CAPSULE MOVIE REVIEWS: 7-10-26

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My Film Critic pants are quite fetching; they are on, pressed, and ironed. I'm ready to review four new movies in this week's capsule (short) movie reviews for Friday, July 1Oth, 2026.

1) EVIL DEAD BURN

It’s still remarkable to me that one scrappy little independent horror movie made by three young filmmakers outside Detroit with virtually no money has become one of the most influential horror franchises in cinema history.

Back in 1981, Sam Raimi, Rob Tapert, and Bruce Campbell unleashed The Evil Dead, and what began as a micro-budget labor of love eventually grew into one of the defining horror series of all time. Raimi, of course, went on to become one of our great filmmakers, directing everything from horror classics to blockbuster superhero movies, but he never abandoned the universe that put him on the map.

Forty-five years later, we're now six feature films and one terrific television series deep into the Evil Dead saga, and that's something that genuinely warms the heart of a lifelong horror fan like me.

If you've followed my work over the years (my radio shows, my podcast, my blog, or my book) you already know that horror is my favorite genre. It's the genre that started it all for me. I've loved The Evil Dead from the very beginning, and I think the original trilogy featuring Bruce Campbell's Ash Williams ranks among the greatest horror trilogies ever made.

Those movies somehow managed to combine supernatural terror, outrageous gore, Three Stooges-inspired slapstick, and one of the most iconic heroes in horror history. Ash was simultaneously a buffoon and a badass, a character who owed as much to Jerry Lewis as he did to classic movie monsters, and Raimi's unique blend of comedy and horror became completely unmistakable.

When the franchise returned in 2013 under director Fede Álvarez, it wisely went back to the tone of the original 1981 film rather than the increasingly comedic sequels. That reboot was relentless, brutal, terrifying, and astonishingly gory, anchored by Jane Levy's extraordinary performance as Mia, one of the finest female protagonists modern horror has produced.

Evil Dead Rise successfully expanded the mythology by moving the action from the familiar isolated cabin into a decaying apartment building, adding fresh ideas while maintaining the vicious intensity that audiences expected.

Now we have Evil Dead Burn, directed by Sébastien Vaniček, and while it's certainly made with skill and delivers everything fans expect on a technical level, it also feels like the first time this franchise is running out of fresh ideas.

The story centers on Alice, played by Souheila Yacoub, who arrives at the secluded home of her recently deceased abusive husband's family for what quickly becomes the family reunion from hell. Long-simmering resentment already exists between Alice and her in-laws, who blame her for their son's death while refusing to acknowledge the abuse that defined his marriage.

Meanwhile, Will's brother Joseph uncovers old research left behind by his grandfather (played in a photo cameo by a certain horror movie icon...you can probably figure out who it is) involving the Necronomicon, reel-to-reel recordings, and the familiar incantations that should never be spoken aloud.

Naturally, those words unleash the Kandarian demon, and before long family members begin transforming into Deadites, turning an already dysfunctional gathering into an all-out bloodbath.

On paper, there are actually some interesting themes here. The screenplay wants to explore generational abuse, toxic family dynamics, and the emotional scars left behind by domestic violence. That's fertile ground for horror.

The best horror films often use monsters as metaphors, and the idea that abuse infects entire families across generations could have made for a genuinely powerful Evil Dead story.

Unfortunately, those ideas remain almost entirely superficial. They exist largely as justification for the increasingly elaborate murder scenes rather than being explored with any real emotional depth. The movie gestures toward serious themes without ever earning them.

Instead, Evil Dead Burn becomes what the newer entries have increasingly become: a showcase for inventive gore. Now, if you're an Evil Dead fan, that's certainly part of the appeal. The practical makeup effects remain extraordinary. The blood flows by the gallon.

Household objects once again become instruments of astonishing carnage, and Vaniček proves himself every bit as technically capable as his previous film, Infested, suggested.

