional journey climaxes but the bloodletting doesn’t? I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s why Campbell modestly grumbled that the franchise could rediscover its humor, a quality I’d argue was provided plenty, if uncampily, in Rise. I still give Evil Dead the horror series gold medal, with Evil Dead Burn a hell of a lot more inspired than most sixth entries. But I hope there’s one big bloody bonanza planned at the end of Evil Dead VII. FIVE BAGS OF POPCORN.

The modest disappointment I felt with Evil Dead Burn pales to my bafflement over Backrooms. In case you haven’t seen it yet, Backrooms is a film adaptation of a then-teenage Kane Parsons' 2022 webseries, based on a 2019 4chan thread about a mysterious alternate dimension consisting of eerily bland, empty rooms. (there’s also a good episode of American Horror Stories from 2024, where Michael Imperioli finds himself wandering around these Vacant Office Spaces Of The Damned). With Hollywood horror hype at an apex, I assumed I'd find myself once again on board. Instead, it was almost refreshing to wonder how the heck this whole lotta nothing made hundreds of millions at the box office.

The big screen Backrooms, its director now 21, stars Chiwetel Ejiofor as Clark, recently divorced furniture store owner outraged over alimony and not being an architect. Issues with the light fixtures reveal a wall you can walk through, our hero discovering an art installation on the other side. For the first hour or so, he explores the rooms, which occasionally contain traffic signs, halves of chairs and corners full of random junk. Eventually, he invites his employees to join him. Very occasionally, we see Mark Duplass watching the explorers, or recognizing Clark in a TV ad. Skip the next paragraph if you want to "huh" at the climax for yourself!

Clark’s therapist, after receiving a cryptic answering machine message, visits the unlocked store. She wanders into...The Backrooms, and discovers her patient living in a surreal kitchen containing powdery faux-humans and a large puppet of himself. The puppet kills Clark and scientists rescue the therapist. Mark Duplass, one of the scientists, tells her he’s not sure what’s up, but stuff like this is happening a lot lately. We then survey some more rooms in the ever-growing art installation. Fin.

I’m glad I liked Obsession a lot, suggesting I'm not biased against viral videomakers. But where Curry Baker’s movie is about young people today, Parsons’ focuses on middle-aged people in the 1980s. I’m not sure what inspired the setting, other than to avoid references to lost reception, and the chance to have a young man wearing a crop top to work every day (as one did then, right?). More of an issue is that Parsons deoesn’t have a clue what a therapy session between adults sounds like. Even more of an issue is that none of this is scary, even compared to the Michael Gondry videos it vaguely recalls, like the Foo Fighters’ “Everlong,” Bjork’s “Human Behavior,” or that one where the White Stripes go on Late Night With Conan O’Brien. More than any horror movie, I was reminded of the Fifty Shades Of Grey series, similarly the blockbuster peak of a minor cultural groundswell, and also an underwhelming, overlong, secondhand rehash of old tropes, the actors unsure whether they’re making camp or what. FOUR BAGS OF POPCORN.

Anne Hathaway and Michaela Coel definitely know what they’re making in David “not the dude from Cracker” Lowery’s Mother Mary: a Beckettian What Ever Happened To Baby Jane? about an MTV Video Vanguard winner. Hathaway plays the titular pop star, a bit Taylor Swift in poise,  a bit Lady Gaga in Catholic imagery, and Karen O in terms of having a prominent stylist in the early years. Coel plays Sam, still a successful designer, but brimming with resentment over how her once-BFF abandoned her. Planning a big comeback, Mary wants Sam to design her a new dress that will be everything, so the two meet in an attic and have flashbacks about ghosts and vaguely vaginal spools of red fabric.

Whether Mother Mary is evocative of intense female friendships (I want to believe) or just a male director’s wild fantasy (as if Lowery saw Alex Garland’s Men and said “hold my beer”), I found it a real trip. I haven’t watched any of Coel’s shows, so I don’t know how arch her performance is here in comparison. But it is arch. Meanwhile, Hathaway - like John Malkovich in Opus - creates a figure I only wish existed in pop. Are any pop stars as earnest as Anne dancing silently, frustrated that her former friend won’t hear her upcoming single? Hathaway’s commitment made me realize how much more fun the Suspiria remake would have been with an actress you’d believe was an Ohio farm girl and the reincarnation of a powerful female demon, instead of a lead only believable as Dakota Johnson. Though written for the screen by Lowery, Mother Mary comes off like an opened-up stage play, grand concert long-takes briefly interrupting sequences of the two leads in a room, tearing at each other’s sense of wellbeing. All this and an interlude where FKA Twigs is possessed by the spirit of pure poetry? In front of the sister from Fleabag? Pretty dang niche, but I ain’t mad. FIVE BAGS OF POPCORN.

I’m pretty mad about Undertone, though, where a podcaster cooped up with a dying mom and a surprise pregnancy probably shouldn’t be playing haunted sound files of demonic possession and children singing nursery rhymes backwards. I like the idea of obnoxious examples of “NPR voice” being damned to hell for trying to pull multiple episodes of their show out of about 15 minutes of audio from an anonymous email. But there’s a disconnect between the truoubled woman we watch hallucinating around dark hallways, and the coy “skeptic” she plays against her unseen co-host, a gratingly naive “believer.” Maybe I’m showing my age, or disinterest in the form, but the film either doesn’t see anything weird about podcast personas in relation to personal issues and terror, or doesn’t have anything to say about it. THREE BAGS OF POPCORN.

I don’t think House On Eden has much to say about its content creator leads, either. Three playful young “ghost hunters” film themselves arriving at a haunted house in the woods, their secret resentments gradually bubbling up as they play with tech, and learn those resentments don’t mean shit. So why do I find it far more enjoyable? Maybe it’s just easier to care about dumb kids mugging into a camera, failing to get out of the woods before its too late, than an adult “creative” who won’t turn a light on, or have their coffee on the porch. POPCORN CLASSIC.

Did I slight your favorite well-kept horror franchise? Don't say A Nightmare On Elm Street unless you're going to bat for Freddy's Nightmares, but feel free to say something else in an email to anthonyisright at gmail dot com. Spooky season recommendations also appreciated!