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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.

Om ikke andet sælger de forskellige anmeldelser filmen ret godt. Jeg er jo en gigantisk chickenshit, så jeg springer nok over og snupper en generisk MCU-film i stedet. Det er så dejligt ufarligt