Why ‘INLAND EMPIRE’ Was Pure, Unfiltered Lynch

David Lynch’s “INLAND EMPIRE” (2006) begins, fittingly, with a grand gesture.

The spotlight shines on the title, followed by a prelude with a record needle (so the song begins …), blurred black and white footage of a hallway and Polish dialogue.

We see a prostitute and a client with blurred-out faces, then cut away to a character staring at a static TV and crying (not unlike the opening of Lynch’s 1992 puzzle, “Twin Peaks: Fire Walk With Me”). It’s all been shot on digital photography and resembles snippets from our deep unconscious.

You lost yet? Just go with it.

We meet a Hollywood film actress named Nikki Grace (Laura Dern) who has a bizarre encounter with a stranger (an eerie Gracie Zabriskie) who talks her way into Nikki’s home and gives her a vague but menacing warning.

The Dern/ Zabriskie conversation is eerily like the frightening party exchange between Bill Pullman and Robert Blake in “Lost Highway” (1997).

Immediately after this, Nikki is cast in a project with a promising co-star (Justin Theroux) and a confident director (Jeremy Irons) but a dark truth clouds the proceedings. It turns out this new film has a haunted history and is “based on a Polish folktale and said to be cursed.”

The cast and crew carry on until Nikki starts to find it difficult to tell the difference between her real life and the character she’s playing, as moments on and off the set start to blend together. By the midpoint, Irons lays down the lore and, with that, the audience tumbles down the rabbit hole with Dern and Lynch.

RELATED: HOW LYNCH’S ‘MULHOLLAND DR.’ INVADED OUR DREAMS

As with every Lynch film, I find that a second or third viewing goes a long way to fully appreciating (if not fully comprehending) his work. This was also the experience I had with Lynch’s “Wild at Heart” (1990) and “Mulholland Dr.” (2001), two great but challenging, idiosyncratic and casually surrealistic works that seem impenetrable at first.

Your experience may not be the same as mine, but I initially found some of Lynch’s films off-putting and easy to resist. Giving a second or third look has only enriched my affection and understanding but, again, Lynch’s polarizing films (even his most acclaimed) aren’t for everyone.

I saw “INLAND EMPIRE” on opening day, my birthday in fact, at the great Mayan Theater in Denver, Colo. What I remember most about the experience is that for the first two hours (the running time clocks in at a whopping 180-minutes) I sat close to the screen, wanting to absorb everything.

A few massive jump scares and jarring transitions later, I spent the last hour in the row furthest from the screen. I seemed to have forgotten how terrifying Lynch’s films can be, as there are moments in “INLAND EMPIRE” every bit as jolting as the biggest shocks in “Lost Highway” (1997).

We lost Lynch last year, at the age of 78. Now that his body of work has a beginning and end and “INLAND EMPIRE” represents the final theatrical film release of his career (with the awesome “Twin Peaks – The Return” on Showtime his swan song), what can we make of it?

Is it a self-indulgent folly or on the level with his best films? Actually, yes to both of those questions.

If you’ve never liked Lynch’s work, this won’t be the one to change your mind. Also, if you’ve read this far and have never seen a Lynch film, I recommend starting with “The Elephant Man” (1980) or “The Straight Story” (1999).

Lynch’s true masterpiece is probably the entirety of “Twin Peaks” (the first two seasons from 1990-1991, the 1992 prequel film, then the 2017 Showtime mini-series). Nevertheless, while “INLAND EMPIRE” could have used a severe edit before release and has passages it doesn’t need, its best moments, of which there are many, demonstrate how Lynch’s works were thrilling alive, defiant and personal.

Arguably, the most infamous moments here are the bits with a family of rabbits (specifically, actors with large rabbit masks on) who sit around and converse while a laugh track accompanies dialogue devoid of humor. These bits play like an existential goof, not unlike Lynch’s “The Angriest Dog Alive” comic strip (they’re still online and worth a look).

That we see this bizarre segment (with Naomi Watts and Scott Coffey among the voices of the Rabbit family) before the story kicks in is a bold touch.

Repeat viewings of “INLAND EMPIRE” are essential, as it’s initially difficult to gauge which narrative we’re supposed to invest in (my take- everything is a subconscious prelude until Dern shows up).

For Lynch completists and adventurous filmgoers, there’s much here to savor, let alone wrap your head around. Fans of “Wild At Heart” will note that the film’s Oscar-nominated MVP, Diane Ladd, has a nutty cameo appearance here as a talk show host (meanwhile, William H. Macy has exactly one line in one very brief scene).

