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'Hex', one of the more mesmerising entries in Hong Kong's wave of early 80s supernatural cinema, is a film that thrives on mood with incense thick atmosphere and a genuinely unsettling sense of cultural mystique. It begins as a classic Chinese ghost tale, complete with ritual, familial tension, and whispered suspicions, but gradually morphs into something more ambiguous, more psychological, and, depending on your tastes, more daring or more frustrating.

Much of the film's effectiveness comes from its commitment to serious, almost theatrical horror, delivered through strong performances and carefully controlled pacing. Those early scenes of spiritual unease feel authentic to the traditions the film draws from, and the direction leans heavily on colour, shadow, and rhythm in a way that recalls the visual elegance of Shaw Brothers productions from the same era. It's a film that wants to be felt as much as understood.

The ending (no spoilers here) is where audiences tend to divide, including my girlfriend and I. Some prefer a clean supernatural conclusion like my partner, while others appreciate the film's pivot into a more rational (or at least less mystical) explanation. I found the shift intriguing; it reframes earlier scenes in a way that rewards attention, even if the logic isn't airtight. But I understand the alternative preference: the film builds such strong folkloric energy that stepping away from the supernatural can feel slightly at odds with the tone it created.

The nude dancing sequence near the finale is perhaps the film's most perplexing flourish. It's shot with the same elegance as the rest of the film, yet stylistically it sticks out, a sudden dip into exploitation aesthetics reminiscent of chaotic, sensationalist touches seen in other Asian horror films of the period. It's not poorly executed, but it does feel drawn-out, and its placement somewhat blunts the solemnity the film had been cultivating. One could argue it represents a moment of symbolic abandon before the final revelation, but even so, its length and tone shift make it hard to justify fully.

Despite these digressions, 'Hex' remains a well-crafted, distinctive foreign horror film, one that blends cultural texture, suspense, and melodrama into something memorable. It isn't flawless, but its strong visual identity and atmospheric storytelling make it stand out. Even with the ending's polarising nature, the experience feels cohesive, committed, and intriguing.

'Humanoids from the Deep' is the sort of film that, by its very title, tells you exactly what you're walking into. It's a creature feature of the purest drive-in vintage: loud, lewd, and devoid of any substance. As a piece of horror cinema, it's undeniably brain-dead entertainment, but hardly unwatchable.

The premise is simple enough: monstrous sea creatures crawl ashore to wreak havoc on a small fishing town, and chaos ensues. What's less simple is the tug-of-war behind the camera. Director Barbara Peeters reportedly intended a more traditional, atmospheric creature film, only for producer Roger Corman to order additional scenes full of nudity and graphic violence. Those scenes were shot by another director after Peeters refused to film them, leading to the tonal whiplash that defines the finished product. If the film feels like two different visions welded together, it's because it is.

The exploitation elements, including gratuitous nudity that serves no narrative purpose whatsoever, sit uneasily with the more grounded moments of small town paranoia. It's easy to see why many viewers bristle at these additions; they were, quite literally, tacked on for commercial value, and the film's lowest instincts tend to overshadow its stronger ones.

And yet, when you look past the sleaze, there's a quirky creature feature beating underneath. Future effects wizard Rob Bottin designed the humanoid suits, an early stepping-stone before his genre-defining work on one of my favourite horror films of all time, 'The Thing' (1982). The rubber suits may wobble, but they're endearing in that late 70s B-Film way. The infamous ending, another Corman add-on, is a shocking scene that has become cult-legend material and was inspired by 'Alien' (1979).

In the end, 'Humanoids from the Deep' is unmistakably dumb, cheap, and exploitative, but also oddly sincere in its desire to deliver creature mayhem. If you can stomach the sleazier studio-mandated content, there's a scrappy, slightly charming monster film lurking beneath the froth.

William Peter Blatty's directorial debut is a bold, unconventional film that defies easy categorisation. Part psychological drama and part metaphysical meditation, 'The Ninth Configuration' trades commercial convention for a deeply personal exploration of faith, madness, and human suffering.

Blatty's background as author of 'The Exorcist' is evident in his interest in faith, redemption, and human fragility, but here he applies those themes to a story entirely grounded in human psychology rather than conventional horror. Stacy Keach anchors the film as Col. Vincent Kane, a mysterious figure sent to a remote military asylum for disturbed soldiers. Each patient in the story is a study in trauma, guilt, and despair, and Kane's interventions invite the audience to question the boundaries between sanity and belief. The narrative thrives on ambiguity: is Kane a saviour, a madman, or a mirror of the men he seeks to heal?

Technically, the film's cinematography and the castle's Gothic interiors amplify the story's psychological weight. Religious iconography, shadowed corridors, and surreal compositions externalize the inner turmoil of the characters, turning the setting into a visual echo of the narrative's moral and spiritual inquiry. Behind-the-scenes stories, like Nicol Williamson's dramatic dismissal and Stacy Keach's last-minute casting, add to the film's mythos. Make no mistake about it, this was a production as unconventional and volatile as the story it tells.

'The Ninth Configuration' is a polarizing but compelling film. Its commercial failure upon release is understandable. This is a film which challenges audiences with philosophical questions, tonal shifts, and a narrative that refuses neat resolution. Yet its ambition and depth have earned it a lasting cult reputation. Blatty's film is a meditation on faith, sanity, and human resilience: a cinematic experiment that rewards patience and reflection. For those willing to engage with its psychological and philosophical layers, it is an unforgettable exploration of the human soul. Viewed as such, 'The Ninth Configuration' is nothing short of a hidden gem, as other reviewers here on IMDB have pointed out.