The carnival is in town, but the town is crumbling; this is Depression era America, and nobody has much to spare. Despite these bleak times, the carnival’s main attraction never fails to draw a crowd: legendary Mr. Tibbs, who cuts off his own fingers with scissors in broad daylight. Eve, a singer at the carnival, is mesmerised by his bloody act; he later reveals to her that he has made a pact with the devil, which is how he’s able to achieve this gruesome magic. Upon revealing this secret, he warns Eve “not to get any ideas”, but a seed has been planted. As the carnival uproots, Eve takes to the highway with her parents - fellow sideshow performers Seven and Maggie - and together, emboldened by their newfound satanic magic, the three of them commit atrocious acts of violence. Their carnage reaches its climax as their journey ends at the notorious Buffalo Horror Show. But has their descent into darkness taken them beyond the point of no return?  The Adams Family (THE DEEPER YOU DIG, HELLBENDER) return – both in front of the camera, and behind it – with this fascinating Depression era horror. The bleak, lawless landscape the family tear through has been warped by trauma and greed, the consequences of which are reflected in Maggie’s brutality and Seven’s disturbing nightmares (which hint at the character’s military history). Laden with blood and body horror, greasepaint and gore, WHERE THE DEVIL ROAMS is a nihilistic hell ride of grim carnival carnage, where a forgotten community of society’s rejects await behind the curtain.

Monique has been extremely careful throughout the Covid-19 pandemic. She’s been quarantining with her father and brother, wiping down groceries and diligently wearing her mask. One day, she receives an unexpected call from her old friend Mavis (Laura Heisler), who has been suffering from intense nightmares and is in desperate need of help. Mo makes the difficult decision to break the bubble that she and her family have created, and goes to see Mavis in the city. However, when she reaches Mavis, Mo is shocked to discover just how frightening the situation is. Not only are these nightmares beyond terrifying, but Mavis is struggling to wake up from them, and can lose days at a time. As Mo sets about trying to ease Mavis’ suffering, it slowly becomes apparent that something is causing these terrible dreams: a sinister demonic presence that feeds on isolation and fear. And much to Mo’s horror, it’s not just Covid that’s highly contagious. Writer-director Andy Mitton delivers a quietly devastating and compassionate portrayal of loneliness with THE HARBINGER; a nightmarish world where the line between dreams and reality is insidiously blurred, in which two people attempt to connect with and support each other throughout a devastating global event. The film utilises the theme of the pandemic in a uniquely unsettling way, as if fuelled by our collective trauma. Folkloric imagery of historical epidemics is represented with the disturbing plague doctor, and moments we have all recently experienced - such as the excruciating awkwardness of asking permission to remove a mask or to hug somebody - are incredibly well observed, bringing a strong sense of realism and humanity to this chilling supernatural tale.

Levi has temporarily rented an apartment in the Hollywood Hills while he ties up loose ends in preparation to leave LA. He quickly strikes up a rapport with his new neighbour John, and the two begin swapping stories and cracking jokes like old friends. One day, Levi and John witness an extraordinary occurrence in one of their apartments; an inexplicable event which seemingly points towards the existence of the supernatural. After their initial fear has subsided, the pair realise that this discovery could transform their lives, and even bring about fame and fortune. They set about trying to capture evidence of their miracle, meticulously tracking and documenting it, and as their project progresses, the pair begin to tumble down a rabbit hole. With their grip on reality loosening, Levi and John start to uncover the unforeseen dangers of both the mysterious phenomena and their newfound friendship.  Genre legends Moorhead & Benson return with SOMETHING IN THE DIRT, an emotionally intelligent and unsettling sci-fi drama, ripe with dark humour and mind-bending plot twists. As we follow the characters on their quest, contemplating conspiracy theories, cults, time travel and extra-terrestrial life along the way, what emerges is a poignant portrait of loneliness and friendship, and a yearning to believe. In a chaotic world filled with random occurrences, the film explores our preoccupation with searching for meaning; the irresistible urge to place coincidence on a pedestal, so that we may find purpose and hope in the minutiae of life.