The title of Nikki Grace’s vehicle, “On High Noon in Blue Tomorrows,” even sounds like it could be an extension of the “Invitation to Love” soap opera that captivated the town of Twin Peaks.

“INLAND EMPIRE,” in the best way, often feels like an extension of the themes within “Mulholland Dr.” Both works contrast the real and unreal, Hollywood gloss and ugly reality and show us something so beautiful, followed by a truly ghastly vision.

These are consistent themes with Lynch’s work.

Of the moments I savor, Julia Ormond has one scary single scene as a suspect being interrogated by a cop. Terry Crews shows up as a homeless man. Oh, and there’s a musical number! Two, in fact. Okay, now I sound like I’m describing a dream.

I’ll conclude with a quote from Lynch’s 2006 book, “Catching the Big Fish,” about how his ideas manifest themselves. The chapter entitled “INLAND EMPIRE” begins this way:

“When we began, there wasn’t any INLAND EMPIRE, there wasn’t anything. I just bumped into Laura Dern in the street, discovering that she was my new neighbor. I hadn’t seen her for a long time, and she said, ‘David, we’ve got to do something together again.’ And I said, ‘We sure do. Maybe I’ll write something for you. And maybe we’ll do it as an experiment for the Internet.’ And she said, ‘Fine.’”

The brief chapter has Lynch recalling how a lengthy monologue became something even bigger. Lynch concludes the chapter with this:

“But it wasn’t until halfway through that, suddenly, I saw a kind of form that would unite the rest, everything that had come before. And that was a big day. That was a good day, because I could pretty much say that it would be a feature film.”

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This One Thing Separates ‘Arco’ from the Animated Pack

The beginning of “Arco,” Ugo Bienvenu’s wonderful, animated fantasy, depicts the future world of 2932, where citizens live in clouds and time travel is a possibility.

Although time travel is forbidden for children under 12, young Arco (Juliano Krue Valdi) takes a literal leap from an impossibly high platform and tumbles into 2075. Initially, Arco is determined to find a way back home, but finds his journey is complicated by the friendship he shares with a ten-year old named Iris (Romy Fay).

This gorgeous French animated film is a time travel sci-fi adventure, and a look into a wild, plausible vision of the distant future. It’s also a little bit like “E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial” (1982), but in the best way.

The only real stumbling block is in the needless villains and how they have been adapted for the US audience: Perhaps the trio of villains worked in the French version but, in the English dubbed US version provided by NEON, as voiced by Will Ferrell, Andy Samberg and Flea, the characters are more puzzling and irritating than intended.

The Three Stooges-like villains, all sporting ’80s-style sunglasses and stumbling over one another in every scene, may have clicked in the original version. Finding anything consistently funny for these nitwits to say proves to be a challenge even for the likes of Ferrell and Samberg.

“Arco” is absolutely spellbinding to gaze at, with the hand-drawn animation something truly special in the age of CGI over-saturation.

Bienvenu’s film resembles a Hayao Miyazaki movie at times and taps into the Studio Ghibli format. More importantly, it makes us care and invest emotionally in this world, even with the dream logic.

It takes the entire film to completely explain that logic and the specificity of the future settings, when a title card could have pulled us in quicker.

Yet “Arco” is rich with the sense of discovery it provides audiences. I was mesmerized by the depth of detail and a willingness to fully engage our imaginations right from the first scene.

It’s surprisingly emotional, with a death scene in the late going that earns our tears. Despite a few intense moments, this is mostly family-friendly. The PG-rating is merited and, unlike the recent “Sketch” (2025), an indication that early grade school kids won’t find it too grown-up or scary.

Finding a good family film to share with your child or children can be difficult. After all, what merits a PG rating, let alone is considered universally appropriate for a young audience, is highly debatable.

This is one of the few contemporary family films that I loved to share with my child and look forward to revisiting again. The beauty of “Arco” is as rich as the emotion and sweetness of the story.

Three and a half stars (out of four)

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‘Dolly’ Gets Under Your Skin (And Stays There)

Dolls are a horror director’s best friend.

Those old-school toys, think porcelain features and glassy-eyed stares, can make grown men think twice about turning off the lights at night.

Director Rod Blackhurst leans into that with “Dolly,” a grindhouse romp with as many flaws as selling points. The latter wins the day, and we may have witnessed the dawn of a new movie monster.