There are memorable kills involving kitchen appliances, electric stair lifts, weed trimmers, dentures, electric carving knives, jackhammers, grilling skewers, radiators, pens, scissors, and just about every dangerous object you could imagine finding inside an ordinary home.

Fans looking for outrageous practical gore are absolutely going to get their money's worth.

There are also several sequences that demonstrate Vaniček's considerable visual talent.

The extended opening involving two fishermen on a lake is exceptionally well staged, even if it has virtually nothing to do with the rest of the movie. Likewise, an early car crash sequence is genuinely tense and beautifully executed. Best of all is an extraordinary extended tracking shot in which Alice crawls through the house while absolute chaos unfolds behind her.

The camera steadily retreats as she struggles toward safety, while Deadites attack, walls explode, bodies fly across rooms, and blood sprays through nearly every inch of the background. It's a wonderfully choreographed piece of filmmaking and easily the film's standout sequence.

Unfortunately, those isolated highlights can't disguise the film's biggest problems. At nearly two hours, Evil Dead Burn is by far the longest entry in the franchise, and it feels every bit of that running time. The series has always thrived on relentless momentum, but this installment often mistakes repetition for escalation.

The movie recycles not only ideas and kills from the previous two films, but sometimes repeats variations of the same gag within its own running time. Instead of constantly surprising the audience, it begins feeling oddly familiar.

The performances are solid across the board, even if the screenplay doesn't give the cast much to work with. Hunter Doohan does fine as Joseph, although I have to admit I spent an embarrassing amount of time thinking about how strikingly he resembles the late Anton Yelchin. The resemblance is so uncanny that it became oddly distracting during several scenes.

Tandi Wright and Erroll Shand throw themselves enthusiastically into the increasingly unhinged family dynamics, while Maude Davey gets some creepy moments as the dementia-stricken grandmother whose condition becomes especially unsettling once the Deadites arrive.

The film ultimately belongs to Souheila Yacoub, who once again proves what a compelling screen presence she is. She was terrific in Dune: Part Two, and she brings that same emotional commitment here. As absurd as this movie becomes (and believe me, it becomes gloriously absurd) Yacoub somehow manages to ground Alice in genuine human emotion.

She sells the grief, the trauma, the terror, and eventually the sheer physical exhaustion of surviving what amounts to two hours of nonstop carnage. Without her performance, the movie would collapse under the weight of its own excess.

My biggest issue is that Evil Dead Burn eventually becomes numbing. The violence is expertly staged, the practical effects are first-rate, and the technical craftsmanship is impressive throughout, but I simply stopped caring about the characters. The emotional stakes never match the outrageous spectacle.

There is also one sequence involving a dog that I found genuinely unpleasant. Horror can absolutely be disturbing (that's part of its job) but this particular scene crosses into territory that feels more mean-spirited than entertaining.

Likewise, the film's treatment of domestic abuse occasionally feels exploitative, using serious trauma primarily as fuel for increasingly elaborate gore rather than engaging with it in any meaningful way.

As a horror fan, and especially as an Evil Dead fan, I still found plenty to admire here.

Vaniček knows how to stage violence, he understands visual storytelling, and there are individual moments that absolutely deliver the kind of over-the-top insanity this franchise promises.

But as a complete movie, Evil Dead Burn is the weakest installment in the series. It's technically accomplished, impressively gruesome, and anchored by an excellent lead performance, yet it's also overlong, emotionally thin, and overly dependent on formulas that once felt fresh but now feel increasingly recycled.

If you're devoted to the Evil Dead universe (as I certainly am) you'll probably have a good time with it despite its flaws. Just don't expect it to stand alongside the franchise's very best.

It keeps one of horror's greatest series alive, but it doesn't quite breathe much new life into it. - ⭐️⭐️1/2

2) MOANA

There are few trends in modern Hollywood that frustrate me more than Disney's relentless obsession with remaking its animated classics as live-action features. It is one of the most transparent examples of corporate filmmaking imaginable. These movies exist for one reason: to squeeze every possible dollar out of intellectual property that has already proven enormously successful.

