I don’t scare easily. As much as I love horror movies, and have since I was young, they don’t usually shake me in any real, lasting way: “It’s only a movie” is always there for me like a security blanket, smothering any genuine panic. So it’s a special kind of awful, a rare treat of sorts, when something comes along that actually gets past my defenses, that does more than make me jolt upright in my seat occasionally or instill with me a vague, temporary unease. That happened last night, in a crowded Park City theater, during the second public screening of Ari Aster’s blood-curdling Hereditary
Hereditary is the most traumatically terrifying horror movie in ages
This isn’t a scary movie. It’s pure emotional terrorism, gripping you with real horror, the unspeakable kind, and then imbuing the supernatural stuff with those feelings. It didn’t play me like a fiddle. It slammed on my insides like a grand piano.
Never take pity on a film critic. Instead, let it suffice to say that I look forward to you seeing Hereditary and then joining me on several sleepless nights peering into dark corners and gnawing your fingernails off.
_________________ “This is the water, and this is the well. Drink full, and descend. The horse is the white of the eyes, and dark within.”