Freddie. Jason. Michael. Art.

Dolly?

Seann William Scott plays Chase, a single dad who thinks he’s met The One. That’s Macy (Fabianne Therese), who loves Chase but isn’t sure she’s cut out for motherhood.

He takes her on a camping trip so he can propose at the most scenic place possible. A series of dolls elaborately displayed in the woods catches his eye, and he decides to investigate.

No, Stifler, no!

Lurking in the woods is a hulking figure wearing an oversized doll mask. This wordless Dolly (ex-wrestler Max the Impaler in an impressive screen debut) has a shovel and knows how to use it.

Before long, it’s Final Girl time, with Macy trying to stay alive under the worst of circumstances. It doesn’t help that her survival instincts are atrocious, making “Dolly” the kind of film that almost demands audience feedback.

HiT never recommends talking in a movie theater, but …

EXCLUSIVE: @IndieFilmCom & @Shudder’s slasher DOLLY is being called a brutal blend of New French Extremity and ’70s American horror.

We’ve got an exclusive clip of Southbound’s Fabianne Therese trapped by the monster-like Dolly. Watch if you dare. pic.twitter.com/3BBEelKP8o

— Dread Central (@DreadCentral) February 27, 2026

Blackhurst, who co-wrote the screenplay with Brandon Weavil, has a blast recreating that ’70s horror vibe.

• The grainy film stock
• The unexpected musical notes
• The sequences that feel like outtakes from 1974’s “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre”

The film delights in torturing the poor humans in Dolly’s path, and some sequences simply go on too long. That doesn’t detract from the ick factor, which begins from the very first frame and rarely lets up.

Scott is playing against type, and it’s such an understated turn that it’s heartbreaking. Therese knows the assignment by heart, alternating between victim and resourceful heroine. And boy, can she scream.

Still, the number of times you’ll roll your eyes at Macy’s boneheaded decisions is high.

The third act features some out-of-left-field creative choices that add little to the chills. And some sequences don’t have the impact the creative team likely expected.

Still, this is raw horror at its most unrelenting, a chance to savor throwback genre moves without feeling guilty.

Best of all, Dolly’s mere presence is all the scares the film requires. Those twitching fingers and warped maternal instincts are pure nightmare fuel.

Now, imagine seeing Dolly again … and again.

Stick around through the credits to see if she’s ready for more.

HiT or Miss: “Dolly” isn’t for the squeamish or those who demand a measure of genre consistency. Everyone else will be dialed in from the jump.

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Woke ‘Bride!’ Feels Like Blast from Cancel Culture Past

Jeb Bush would like his exclamation mark back, thank you.

Or should we say, “Thank you!”

“The Bride!” goes the full Jeb in ways that remind us of his crash-and-burn presidential campaign. Writer/director Maggie Gyllenhaal goes for broke on her second film, taking Mary Shelley’s classic tome and turning it into a MeToo lecture.

It’s a garishly beautiful lecture, but the film’s core themes are redundant and dull.

Men bad. Women good … and oppressed … and angry.

Sorry. They’re angry!

When we first meet Ida (Jessie Buckley, the future Bride), she’s stuck in a posh restaurant surrounded by sweaty, arrogant men. The setting? 1930s Chicago, a time when women had far less agency than they enjoy today.

This is what you call foreshadowing.

A disagreement leaves her dead at the bottom of a stairway, but that’s just the way Frank (Christian Bale) wants her. He’s a scarred soul stitched together by a mad scientist decades earlier, and he desperately wants a mate.

You can’t blame the guy. 

So he digs up the recently buried Ida and brings her to Dr. Euphronious (Annette Bening). The doctor quickly revives her, but she isn’t sure what her name is or who she was before her murder.

She bonds, to a degree, with Frank (yes, it’s short for Frankenstein), and before you can say, “Bonnie and Clyde,” the two are off on a deadly adventure.

They can’t stop killing those who won’t accept them for their authentic, stitched-together selves. That gets the attention of two detectives (Peter Sarsgaard, Penélope Cruz) who track the pair with some help from their love of feature films.

Confused? Gyllenhaal’s script doesn’t sweat many (any?) details, but suffice it to say “The Bride!” is a love story/monster movie/road trip all in one.

RELATED: ‘FRANKENSTEIN’ LIVES … TO PASS JUDGMENT ON US

The film sneaks in a few pop culture nods, including a giggle-worthy shout-out to “Young Frankenstein.” Boris Karloff’s “Monster Mash” plays over the end credits. And the script slams movie sequels for good measure.

