This movie is almost spellbinding in its atrociousness. The editing is incoherent and often bizarre (what is with all those cuts to black?), the horror elements are cheap and lazy (loud noises, jump scares, etc.), and the writing is...well, let's just say it isn't befitting a narrative that centers on a best-selling novelist (not that the protagonist's status as a writer functions as anything more than a plot contrivance). Everything about this movie screams hack job, the visuals excepted (not…

For me, 𝘓𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘦𝘨𝘴 is the logical endpoint of a certain strain of vibes-first cinema that substitutes aesthetic shorthand (in this case, formal, mannered framing and Pacific Northwest chilliness) for actual depth. How quickly we forget that the foundation of atmosphere is almost always 𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. And yet, despite this ostensible prioritization of vibes, the movie spends far too much time on its thinly-sketched procedural plot to function as a mood piece, suggesting genuine belief in the story being told.

Ideally,…