They recycle beloved classics, slap on a live-action label, update a few visual effects, throw in a new song or two for awards consideration, and send audiences back to theaters to buy the same movie all over again. It has become one of the defining (and most depressing) studio trends of the last fifteen years.

It started with films like Cinderella and The Jungle Book, continued through Beauty and the Beast, Dumbo, Aladdin, The Lion King, Mulan, The Little Mermaid, Snow White, Lilo & Stitch, and now Moana. A couple of those movies have some merit (Jon Favreau's The Jungle Book is genuinely well made) but most of them range from unnecessary to completely cynical.

Other studios have now jumped on the bandwagon as well. DreamWorks recently gave us a live-action How to Train Your Dragon, another remake that perfectly illustrated just how creatively bankrupt this trend has become. As long as these movies continue making money, the studios aren't going to stop. That doesn't make them any less frustrating.

The original animated Moana from 2016 was one of Disney's best films of the last decade. It featured memorable characters, good songs, beautiful animation, and genuine heart. It told the story of a young Polynesian girl who defies her father's wishes, ventures beyond the reef, teams with the demigod Maui, and restores the heart of Te Fiti to save her people.

It worked because of its emotional sincerity, its remarkable visuals, and a wonderful vocal performance by Dwayne Johnson as Maui, a role he has often said is one of his personal favorites.

The new live-action version follows that exact same blueprint. Catherine Laga'aia makes an appealing debut as Moana, Dwayne Johnson reprises Maui, and nearly every significant story beat from the animated film is recreated almost scene for scene.

Moana answers the ocean's call, leaves Motunui, finds Maui, battles Tamatoa, confronts Te Kā, discovers the true identity of the lava monster, restores Te Fiti, and returns home as her people's wayfinder. If you've seen the animated film (and millions of people have) you already know virtually every moment of this movie before it happens.

There are a few cosmetic changes. The musical arrangements have been altered to give several songs a more Broadway-style energy, there are a couple of new songs mixed into the soundtrack, and the live-action setting naturally changes the visual presentation. But those adjustments are superficial.

Screenwriter Jared Bush returns from the original, joined by Dana Ledoux Miller, and the screenplay rarely strays from the animated version. Rather than reimagining the material or discovering something new within it, the filmmakers simply recreate what already worked ten years ago.

That's ultimately the movie's biggest problem. There isn't a single compelling artistic reason for this remake to exist.

I will say that Catherine Laga'aia acquits herself very well. She has a warm screen presence, tremendous sincerity, and enough charisma to make you believe she could have carried an original adventure of her own.

Unfortunately, she's trapped inside a production whose entire creative mission is imitation. None of that is her fault. She gives the role everything she has, and she's easily the best thing about the movie.

The supporting cast is also well chosen. It's refreshing to see Disney casting actors whose heritage authentically reflects the Polynesian culture being represented, and performers like John Tui, Frankie Adams, and Rena Owen bring dignity and credibility to their roles. Jemaine Clement slips comfortably back into Tamatoa's voice work, and it's always fun hearing him again.

Those casting decisions feel thoughtful and respectful, even if the screenplay gives them very little opportunity to create anything that wasn't already accomplished in animated form.

Dwayne Johnson, however, doesn't fare nearly as well this time around. His vocal performance in the animated film had an effortless charm that simply doesn't translate into live action.

The physical appearance of Maui (with the distracting wig, heavy makeup, digital touch-ups, and oversized visual effects) often becomes unintentionally awkward. Instead of seeing Maui, I frequently found myself watching Dwayne Johnson buried beneath layers of production design trying to recreate an animated character that was never meant to exist in the real world.

Watching Moana often feels like watching a very expensive tribute act. Every familiar moment arrives exactly when expected. Every emotional beat has already landed more effectively in the original. Every song reminds you how much more vibrant it sounded in animated form.

Rather than becoming absorbed in the story, I spent most of the running time thinking, "I've already seen this...and I've already seen a better version."