This is a full-on re-imagining a Universal monster with a distinct “Joker” vibe. Or is that “Joker: Folie à Deux?” No matter. The tonal whiplash may require Blue Cross / Blue Shield coverage.

The film channels Shelley in ways we won’t reveal, but know it’s a bold move that doesn’t pay off in the slightest. It does give Buckley even more scenery to chew, and she’d better mainline Ozempic after this performance.

Buckley and Bale act as if every scene is a For Your Consideration closeup. And they scream, boy, do they scream. Sure, they’re monsters in various stages of pain (physical and emotional), but the volume wears on the film.

And us.

One dance number mid-film is a hoot, allowing Gyllenhaal to let loose, visually speaking. And the costumes and makeup are never less than astounding.

Whoever created the inky stain on The Bride’s face deserves a fat raise. It’s instantly iconic, even if the film can’t come close to that description.

The bigger issue gnaws at the viewer. Are these two misunderstood souls falling in love? Maybe. Partially. But the Bride’s empowerment journey always comes first.

Gyllenhaal’s feminist agenda starts early and never lets up. Some films treat that subject with care, like 1991’s “The Silence of the Lambs,” which lets us know Clarice Starling’s gender made her unwelcome within the FBI ranks.

Less is more in most cinematic cases. Here, more is decidedly less.

The story’s anachronisms are maddening and inconsistent, and they’re all about pushing an agenda. The phrase “Me too” is literally shouted in case you missed the film’s true north.

Subplots which might have given “The Bride!” heft receive little screen time. There’s a mob boss figure who powers the story, as much of a story as there is, but he’s barely featured enough to matter.

The detectives hot on the monsters’ trail are just as thinly sketched. The actors look alternately bored or bewildered, and Cruz’s story arc is pure cringe. 

It’s hard to knock a film that swings for the fences like “The Bride!” The film just doesn’t measure up to its bold ambitions. The best way to savor it is to bring those fences in until even a pint-sized Little Leaguer could swat it out of the park.

HiT or Miss: “The Bride!” is a messy, madcap love story that looks smashing but eventually wears out its welcome.

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‘The Mastermind’ Keeps Director’s Maddening Streak Intact

Kelly Reichardt’s “The Mastermind” stars Josh O’Connor as James Mooney, a thief who steals works of art right out of museums.

Sarah, James’ mother (the always wonderful Hope Davis), questions his life choices and interrogates him over his recent actions. While James understands that what he’s doing is wrong, he has no intention of stopping.

Released in theaters last fall and now on the Mubi channel, “The Mastermind” represents my latest failure to get into Reichardt’s films. She’s an acclaimed director whose movies have yet to connect with me.

Her latest isn’t a slow burn; it’s just slow. It’s deja vu all over again, as it’s another year, another opportunity for me to give a new Reichardt movie two stars and dismiss it for being a mildly interesting slog.

I’d like to get past this and finally love something she’s made, but, once again, she’s made it impossible for me.

I still admire Reichardt’s ability to create a vivid environment and sustain a mood or scenario that pulls us in. What happens after that, in just about every single one of her films thus far? She loses me with her decision to let her story just float away like a discarded balloon.

It’s irritating because her movies have the potential to be so much more than just mood pieces and unfinished character studies.

Reichardt’s fanbase will completely disagree, but I can only muster up so much enthusiasm for this and “Meek’s Cutoff” (2010), “Showing Up” (2022) and most of her other works.

I’ll confess that I loved Reichardt’s “Wendy and Lucy” (2008), which reduced me to tears at the Denver Film Festival. It was also the last time I saw one of her movies and felt anything besides frustration and the faint feeling that I had been conned.

“Detective” (1985), one of my favorite films from New Wave Cinema auteur extraordinaire Jean-Luc Godard, is, like “The Mastermind,” also a deconstructed heist movie and even more minimalist than this one. Yet, “Detective” is so cool and devoted to breaking down expectations, it manages to captivate, even as it’s basically a movie about nothing.

Here, Reichardt’s recreation of the Vietnam War era and the 1970s in general is dazzling. O’Connor is an interesting actor in the lead (though he basically gives the same performance in the altogether better drama, “Rebuilding,” also from 2025).