Ex-actor Julia moves from New York to Bucharest when her husband Francis receives a major promotion at work. Unlike Francis, Julia doesn’t speak the language, and with little to fill her days (other than learning how to order a coffee in Romanian), feelings of loneliness and isolation quickly set in. One night, as Julia aimlessly wanders around the new apartment, she notices a silhouette watching her from the apartment building across the street. Soon afterwards, she becomes aware of a strange man who seems to appear wherever she goes. Unsettled by his constant presence, and anxious following recent criminal activity in the city (a potential serial killer is on the loose, targeting women her age), Julia seeks help from Francis and the local authorities, but is met with doubtful and even accusatory reactions. Increasingly desperate and fearful for her safety, Julia sets out to confront the stranger, but an important question arises from her actions: who is the watcher, and who is being watched? Chloe Okuno's WATCHER is an atmospheric and moody slow burn experience laden with dread; a meticulous Hitchcockian thriller which explores the ways that women are ignored when they speak about a dangerous man. Via striking central performance from Maika Monroe, we experience Julia’s growing unease, disorientation (the film does not use subtitles), and uniquely female paranoia, while the voyeuristic cinematography heightens our suspense and discomfort. The horror that stems from Julia’s experience resounds with a disquieting pertinence, which brings emotional weight and depth to this highly accomplished feature debut.

Siblings Martha and Felix live together in their vast Gothic manor, but their lives couldn’t be more different. The timid Martha works nights as a janitor at a factory; a quietly focused existence, interrupted by occasional visits from a social worker. Felix, on the other hand, has dedicated himself to following in the bloody footsteps of their father – Belgium’s serial killer ‘Butcher of Mons’ – kidnapping and brutally murdering innocent women. Their strange co-existence is transformed after Martha suffers a series of horrific assaults at work, and the siblings’ lives begin to converge in a deeply sinister way. Unable to face her abuser, Martha leans into her brother’s violent world, holding a woman hostage in their home and subjecting her to horrific treatment, while Felix provides care for his sister in the only way he knows how: killing for her. As unspeakable horrors unfold, the siblings at last discover (and find comfort in) the concept of family – a concept that has been twisted and distorted beyond all recognition.  MEGALOMANIC is inspired by Belgium’s real-life Butcher of Mons, but there is something far darker to be discovered here than a story about a serial killer. Audience sympathies are cruelly toyed with as the vulnerable Martha is portrayed as victim and executioner, with both facets brought to life via Schumacher’s haunting and complex performance. Director Karim Ouelhaj crafts a suffocating and nihilistic atmosphere with MEGALOMANIC, visually enhanced by the bold Gothic set design. The film blends elements of extreme horror, the supernatural, grotesque fantasy and harrowing reality, until it reaches its horrifying conclusion.

Valeria and Raul have their hopes set on becoming parents; so much so that they pay a visit to a huge monument of the Virgin Mary to ask for help. Eventually, their wish is granted, but cracks quickly start to form as Valeria feels the growing pressure of impending motherhood. Her toxic family continually remind her that she is lacking a maternal instinct, having once dropped her sister’s child down some stairs while babysitting, and she finds it hard to reconcile her former self – a fiery and rebellious punk musician – with her idea of what a perfect mother should look like. As Valeria’s stress intensifies, she begins having visions of a malevolent creature, which descends into reality to torment her, setting fire to the cot that Valeria has been making and haunting her with nightmarish apparitions. In her desperation, Valeria seeks to have her spirit cleansed, but her salvation may actually lie in the life she left behind. A searing, nightmarish feminist horror that explores weighty themes of maternal anxiety, identity and guilt, HUESERA blends dark symbolism and folk horror mythology as the relationship between pregnant bodies, loss of bodily autonomy, and demonic forces is examined. Supernatural horror elements inject tension into an already unsettling premise via superbly crafted scares, alongside disturbing moments of body horror. The richly developed character of Valeria adds another dimension to this impressive feature debut, and as she navigates pregnancy while grappling with her own perceptions of domesticity and motherhood, we must confront society’s cruelly unrealistic expectations of women.

