Don’t “Sleep” on these hot new genre flicks.
As part of our coverage of the 48th annual Toronto International Film Festival, Meg Shields reviews the 2023 slate for TIFF’s Midnight Madness, the festival’s genre slate of horror, sci-fi, and action cinema. Follow along with more coverage in our Toronto International Film Festival archives.
Is it a coincidence that spooky season and festival season overlap? I think not.
Sure, there are dedicated film fests that make a meal out of genre offerings. But if you’re going to any of the Big Fancy International festivals, finding horror flicks and their associated B-Movie brethren is an exercise in reading between the lines of plot descriptions.
Not so at the Toronto International Film Festival. Originally launched in 1988, TIFF’s Midnight Madness programming slate is a dumping ground for genre films that might otherwise ruffle the feathers of distinguished festivalgoers. From slashers to acid westerns, anything culturally “undignified” whale-falls to the midnight crowd; keen connoisseurs of trash and genre gems alike, willing and able to attend witching hour premieres for the sake of camp, cult, and categorically batshit cinematic experiences.
TIFF”s genre programming block has proven prophetic over the years, a bat-signal of sorts for genre offerings that fans ought to keep an eye on for impending releases and eventual distribution. In that spirit, we’ve sent our genre ghoul on the ground (Meg Shields) to attend every single film on this year’s slate to let us know what’s worth keeping an eye on in the coming months.
Be afraid, and press on, for this breakdown of what to expect from the films of 2023’s Midnight Madness:
A recalcitrant hitman goes through the motions in a hellish, synth-wave Miami. Pursuing his latest target with the enthusiasm of a deadbeat dad, the hitman’s looming inner demon hints at the euphoric bloodshed to come.
Aggro Dr1ft is barely a movie. It’s closer to something you’d find in the dark corner of an art gallery or your weird friend’s hard drive; a visual experiment approximating what cinema might look like after TikTok has completely rotted our attention spans. Aggro Dr1ft is weird and trollish even by Harmony “edgelord” Korine’s standards: a fever dream of thermal imagery and shifting AI landscapes with a gleeful disregard for narrative conventions such as “having a plot.” Described by its creator as “gamecore,” Aggro Dr1ft is the proud recipient of one of the most polarized Letterboxd review tallies I’ve ever seen — which is precisely how you know it’s worth your time as a genre curio. All told, the film’s earnest attempt to find beauty in its harrowing creative outlook handily makes it the scariest entry of this year’s Midnight Madness.
Experimental slow cinema fetishists. People who ironically enjoy Grand Theft Auto cut-scenes. Sensory astronauts.
The titular Boy takes on the mad matriarch he holds responsible for killing his family and leaving him unable to hear or speak. Trained Batman-style to seek revenge on the woman who ruined his life, Boy roundhouse kicks his way through a dystopian hellscape armed with a running inner monologue of wisecracks and an intimidating six-pack.
Our Take
I’m going to be straight with y’all: this is a turkey. While its sins are legion, the real kicker is Boy’s non-stop voice-over narration, which makes Ryan Reynolds look like Lawrence Olivier. I don’t know if this warning will reach the Skarsgård fangirls but The Raid should sue for defamation. I can only assume that Sam Raimi’s producer credit was obtained illegally under threat of torture. Sammy, blink twice if you need help.
Who’s it for?
Masochists. People who want to look (respectfully) at Jessica Rothe’s abs. Dads who browse Netflix with the critical eye of a hungry caterpillar.
Two bravely heterosexual men discover that they are identical twins while working at an off-brand Roomba sales center. Determined to make their two extremely weird parents fall in love again, the twinning duo put their depraved noggins together to become a real family again (“single-parent homes aren’t families”). God (Bowen Yang) narrates this profoundly ridiculous musical that is as silly and stupendous as its name suggests.
Magical things happen when you make a musical with people who can actually sing. Dicks: The Musical is a delightfully unserious viewing experience; a rare R-rated musical comedy reeking of that irreverent off-Broadway stank that’s been missing from the big screen for far too long. Admittedly, a film that includes a recurring bit about a profoundly-lisping Megan Mullally keeping her detached vagina in her purse isn’t going to be for everyone. But for those willing to throw caution to the wind, Dicks: The Musical is a total laugh riot. See it with a crowd, if you can.
Ghoulies fans. People who describe Hummel figures as “camp.” Folks familiar with the verb “to baby bird.”
A group of counselors arrives at Camp Pineway to get things ready for the incoming kids, unaware that a masked killer has slaughtered the camp’s owners … and that they’re next.
Decent slashers are hard to come by these days. And to be honest, “decent” is a bit of a stretch as far as Hell of a Summer is concerned. Nevertheless, I’d much rather watch Gen-Z interrogate the sub-genre on their own terms. I’m reminded of last year’s Texas Chainsaw Massacre, which radiated palpable disdain for the younger generation it was ostensibly attempting to court. But did the dead horse of ’80s nostalgia need another beating? What’s the point of making a meta-slasher if you’re not going to bring anything new or interesting to the table? As a feature film debut, it’s fine. Or, as the kids would say: mid.
People who genuinely enjoyed Fear Street. Folks with nut allergies. Anyone who relishes an off-brand Timothée Chalamet.
Tulika and Amrit’s secretive relationship is jeopardized when her family whisks her away for an arranged marriage. Amrit and his brother-in-arms Viresh give chase, following the family onto a train bound for New Delhi in an attempt to secure a happy ending for the star-crossed lovers. When the train is seized by a veritable clown car of bandits, Amrit and Viresh must use their special forces training to save the day.