That's what makes the whole enterprise feel so cynical. This isn't about introducing Moana to a new generation. The original remains readily available and continues to delight audiences. This isn't about improving the story, expanding the mythology, or offering a fresh perspective.

It's about recycling a beloved property because Disney knows audiences have an emotional attachment to it. Throw in a couple of new songs that might qualify for awards consideration, market it as a major summer event, and hope families buy another ticket.

Technically, the film is polished. It cost an enormous amount of money, and that money is certainly visible on the screen. The visual effects are elaborate, the production values are first-rate, and director Thomas Kail stages the musical numbers competently enough. But technical competence cannot compensate for creative redundancy. No matter how expensive the package may be, it never escapes the shadow of the vastly superior animated original.

I walked out of the theater feeling exactly the way I have after so many of Disney's live-action remakes: disappointed that so much talent and so much money were devoted to recreating something that already existed instead of making something new. That's perhaps the greatest tragedy of all.

Catherine Laga'aia deserves an original star-making vehicle. The talented supporting cast deserved fresh material. Audiences deserve something more than a shot-for-shot recreation of a modern animated classic.

If you've never seen the original Moana, watch that instead. If you have seen it, there is absolutely no reason to spend your time with this version. It adds virtually nothing, diminishes quite a bit, and stands as yet another example of Hollywood confusing nostalgia with creativity.

For me, Moana (2026) isn't just one of the weakest Disney live-action remakes, and it's one of the year's biggest disappointments. - ⭐️1/2

3) GAIL DAUGHTRY AND THE CELEBRITY SEX PASS

It's hard to believe that it's been more than thirty years since The State premiered on MTV. Back in 1993, that remarkable sketch comedy series introduced audiences to one of the funniest collections of comedic performers to come out of New York in decades.

David Wain, Ken Marino, Michael Ian Black, Thomas Lennon, Kerri Kenney-Silver, Joe Lo Truglio, Michael Patrick Jann, and the rest of the troupe created a show that developed a fiercely loyal cult following, and deservedly so.

Their comedy was fearless, wonderfully strange, packed with obscure pop culture references, bizarre characters, surreal situations, and a willingness to push every ridiculous idea as far as it could possibly go. It wasn't subtle, it wasn't mainstream, and it certainly wasn't for everyone. I absolutely loved it.

I've continued to follow the careers of those performers ever since, and David Wain has become one of my favorite comedy filmmakers. Whether he's directing Wet Hot American Summer, The Ten, Wanderlust, or the terrific Role Models, his movies all share a very distinctive comic sensibility.

They're shamelessly absurd, densely packed with jokes, loaded with visual gags and strange asides, and populated by characters who behave as though they're living in an entirely different universe than everyone around them.

Wain's films don't simply tell jokes, they create entire worlds where the absurd becomes perfectly logical, and if you're willing to buy into that wavelength, the rewards can be enormous.

That's why I walked into Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass with a certain amount of optimism. Wain directed the film and co-wrote it with Ken Marino, who also appears in the movie, so I knew exactly the kind of comedy I was signing up for.

I laughed consistently from beginning to end, and by the time the credits rolled I found myself thinking that this was one of the funniest studio comedies I've seen in quite a while.

The premise is wonderfully ridiculous in exactly the way a David Wain comedy should be. Gail Daughtry, played by Zoey Deutch, is a small-town Kansas hairdresser whose seemingly harmless conversation with her fiancé about celebrity "hall passes" goes spectacularly wrong when he actually follows through and sleeps with Jennifer Aniston after meeting her at a book signing.

Gail is understandably devastated, and after consulting a delightfully eccentric psychic, becomes convinced that the only way to restore balance to the universe is to use her own celebrity pass by tracking down Jon Hamm and sleeping with him.

Accompanied by her best friend and fellow hairstylist Otto, she heads to Los Angeles, where a simple romantic quest quickly spirals into an increasingly bizarre adventure involving talent agencies, celebrity mansions, paparazzi, gangsters, mistaken briefcases, Hollywood satire, and enough celebrity cameos to fill an awards show.

