Evil Dead Burn

With its seemingly sexualised violent imagery, one would be forgiven for thinking that the poster for Evil Dead Burn is indicative of yet another horror flick that fetishises violence against women. But Sébastien Vaniček’s contribution to the Evil Dead franchise is, surprisingly, a resolutely feminist one.

As always, the horror unfolds in a secluded space cut off from possible societal intervention. Following the death of her husband, Alice (Souheila Yacoub) joins her in-laws at their inherited gothic mansion deep in the woods. Unbeknownst to Alice, her brother-in-law, Joseph (Hunter Doohan), has been hoarding his grandfather’s collection of morbid curiosities, including the Book of the Dead. And thus the Deadite curse is unleashed once more, with Alice realising that she, quite literally, has the in-laws from hell.

It certainly delivers on the body horror of Sam Raimi’s 1981 classic. Each family member’s Deadite transformation is more grotesque than the last, and tests the threshold for stomach-churning. The grisliest set pieces feature, among other things, dentures, a makeshift Q-Tip and a weed trimmer (plus, a bloody make-out session that makes for toe-curling viewing). There are also enjoyable nods to the original film, including a grisly boat scene.

The fantastic Yacoub channels the visceral nature of trauma. As Alice fights against her demonic in-laws, the choice of artwork for that aforementioned poster starts to make sense. Alice is haunted by the abusive incantations of her dead husband, which are, as is so often the case, reiterated by his family (“You’re nothing without me” and “Why didn’t you just leave him?” are both unmistakable mantras of abusers and their defenders).

Though thematically intriguing, the film’s pacing is erratic. There’s little time for interpersonal development, with the feature abruptly descending into blood and guts rather than building tension within the remote woodland setting. Moreover, though it resumes the comic horror of Raimi’s original, which was famously eschewed by the first remake, it’s so sparse that it feels noticeably out of place when it does arise. Yet, Yacoub manages to traverse that delicate balance between realism and classic final girl OTT, giving her all in an admittedly challenging role.

It’s a strident stab at the Evil Dead legacy, and one that’s sure to satisfy the thirst of body horror aficionados. Essentially an allegory for domestic violence, Evil Dead Burn continues horror’s rich tradition of political subtext, with the film slowly morphing into a female revenge thriller.