It’s very common for genre films of this ilk to dispatch of goons with all the ceremony of a small child squishing ants on a hot sidewalk. What KILL proposes is that it would be incredibly funny to treat the death of each jobber with the same emotional weight as a hero. It does this for nearly two hours; a commitment to the bit that must be seen to be believed. While KILL‘s runtime cannot be justified in a court of law, its blend of melodrama and the sarcastically high body count is unique enough to make this much more than a Raid clone. It does precisely what it says on the tin. Would that it were shorter.
Daytime soap opera enjoyers. Fans of the “Kristen Schall is a horse” bit. Anyone who works in a family-owned and operated business.
A young Saudi woman named Sarah is given an extremely strict curfew for a shopping excursion. What her dad doesn’t know is that Sarah is actually planning to go on a secret date with Saad, who proposes that the two go to a world-of-mouth party in the desert. Saad swears up and down that he can get Sarah home in time. But a police raid, creepy old men, and a rabid camel have other plans.
If you’re the kind of person who regards photosensitivity warnings with a dismissive “eh, I’ll be fine” — I am begging you: proceed with caution. Naga‘s disorienting staccato editing and frenetic cinematography is no joke. I have a strong stomach. I swear to you. And I had to look at my feet several times to avoid blowing chunks. Strobing and pacing issues aside, Naga is a thoroughly unique viewing experience grounded by a rebellious, indignant central performance by Adwa Bader. Easily the most transgressive film at Midnight Madness by a country mile, Naga is a promising debut that makes Aljaser a talent worth keeping an eye on.
Samsung owners. Anyone curious to see what a Saudi Arabian Good Time would look like. Party people.
A gang of little rascals — Hazel, Alice, and Jodie — just want to play video games. But when they’re thwarted by a password-protected TV, they must enter into a deadly serious contract to secure the magical string of numbers and letters that stand between them and their fun and games: they must bring their ailing mom a blueberry pie. A dreamy, genre-defying fairytale ensues as the trio ventures into the woods to secure the all-important pastry, running afoul of a witch in the process.
Described by Midnight Madness programmer Peter Kuplowsky as “Wes Anderson’s Gummo,” this infectiously charming throwback is a door kick of a debut from Weston Razooli. If you grew up watching fucked up kids movies, Riddle of Fire is going to rock your world. It’s like Mandy for kids. And if that sentence doesn’t light you up, I don’t know what will.
Escape To Witch Mountain (1975)-enjoyers. People who grew up playing The Legend of Zelda. Appreciators of off-market psilocybin.
In the dead of night, Soo-jin awakens to a horrifying sight: her husband, Hyun-su, seated on the edge of their bed, staring into space. He cryptically mutters that “someone is inside,” passes out, and starts snoring. Not creepy at all. Over the subsequent nights, Hyun-su’s sleepwalking escalates to the point that the couple seeks professional help. Torn between a rational medical diagnosis and the ominous warnings of her mother’s shaman, Soo-jin’s sleep-deprived mind starts to wonder if something paranormal is going on.
Funny, charming, and respectfully economical, Sleep is the real deal as far as low-budget directorial debuts go. A lot of this grace falls from co-leads Jung Yu-mi and Lee Sun-kyun, who have an electric chemistry sorely missing from not just genre film, but the medium writ large. In all seriousness: directorial debuts are rarely this well-paced. But here, the fat is trimmed and nary a frame could be classified as superfluous. Even though Sleep wears its influences on its sleeve (and is largely guilty of the same derivative beats as its more mainstream possession peers), it’s a very exciting debut from Jason Yu.
Expectant parents. People whose love language is PowerPoint presentations. Pomeranian-lovers (and haters).
Two Argentinian brothers discover a “rotten” in a nearby farmhouse; a festering near-dead corpse possessed with an infectious evil that must be properly disposed of … or else. More interested in making the ticking time bomb someone else’s problem, the pair eschew the necessary exorcism rites and dump the fetid heap of flesh in a distant field. As the consequences of their hasty actions make themselves known, the brothers attempt to clean up their mess before it’s too late.
When Evil Lurks is the crown jewel of this year’s Midnight Madness; a Fulci-esque terror trip where no one is safe and happy endings are verboten. Dropping its audience into the thick of a hazy paranormal nightmare, it’s a genuine delight to be whisked away without a care in the world for anything as crass as “an opening explainer text crawl” or “exposition.” All we need to know is that the world is fucked and these clowns thought they could game the system. Say less, movie. You had me at a pregnant woman impaling herself in the face with an axe.
Anyone who likes this playlist. Folks who think The Beyond is a comfort movie. Genre fans who wish more horror movies would be brave and kill the kids.
Still seeking justice for a factory fire that claimed both lives and livelihoods in a small Balkan town, the organizers of the legal battle are starting to run out of steam. Then, a mysterious stranger arrives in town with a devilish proposal: have they tried tantric chaos magic? It’s definitely not Satanic. Why would you even ask that? Out of options and desperate for resolution, the group’s leader Ceca goes all-in on the strange man’s proposal, dragging her friends down to the bowels of Hell along with her.
There’s always one entry in Midnight Madness that feels a little too low-key for the late-night crowd. And this year, that film is Working Class Goes to Hell, a film I enjoyed way more than everyone else, it feels like. Directed by the same weirdo who brought us The Life and Death of a Porno Gang, Đorđević’s latest doesn’t quite live up to the occult potential of its premise. But I do hope it finds the right audience. Which is to say, Mubi-subscribers.
Class traitors. Devil-worshippers. Anyone currently waiting for their union grievance to get processed.