Teenager Char (Hazel Doupe) has more than her fair share of struggles. She’s regularly picked on by bullies, and her home life is far from happy; she’s cared for by her grandmother and uncle, as her mother Angela (Carolyn Bracken) is bedridden. One morning, Char is forced to ask her mother for a lift to school – consequently, her mother does not return from this outing. The following evening she shows up at the house with no explanation – from there, the family start to notice changes in Angela’s behaviour, which become increasingly alarming as time passes. Char’s grandmother Rita has her own beliefs about what is happening to Angela, which are based on ancient mythology and dark folklore, but it is not until the culmination of events on Halloween night when Char finally accepts the devastating reality of the situation: she is the only one who can save her mother, even if it means potentially losing her forever. Writer-director Kate Dolan’s YOU ARE NOT MY MOTHER is a quietly devastating and intimate portrayal of a fractured family unit attempting to support each other through mental illness. Supernatural horror elements are sensitively integrated into the narrative, injecting tension into an already unsettling premise via superbly crafted scares, while the North Dublin housing estate in the cool autumn provides an atmospheric and gritty backdrop for the exploration of these weighty themes. The startling vulnerability of the characters adds another dimension to this impressive feature debut, and as Char grapples with simultaneous feelings of fear and love towards her mother, we as an audience are simultaneously haunted and moved.

Maria (Noomi Rapace) and Ingvar (Hilmir Snær Guðnason) are a sheep-farming couple living and working in rural Iceland. Together, they perform their daily domestic tasks on the farm quietly and methodically, as they silently grieve unspoken loss in their past. However, one day their routine is disrupted by an alarming discovery in their sheep barn. Unsettling as the new arrival may be, it also presents the couple with a second chance at happiness – a chance which Maria is unwilling to pass up. As the couple resolutely set about shaping their new lives as a family, a sinister presence is approaching, and soon Maria and Ingvar will be forced to face the devastating consequences for defying the will of nature. Valdimar Johannsson's feature debut is a disquieting combination of icy slow-burn drama, absurdist humour, and disturbing folkloric genre elements. The disorienting near-constant daylight of lambing season in Iceland creates troubling visual contrasts, while providing a stark, eerie backdrop for the horror that unfolds; from the stillness of the empty mountains beyond the farm, to the rolling grey fog which drifts in and out of frame, these elements combine to build an ominous sense of dread, hinting at an unseen presence which lurks within the landscape. An original take on nature vs nurture and parental anxiety, LAMB is an auditory and visual nightmare which resides deep in the queasy and harrowing discomfort of the uncanny valley.

Teenager Izzy (Zelda Adams) and her mother (Toby Poser) live an idyllic lifestyle in their secluded woodland home. Their days are spent exploring and foraging in the lush greenery that surrounds them, creating art, and playing music together in their rock band, Hellbender. Trips into town are rarely required, but when they are, Izzy is not allowed to tag along; for her own protection, her mother forbids her from venturing further than their land. However, one afternoon Izzy finds herself on the outskirts of a neighbouring property, face to face with the alluringly enigmatic Amber. As the two become friends, Izzy’s confidence grows, as does her curiosity. Izzy’s brush with the modern world is about to change her life forever, as she quickly discovers dark secrets of her lineage, and the true nature of the power within her. Contrasting a contemporary setting and music video aesthetics with centuries-old folkloric practices and black magic, HELLBENDER is a thrilling mix of demonic mythology, angst-imbued rock music, and a bold visual style. Weighty themes of motherhood and coming-of-age independence are beautifully woven into the narrative; mother and daughter fight to reconcile their shifting dynamic with their unique bond as outcasts facing the world together. With shades of Julia Ducournau’s Raw and Brian De Palma’s Carrie, this fiercely presented folk horror fable is enchanting and horrifying in equal measure.

Screamfest has been one of my favourite seasonal treats for many years. Alongside its scares, the event boasts an enticing array of spooky sideshow thrills, including rides, horror movie music, and live entertainment; truly a one stop shop for a night of Halloween fun. The attractions this year largely didn’t disappoint – in particular, Freak Out’s facelift was a delight to behold, and I commend the scareactors in the briefing room who were able to improv their way through an ill-timed batching hiccup, winning us over with their humour and energy. The rancid sewage works beneath the Diced Heart pub once again set the stage for a stomach-wrenching sensory attack in Love Hurts, and Creed Farm delivered a superb mix of humour, theatrical setpieces and jump scares nestled in the dark, weaving paths of the corn field. Disarray in Hillbilly Joe’s Zombee Zoo left us in the dark – quite literally – as we ambled through empty scenes & missed effects, possibly as a result of batching and group size issues. The real curveball this year was Le Theatre Noir - a beautifully written piece of horror storytelling with thrilling sound design, which, despite certain shortcomings, I appreciated for its fresh & ambitious change of pace.

