CrimsonRaptor
Joined Mar 2025
Welcome to the new profile
Our updates are still in development. While the previous version of the profile is no longer accessible, we're actively working on improvements, and some of the missing features will be returning soon! Stay tuned for their return. In the meantime, the Ratings Analysis is still available on our iOS and Android apps, found on the profile page. To view your Rating Distribution(s) by Year and Genre, please refer to our new Help guide.
Badges8
To learn how to earn badges, go to the badges help page.
Reviews434
CrimsonRaptor's rating
In the premiere of Revival, "Don't Tell Dad," the small town of Wausau, Wisconsin, is thrust into chaos as the dead inexplicably return to life. Officer Dana Cypress (Melanie Scrofano) finds herself at the center of a perplexing murder investigation where the victim is now alive, and every resident, living or revived, is a potential suspect.
The episode opens with a chilling scene at a local crematorium, setting a tone of eerie suspense. As the narrative unfolds, the cinematography effectively captures the unsettling atmosphere of a town grappling with the supernatural. The visuals are complemented by a haunting score that underscores the tension and mystery.
Scrofano delivers a standout performance, portraying Dana's internal conflict and determination with depth and nuance. Her portrayal anchors the series, providing a relatable anchor amidst the bizarre occurrences. Supporting characters, including Dana's father, Wayne (David James Elliott), and her sister, Em (Romy Weltman), add layers to the narrative, hinting at complex family dynamics and personal struggles.
While the episode introduces a compelling premise and intriguing characters, it occasionally falters in pacing, with some scenes feeling disjointed. Nevertheless, "Don't Tell Dad" sets the stage for a promising series, blending elements of mystery, drama, and the supernatural.
The episode opens with a chilling scene at a local crematorium, setting a tone of eerie suspense. As the narrative unfolds, the cinematography effectively captures the unsettling atmosphere of a town grappling with the supernatural. The visuals are complemented by a haunting score that underscores the tension and mystery.
Scrofano delivers a standout performance, portraying Dana's internal conflict and determination with depth and nuance. Her portrayal anchors the series, providing a relatable anchor amidst the bizarre occurrences. Supporting characters, including Dana's father, Wayne (David James Elliott), and her sister, Em (Romy Weltman), add layers to the narrative, hinting at complex family dynamics and personal struggles.
While the episode introduces a compelling premise and intriguing characters, it occasionally falters in pacing, with some scenes feeling disjointed. Nevertheless, "Don't Tell Dad" sets the stage for a promising series, blending elements of mystery, drama, and the supernatural.
Terrifier 3 arrives as a blood-soaked, holiday-themed spectacle that unapologetically indulges in more gore, more depravity, and a relentless visual style that defines the franchise's extremes. The film trades psychological depth and narrative subtlety for sheer visceral impact, unleashing Art the Clown (David Howard Thornton) on unsuspecting victims with renewed ferocity. The cinematography by George Steuber revels in practical effects that seem even more ambitious - the camera is unflinching in its gaze, capturing expertly designed set pieces where the violence is the art and the spectacle is disturbing in its inventiveness. The opening sequence, set against a twisted vision of Christmas, is especially memorable, featuring vibrant reds and icy blues that contrast the festive with the horrific.
Lauren LaVera returns as Sienna, still the empathic anchor in a film that otherwise gleefully disposes of logic and restraint. Lavera gives the role a compelling physical and emotional vulnerability, making Sienna's struggle against supernatural evil genuinely gripping. Thornton, meanwhile, solidifies Art the Clown as an icon of terror, balancing gruesome pantomime, uncomfortable humor, and quiet menace in a way that makes every appearance unforgettable. Yet, despite such strengths, Terrifier 3 ultimately lacks the narrative cohesion and character investment of its predecessors. The plot feels stilted and random, with victims chosen almost arbitrarily, causing the carnage to lose some of its impact. The storytelling leans heavily on spectacle rather than emotional stakes, which may leave both newcomers and returning fans somewhat detached.
While director Damien Leone delivers a master class in practical gore effects, pushing the boundaries of taste and endurance, the film suffers from pacing issues and a lack of structural innovation. Some set pieces attempt to match the "big moments" of previous entries but fall short of providing truly shocking or memorable narrative turns. For enthusiasts of the genre and franchise, Terrifier 3 promises more of what they crave, but for general viewers, its superficial engagement with story and character makes this a visually and thematically intense yet ultimately middling slasher.