One of the smartest things Wain and Marino do is structure the entire story as an affectionate parody of The Wizard of Oz. Gail essentially becomes Dorothy, Otto serves as her first traveling companion, and as they make their way through Hollywood they gradually assemble a collection of eccentric allies who clearly mirror the Scarecrow, Tin Man, and Cowardly Lion.

Hollywood itself becomes the Emerald City, which is a glittering fantasy world filled with celebrities, agents, paparazzi, dreamers, opportunists, and people desperately trying to get close to fame. It's a terrific framework for satire because it allows Wain to poke fun at both Hollywood mythology and the bizarre culture of celebrity worship that surrounds it.

That satire is really what gives the movie its bite. Beneath all of the outrageous situations and escalating absurdity is a sharp commentary about the way people idolize celebrities and convince themselves that proximity to fame somehow validates their own lives.

Every character in the movie wants something from Jon Hamm, whether it's sex, a photograph, a career opportunity, or simply the satisfaction of finally meeting him. The joke isn't really on Jon Hamm at all, it's on everyone who projects impossible fantasies onto famous people. Wain and Marino understand that Hollywood is already absurd enough that it barely needs exaggeration.

What makes the film work so well is that absolutely everyone involved commits to the insanity without reservation. Nobody tries to ground the material or apologize for how ridiculous it becomes. The actors all exist in exactly the same comic universe, where the craziest idea in the room is usually the correct one.

The script bombards the audience with visual gags, callbacks, terrible puns, obscure television references, movie homages, celebrity cameos, throwaway dialogue, and running jokes that often pay off much later than you expect.

Not every joke lands, but that's always been part of David Wain's style. His comedies don't rely on perfection; they rely on momentum. If one joke misses, another three are arriving before you've even had time to think about it.

Zoey Deutch is absolutely terrific in the lead role. She has quietly become one of the most reliable comic actresses working today, while also proving herself capable of serious dramatic work. Whether she's appearing in broad comedies, independent dramas, or animated films, she always seems completely comfortable adjusting her performance to whatever tone the material requires.

Miles Gutierrez-Riley continues to prove that he's an exceptional comic actor as Otto, Gail's loyal friend and traveling companion. After making such a memorable impression in Smile 2, he demonstrates remarkable comic timing here, playing Otto with genuine warmth while embracing every ounce of the film's escalating absurdity.

Ben Wang is hilarious as Caleb, the ambitious young talent agent whose efforts to help Gail derail his own career. Wang has terrific instincts for comedy, particularly in scenes where Caleb desperately tries to negotiate impossible situations while maintaining the confidence of someone convinced he's destined for greatness, despite still living at home with mommy.

Ken Marino reminds everyone why he's been one of the funniest performers from The State since the very beginning. His paparazzo Vincent, whose life's ambition is simply to photograph Jon Hamm, is simultaneously pathetic, lovable, and consistently hilarious.

John Slattery may actually steal the movie by playing a wildly exaggerated version of himself, complete with years of unanswered text messages to Hamm and an unexpectedly obsessive commitment to martial arts. Watching Slattery mercilessly lampoon his own career and public image becomes one of the film's greatest recurring pleasures.

The supporting cast is filled with exactly the kind of performers you'd hope to find in a David Wain comedy. Joe Lo Truglio and Mather Zickel are wonderfully incompetent mob enforcers. Sabrina Impacciatore has an absolute blast chewing the scenery as Ludovica, essentially serving as this movie's Wicked Witch.

Thomas Lennon, Michael Ian Black, Richard Kind, Kerri Kenney-Silver, Fred Melamed, and a seemingly endless parade of familiar comic faces appear throughout the film, while the celebrity cameos are handled with exactly the right amount of self-awareness.

Jon Hamm deserves particular credit for completely embracing the joke. He has become one of those actors who seems genuinely comfortable making fun of his own image, and his willingness to play an exaggerated version of himself gives the final act much of its comic energy.