O’Connor just scored a major role in Steven Spielberg’s big summer movie,“Disclosure Day” and I wish him well. “Licorice Pizza” stars Alana Haim is also in the cast, but Davis’ performance here is the film’s best, though she has a tendency to be the best thing about most movies in which she appears.

The jazz score is also excellent.

Aside from “Wendy and Lucy,” I liked “The Mastermind” more than most of Reichardt’s recent works, so maybe her art is growing on me. This is cinema, no doubt, but I need a story, too.

Two Stars (out of four)

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Critic Mea Culpa: What We Missed About ‘Hannibal’

I get asked a lot if I ever change my mind about movies. Is there a movie I once loved or hated but now have a different opinion about?

For the most part, the answer is no. My opinions usually remain stubbornly intact. Also, movies I’ve liked have become movies that I now love, after revisiting and taking in what it still has to tell me (this is what retrospective writing assignments have offered me).

I’ve also looked at works by, for example, Jean-Luc Godard and Stanley Kubrick with a fresh set of eyes and a deeper understanding of the themes those filmmakers typically explore.

Yet, I have no drastic, 360-degree turn, I-hated-it-then-I-love-it-now testimonial of a movie I completely changed my mind about and will admit I was wrong on the first view. No movie has ever made me radically reconsider its value and caused me to admit I was wrong.

Well…okay…there was just one, and it was Ridley Scott’s “Hannibal” (2001).

Julianne Moore stars and now plays the role of Clarice Starling, who is demoted after an FBI raid becomes a tragic shoot-out. Her fame at stopping “The Tooth Fairy” far behind her, Starling becomes obsessed with capturing Dr. Hannibal Lecter (Sir Anthony Hopkins), who has been missing for years.

One of Lecter’s former victims, the hideously scarred and dangerously wealthy Mason Verger (an unrecognizable Gary Oldman, in an extraordinary turn), is also on the hunt for Lecter and plans to trap and torture him. Once we see where Lecter has been all this time, it’s not a surprise to discover he’s in the academic world, surrounding himself in rich culture.

On the other hand, he can barely contain his glee in belatedly taking up self-destructive behavior, such as murdering a professional rival. Also, he’s developed a perverse infatuation for Starling.

When it premiered in early 2001, “Hannibal” made a massive splash and became the first gotta-see-it blockbuster of its year. It opened to summer movie-sized numbers, which was unheard of in February, and played well into the year.

It also divided everyone, with critics and audiences split on the film’s merits. I was among those who didn’t like it. It was the last film I reviewed for my college paper, where I gave it a D+ and declared, “there hasn’t been an overproduced sequel this slick, empty and hollow since ‘Beverly Hills Cop II.'”

A decade later, I taught a college course on the films of Scott, revisited “Hannibal” and discovered my original assessment was wrong. Indeed, it’s gross but this is a Gaston Leroux-infused gothic love story, about a pure soul (Starling), living in a world of devils.

Despite having read the Thomas Harris novel of the same name and loved it, I was initially not on board with Scott’s sequel to “The Silence of the Lambs” (1991). It took me ten years to revisit it and find I had a completely different experience than the first time.

“Hannibal” opened in theaters a decade later (almost to the day) after the release of Jonathan Demme’s Best Picture winning, highly influential 1991 blockbuster. Much had been written about its original team of Demme and Oscar-winners Jodie Foster and Hopkins being pared down to only the latter.

The news of the acclaimed Moore taking up the role of Agent Clarice Starling over Foster went down easier than expected, as did word that the new director was Scott, coming off the massive success of “Gladiator” (2000).

Hopkins was in the midst of a rich second (or is it third?) act of his career, enjoying enormous success and acclaim. Since winning the Oscar for playing the vile but elegant Dr. Hannibal “The Cannibal” Lecter, Hopkins had a slew of hits and went from being a notable performer to a bona fide mega movie star.

Returning to the role of Lecter made every cinephile wet their lips, though the film itself was startling and not what anyone anticipated.

“Hannibal” is mostly faithful to the 1999 Thomas Harris bestseller it’s based on and, in terms of story, is a sequel that connects narrative and character threads from Demme’s film. Yet, the style and approach couldn’t be more different.

Whereas Demme held back from showing the most macabre details and kept his film tightly paced, Scott goes in the other direction. “Hannibal” takes it time to establish mood, develop its characters and allow the atmosphere and lurid details to draw us in.

Also, on several occasions, it’s really disgusting.