Lauren LaVera returns as Sienna, still the empathic anchor in a film that otherwise gleefully disposes of logic and restraint. Lavera gives the role a compelling physical and emotional vulnerability, making Sienna's struggle against supernatural evil genuinely gripping. Thornton, meanwhile, solidifies Art the Clown as an icon of terror, balancing gruesome pantomime, uncomfortable humor, and quiet menace in a way that makes every appearance unforgettable. Yet, despite such strengths, Terrifier 3 ultimately lacks the narrative cohesion and character investment of its predecessors. The plot feels stilted and random, with victims chosen almost arbitrarily, causing the carnage to lose some of its impact. The storytelling leans heavily on spectacle rather than emotional stakes, which may leave both newcomers and returning fans somewhat detached.
While director Damien Leone delivers a master class in practical gore effects, pushing the boundaries of taste and endurance, the film suffers from pacing issues and a lack of structural innovation. Some set pieces attempt to match the "big moments" of previous entries but fall short of providing truly shocking or memorable narrative turns. For enthusiasts of the genre and franchise, Terrifier 3 promises more of what they crave, but for general viewers, its superficial engagement with story and character makes this a visually and thematically intense yet ultimately middling slasher.
George A. Romero's return to the zombie genre through the lens of found footage technology represents both an ambitious attempt at modernization and a stark reminder of how certain filmmaking approaches can dilute rather than enhance established storytelling strengths. This fifth installment in the Dead series trades the master's signature wide compositions and methodical pacing for the jerky, handheld aesthetic that defined horror cinema in the mid-2000s, creating an experience that feels more constrained than liberated by its technological conceit.
The cinematography, while technically competent within the found footage framework, lacks the visual poetry that made Romero's previous works so compelling. The camera work, by necessity of the format, becomes claustrophobic and disorienting in ways that serve the narrative but sacrifice the broader social commentary that typically elevates zombie cinema beyond mere gore. When the film does achieve moments of visual impact, they feel accidental rather than deliberately crafted, as if the handheld aesthetic stumbled upon effectiveness rather than pursuing it.
Michelle Morgan delivers the film's strongest performance as Debra, the girlfriend of the documentarian whose growing disillusionment with her boyfriend's obsessive filming mirrors the audience's own frustration with the format's limitations. Her evolution from supportive partner to moral voice provides the narrative with its most compelling character arc, though even her committed performance struggles against the constraints of constantly justifying why the camera keeps rolling during increasingly dangerous situations.
Josh Close, as the filmmaker Jason, embodies the central tension between documentation and participation that drives the plot, but his character's single-minded dedication to recording everything becomes more irritating than insightful as the story progresses. The supporting cast, including Shawn Roberts and Amy Lalonde, perform adequately within their limited roles, though the found footage format prevents them from developing the kind of memorable characters that populated Romero's earlier works.
The film's exploration of media obsession and the disconnect between experiencing life and documenting it feels particularly relevant, yet the execution lacks the subtle allegory that made Night of the Living Dead a cultural touchstone. Instead of allowing these themes to emerge naturally from the horror, the narrative becomes heavy-handed in its critique of our camera-obsessed culture, undermining its own message by falling victim to the very superficiality it seeks to criticize.
The cinematography, while technically competent within the found footage framework, lacks the visual poetry that made Romero's previous works so compelling. The camera work, by necessity of the format, becomes claustrophobic and disorienting in ways that serve the narrative but sacrifice the broader social commentary that typically elevates zombie cinema beyond mere gore. When the film does achieve moments of visual impact, they feel accidental rather than deliberately crafted, as if the handheld aesthetic stumbled upon effectiveness rather than pursuing it.
Michelle Morgan delivers the film's strongest performance as Debra, the girlfriend of the documentarian whose growing disillusionment with her boyfriend's obsessive filming mirrors the audience's own frustration with the format's limitations. Her evolution from supportive partner to moral voice provides the narrative with its most compelling character arc, though even her committed performance struggles against the constraints of constantly justifying why the camera keeps rolling during increasingly dangerous situations.
Josh Close, as the filmmaker Jason, embodies the central tension between documentation and participation that drives the plot, but his character's single-minded dedication to recording everything becomes more irritating than insightful as the story progresses. The supporting cast, including Shawn Roberts and Amy Lalonde, perform adequately within their limited roles, though the found footage format prevents them from developing the kind of memorable characters that populated Romero's earlier works.
The film's exploration of media obsession and the disconnect between experiencing life and documenting it feels particularly relevant, yet the execution lacks the subtle allegory that made Night of the Living Dead a cultural touchstone. Instead of allowing these themes to emerge naturally from the horror, the narrative becomes heavy-handed in its critique of our camera-obsessed culture, undermining its own message by falling victim to the very superficiality it seeks to criticize.
Recently taken polls
1 total poll taken