One of the qualities I've always admired about David Wain's work is his complete lack of interest in making his comedy more accessible. His movies occupy their own peculiar comic universe, and audiences are invited either to come along or stay behind.

Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass continues that tradition by gleefully mixing the wide-eyed innocence of The Wizard of Oz with profanity, graphic violence, outrageous sexual humor, and hard-R absurdity.

Many of the characters behave as though they're starring in a wholesome Disney fantasy while the dialogue is filled with F-bombs, bloodshed, explicit jokes, and complete lunacy.

That collision of innocence and vulgarity becomes one of the movie's richest comic veins, and Wain mines it beautifully from beginning to end.

The film also succeeds as a satire of Hollywood itself. Wain never loses sight of the fact that Hollywood is a town built on illusion, and nearly every major sequence pokes fun at the machinery that manufactures celebrity while simultaneously feeding the public's endless appetite for it.

I understand why some viewers won't respond to this movie. David Wain has always been a very specific comedic taste, and his films rarely chase mainstream approval. But if you've loved his work dating back to The State, or if you've laughed your way through Wet Hot American Summer, Role Models, and the wonderfully strange projects he's continued to make over the years, this film delivers exactly the kind of fearless, unapologetically goofy comedy you've come to expect.

I laughed throughout the entire movie. The performances are terrific, the jokes come at an almost exhausting pace, the celebrity cameos are inspired, and beneath all the glorious silliness is a surprisingly sharp satire of Hollywood, fame, and our culture's endless obsession with celebrity.

It may not convert viewers who have never appreciated David Wain's singular comedic style, but for those of us who have been fans ever since The State first appeared, Gail Daughtry and the Celebrity Sex Pass is a deliriously funny reminder that nobody makes quite this kind of comedy better than David Wain. - ⭐️⭐️⭐️1/2

4) NIGHT NURSE

There was a time, particularly during the late '80s and throughout the '90s, when the erotic thriller ruled multiplexes and late-night cable. These movies were everywhere. Some were terrific, some were trashy, many were both, and they launched careers while giving audiences an endless supply of overheated psychosexual melodrama.

Basic Instinct, Body of Evidence, Sliver, Color of Night, The Last Seduction, for a while this genre had a real cultural presence. Night Nurse, the feature debut from writer-director Georgia Bernstein, is an unabashed attempt to bring that style back, and from its opening moments it's obvious that Bernstein has a genuine affection for those films.

The movie opens with one of its strongest sequences: an elegant tracking shot following the twists and turns of a coiled telephone cord while unsettling voices carry on a mysterious conversation over the opening credits. It's a clever visual hook that immediately establishes both the film's obsession with communication and manipulation and its desire to recreate the mood of those old-school erotic thrillers.

Bernstein never hides her influences, and in those first few minutes it feels like she's about to deliver an intriguing throwback.

The story follows Eleni, played by Cemre Paksoy, a newly hired overnight nurse at an upscale retirement community in Chicago. She soon finds herself assigned to Douglas, an aging resident whose flirtatious behavior masks a much darker secret. Douglas is running an elaborate phone scam from his room, preying on vulnerable people and stealing enormous sums of money through emotional manipulation.

Rather than exposing him, Eleni becomes fascinated by both the man and the thrill of the deception. Their relationship evolves into something that is equal parts criminal partnership, psychological dependency, and twisted erotic obsession, all while the facility's staff and local authorities slowly begin closing in.

One of the film's undeniable strengths is how much it accomplishes with a very modest budget. Shot here in Chicago with a largely local cast and crew, Night Nurse consistently looks more expensive than it actually is. Bernstein and her cinematographer make smart use of confined locations, careful framing, and atmospheric lighting to create the illusion of a much larger production.

There are scenes that feel surprisingly expansive despite involving only a handful of actors in relatively small spaces, and those economical filmmaking choices deserve real credit. Independent filmmaking often succeeds through ingenuity rather than money, and there are several moments here that demonstrate exactly that.

