The Boogeyman
What I liked most was precisely what the film gradually uses less and less: uncertainty. As long as the threat remains hidden in the darkness, The Boogeyman is genuinely unsettling. A noise, a poorly lit corner, an open door or the feeling that something may be watching from outside the frame works much better than any fully defined creature.
Rob Savage understands fairly well how to use darkness. There are moments when simply not knowing what we are looking at is enough to create fear. The film plays with bedrooms, hallways, domestic spaces and that childhood feeling that something may exist exactly where the light ends. That is where it connects best with the classic idea of the boogeyman.
The problem is that it does not completely trust that idea. Gradually, the film begins to provide more visual information about the threat and, paradoxically, the more clearly we understand what it looks like, the less frightening it becomes. Once imagination stops filling in the gaps and receives a concrete image, the nature of the fear changes. You are no longer wondering what might be there; you are looking at a design.
For me, that is the film's biggest missed opportunity. If it had been more radical and hidden the creature even further, it could have been much more frightening. No eyes, no silhouettes, no overly clear shadows: only sound, movement, reactions and empty spaces. The viewer's imagination would have done the rest, and it probably would have created something worse than any visual effect.
The film also works because Sophie Thatcher conveys vulnerability without turning her character into someone completely helpless. Chris Messina provides a more restrained presence, and the family dynamic allows the fear to depend on more than jump scares alone. Grief works as an emotional background, although at times the metaphor becomes too obvious.
Sound is another of the film's strongest weapons. Savage knows when to leave room for silence and when to introduce small noises that force you to look toward the edges of the frame. That kind of horror interests me far more than scares based solely on suddenly increasing the volume.
You can also feel that Stephen King's original story was much smaller and more ambiguous. The film has to expand it into a conventional feature, and with that expansion come many familiar elements of modern horror. Some of them work, but others make the film feel less distinctive.
I do not think it is a particularly original film, but it is fairly effective for much of its running time. There are moments when it manages to remind you why, as children, looking under the bed or leaving a door slightly open at night could be terrifying.
What stays with me is a very clear paradox: the less it shows, the better it works. The monster is frightening while it still belongs to our imagination. Once the film claims it and shows us too much, it stops being exactly our fear and becomes simply its own.
Rob Savage understands fairly well how to use darkness. There are moments when simply not knowing what we are looking at is enough to create fear. The film plays with bedrooms, hallways, domestic spaces and that childhood feeling that something may exist exactly where the light ends. That is where it connects best with the classic idea of the boogeyman.
The problem is that it does not completely trust that idea. Gradually, the film begins to provide more visual information about the threat and, paradoxically, the more clearly we understand what it looks like, the less frightening it becomes. Once imagination stops filling in the gaps and receives a concrete image, the nature of the fear changes. You are no longer wondering what might be there; you are looking at a design.
For me, that is the film's biggest missed opportunity. If it had been more radical and hidden the creature even further, it could have been much more frightening. No eyes, no silhouettes, no overly clear shadows: only sound, movement, reactions and empty spaces. The viewer's imagination would have done the rest, and it probably would have created something worse than any visual effect.
The film also works because Sophie Thatcher conveys vulnerability without turning her character into someone completely helpless. Chris Messina provides a more restrained presence, and the family dynamic allows the fear to depend on more than jump scares alone. Grief works as an emotional background, although at times the metaphor becomes too obvious.
Sound is another of the film's strongest weapons. Savage knows when to leave room for silence and when to introduce small noises that force you to look toward the edges of the frame. That kind of horror interests me far more than scares based solely on suddenly increasing the volume.
You can also feel that Stephen King's original story was much smaller and more ambiguous. The film has to expand it into a conventional feature, and with that expansion come many familiar elements of modern horror. Some of them work, but others make the film feel less distinctive.
I do not think it is a particularly original film, but it is fairly effective for much of its running time. There are moments when it manages to remind you why, as children, looking under the bed or leaving a door slightly open at night could be terrifying.
What stays with me is a very clear paradox: the less it shows, the better it works. The monster is frightening while it still belongs to our imagination. Once the film claims it and shows us too much, it stops being exactly our fear and becomes simply its own.
Mini Review: What I liked most was precisely what the film gradually uses less and less: uncertainty. As long as the threat remains hidden in the darkness, The Boogeyman is genuinely unsettling. A noise, a poorly lit corner, an open door or the feeling that something may be watching from outside the frame works much better than any fully defined creature. Rob Savage understands fairly well how to use darkness. There are moments when simply not knowing what...
Watch the Trailer