In 2014, I attended an immersive horror night at Theatre Deli in Sheffield called Horror Souk. Among the shows that evening, a piece called The Unit was a standout. It featured a tour of a creepy abandoned retail space, making perfect use of the location. All these years later, Deli has relocated from an old Woolworths building to an old Mothercare building – the ideal space to reimagine the show for 2021. Hip Hop Horror Night, partially named for its unique integration of modern dance routines, was a chilling mix of traditional scare tactics and immersive performance art. The show’s layout and use of the different spaces helped to blur the line between fantasy and reality, aided by unsettling lighting, sound, and practical effects. A set of astonishing performances delivered a combination of humorous storytelling, visceral drama, audience intimidation, and slick synchronization of physical movement. Moments of shock and horror were tied together by an overarching narrative, which got progressively darker as the show went on. And best of all – forget chainsaws – I can honestly say I’ve never been chased out of an experience with actual fire. Pure unconventionality, and a great way to see out the scare season.

February, 2020. I was sprawled out on a hotel bed in Walt Disney World, idly perusing the news channels on the large TV in front of me. The style of American news reporting has always amused me; there seems to be a penchant for catastrophising, sensationalising, and inciting panic. Earlier that morning, they had reported on a bin that had blown over into the the road. What was the impact of this monumental event, you might ask. Well, people were late for essential appointments. There was chaos and disruption on the road. Days – nay, lives – were ruined. So when they began reporting on a mysterious virus that was starting to spread, I readied myself for the inevitable deluge of melodrama and exaggeration. A killer virus! The world will be in lockdown within weeks! Infections and deaths are coming, on an enormous scale! Sure. I hit the power button on the remote, and headed out to the Magic Kingdom without a care in the world. The sobering reality arrived all too quickly. In the months that followed, the pandemic brought about an exhausting combination of devastating losses, major life changes, and a collective state of anxiety. Like many, I watched the moving parts of my life rearrange themselves and eventually settle into a new routine. However, an area of my life that remained completely untouched by the pandemic was watching screeners and submissions for Celluloid Screams. Programming during the pandemic did present many challenges, chief among which was the ever-present possibility of having to pull the plug on our event entirely. But in terms of actually doing the work, there was no disruption. Simply put: when I’m watching the films, I’m sat alone in a room in front of a screen, pandemic or no pandemic. If anything, Covid-19 arguably presented one or two advantages to this routine. For example, getting in a few submissions before or immediately after work was no problem, as I was privileged enough to be working from home. But these "advantages" were in fact the very opposite. I thought I'd been given the gift of time, and therefore had been piling pressure on myself to fill every available minute; not taking the time to distance myself from the stresses of the day and switch gears. In addition to this, the lack of social activity presented the biggest and most precarious imbalance. When punctuated with plans and little adventures, programming time presented a balancing contrast of solitude; a time to focus and apply myself. In lockdown, that solitude no longer brought contentment. It brought feelings of isolation and a rapidly dissipating sense of self. Inspired by the ever-expanding conversations about mental health on social media, I decided to cautiously unpack the shift in my wellbeing, to see what could be learned. Changes were definitely needed, and a concept I found to be the most impactful was that of embracing vulnerability. I realised it was time to stop pretending I was invincible. Organising an event alongside a full time job can be hard at times, and I no longer saw anything to be gained from pretending otherwise. It's sad to think that I ever thought there was anything to be gained from that. Ignoring the burnout wasn’t a sign of strength, it was a sign of weakness. I wasn’t being brave by soldiering on regardless; quite the opposite. There's power in embracing vulnerability, and the authenticity it fosters. Beyond this, I hope to continue the conversation and would encourage others to do so. Balancing different aspects of life isn't always easy, especially where passions and dreams are involved, and the vulnerability in admitting that can be a measure of courage. By communicating openly, being mindful of emotions and setting boundaries, we can maintain momentum in our endeavours without compromising our wellbeing. The effects of 2020 are undoubtedly still with us. For me, things that once felt achievable and motivating now feel overwhelming and beyond my capabilities. On the other hand, I am incredibly fortunate - the pandemic has wrought devastation in the lives of so many, and I don’t have to look far to see the heartbreaking consequences of it. I’m lucky to have learned from 2020, and privileged to be here continuing my work on the festival. A heartfelt thank you to everyone who supported our 2020 edition of Celluloid Screams, and continues to support the event going forward. I'm excited to be planning our next edition. I think we're all keen to move on from the pandemic; I too want to leave it all behind, but I'll be bringing these lessons along with me.