The problem is that almost every interesting idea in Night Nurse feels borrowed from a better movie. The obvious inspiration is the wave of '90s erotic thrillers, but Bernstein also reaches for the dreamlike psychological ambiguity of David Lynch, the unsettling body-and-sex dynamics of David Cronenberg, and the dominant-submissive emotional games of Steven Shainberg's Secretary.

None of those are bad influences to have, but the film never quite transforms them into something uniquely its own. Instead, it often feels like an ambitious collection of cinematic references searching for its own identity.

That becomes especially apparent during the increasingly surreal middle section, where Douglas, Eleni, and the other nurses drift into bizarre parties, drug use, criminal collaboration, and increasingly blurred psychological territory. Bernstein clearly wants the audience questioning what is real and what exists only inside the characters' fractured minds.

The problem is that her visual language never clearly distinguishes those different realities. David Lynch can make dreams feel hypnotic because every stylistic choice pulls you into that alternate reality. Here, the surreal sequences simply feel flat. Rather than becoming mysterious or unsettling, they often become confusing and dramatically inert.

The performances are similarly uneven. Bruce McKenzie never quite makes Douglas as fascinating or sinister as the screenplay requires. The character is supposed to be irresistibly manipulative, but McKenzie mostly comes across as stiff, even when the script calls for menace or seduction.

I will admit, however, that he may have had the most comfortable wardrobe of any actor this year. Douglas spends virtually the entire movie wearing different sets of pajamas (even during scenes outside the retirement facility) and I found myself noticing his collection of sleepwear almost as often as I was paying attention to the plot.

Eleonore Hendricks brings some welcome complexity to Mona, the daytime nurse whose relationship with Eleni and Douglas grows increasingly uncomfortable and emotionally tangled. Unfortunately, the film never fully develops her character, leaving Hendricks stranded with material that hints at much greater psychological depth than the screenplay ultimately provides.

Mimi Rogers, meanwhile, is a welcome presence as the facility's administrator. Her casting is particularly inspired because she herself appeared in several memorable thrillers during the genre's heyday, making her appearance here feel like a quiet wink to audiences familiar with those films. Even in a relatively small supporting role, Rogers lends the movie a professionalism and dignity that elevate every scene she's in.

The biggest reason to see Night Nurse is Cemre Paksoy. She gives, by far, the strongest performance in the film, finding emotional complexity where the screenplay often doesn't provide it. She has an unusually expressive face, and Bernstein wisely allows the camera to linger on her during long stretches without dialogue.

Paksoy communicates confusion, fascination, fear, guilt, and desire through subtle shifts in expression that make Eleni considerably more interesting than the material surrounding her. In many ways, she's carrying the entire film on her shoulders.

In fact, the movie's final shot beautifully demonstrates exactly why her performance works. Bernstein simply allows the camera to rest on Paksoy's face, and everything Eleni has experienced throughout the story quietly plays across her expression.

It's a haunting, beautifully judged ending that recalls the confidence of the opening credits. Ironically, the film's two strongest moments are its first few minutes and its final image. Everything in between struggles to live up to either of them.

Ultimately, Night Nurse feels exactly like what it is: a first feature from a filmmaker with obvious talent, strong cinematic influences, and genuine ambition, but one who hasn't quite found her own voice yet.

I admire the craftsmanship that disguises the film's tiny budget, I appreciate the affectionate nods to an almost extinct genre, and I enjoyed seeing Chicago used so effectively as a backdrop. But admiration isn't the same thing as recommendation.

The movie never becomes as erotic, suspenseful, dreamlike, or psychologically compelling as it clearly wants to be. It's an interesting debut with flashes of promise, anchored by an excellent central performance from Cemre Paksoy, but in the end it remains more derivative than distinctive.

I can't quite recommend Night Nurse, although I'll certainly be curious to see what Georgia Bernstein does next. - ⭐️⭐️

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