RELATED: HOW ‘SILENCE OF THE LAMBS’ SHATTERED HORROR MOLD

Starling embodies righteousness and Moore exemplifies this. Although hers is a supporting turn, Moore’s understated performance complements Foster’s original portrayal without surpassing it.

The brilliance in “Hannibal” is evident from the very start. The film begins in darkness (we hear dialog transpiring but see nothing). A keyhole appears from the corner of the screen and grows bigger until we see a vast room inhabited by three people discussing Lecter.

The keyhole effect clues us in that we’re seeing something we shouldn’t be seeing. This is confirmed by the film’s first close up, of Verger’s hideous mug, the last person we’d want to get close to.

From the dialog, we quickly realize how wicked Verger is and how wrong this meeting taking place is. Scott is warning us: this is as civilized as the movie gets.

Both the opening credits and dozens of scenes afterward convey a world under constant surveillance, making this just barely pre-9/11 thriller ahead of its time. There are lots of moments to savor, though the now-legendary climactic dinner scene bears mentioning.

Next to the chest burster sequence in “Alien,” it’s among the hardest to watch scenes in a Scott film.

Hopkins is superb from start to finish (and indeed scary as Lecter in broad daylight), while Moore and a very game Ray Liotta are also first rate. Many forget how good Giancarlo Giannini is and how his Inspector Pazzi is crucial to the film’s first act.

Oldman’s work is one for the books, as he makes Verger a predator even more foul on the inside than the exterior.

There are eerie echoes of the original film, such as the way Starling is seen spending her days in the FBI basement. It’s as though she were now the prisoner of Lecter, stuck in her own cell. She needs to come out of hiding as much as he does.

Meanwhile, Lecter’s conversations with everyone he meets always seem to echo his “quid pro quo” approach as a prisoner. He’s always looking for another victim to “mentor,” a quality that makes the final scene on an airplane so disturbing.

I hated the fade out the first time I saw it. Now, it feels appropriate. Considering how Lecter’s last moment with Starling is, in a vastly twisted way, romanticized and heroic, the bit on the plane is a proper contrast.

Lecter is truly a monster, and Scott wisely leaves us gasping, if not gagging.

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Genre Mashup ‘Night Patrol’ Lacks Bite, Humor

Ryan Prows’ “Night Patrol” is a hybrid of violent gang drama and horror film.

I wish I could tell you it works. Considering how Universal Pictures and Shudder collaborated on this one, it’s less an event genre film than an also-ran that fails to fully engage either genre it serves.

An L.A. cop (Jermaine Fowler) is eager to join a late-night crime-fighting task force called “the night patrol.” He has a colleague (Justin Long) who warns him that the unit is a rough one, though they both submit to the group’s corrupt demands and add to the trouble on the streets.

Later, we learn that the “night patrol” isn’t just full of crooked, dangerous cops but that there’s also something supernaturally evil about them.

It’s been fun to watch Long finally settle into a genre that works for him. I liked his leading turn in “Jeepers Creepers” (2001), was happy to see him give such a forceful performance in “Barbarian” (2022) and make a noted cameo in last year’s “Weapons.”

Clearly, he needs to avoid rom coms and embrace how good a fit he is in darker films.

Long’s performance here is excellent – he’s surprisingly convincing and commanding as a corrupt cop. I wish the rest of the film was worth the trouble Long invested in the role.

“Night Patrol” has one of those openers that suggests big things are coming, but it takes an hour before the horror elements finally come to the surface. Not only is it too long a setup, but the film lays an egg during its busy, overdone finale.

I won’t give it away, but the film is very late to the specific horror movie trope and crossover it thinks it invented. Another big problem? “Night Patrol” is heavy-handed, deadly serious, and offers no comic relief.

It’s highly profane, ugly and, once it finally embraces its pulpy intentions, extremely silly.

BLEEDING COOL INTERVIEW: Writer-director Ryan Prows (Lowlife) spoke to us about his latest supernatural vampire crime drama in RLJE/Shudder’s Night Patrol. #NightPatrol

https://t.co/sJxJbgzSZF

— Bleeding Cool (@bleedingcool) January 18, 2026

Dermot Mulroney is strong in a supporting turn, and it’s been skillfully directed by Ryan Prows. The film still manages to overdeliver but also comes up way short. I kept waiting for it to finally run out of gas and wrap things up, but the story, like a stubborn undead creature, just refuses to stay dead.

When Rusty Cundieff’s “Tales from the Hood” (1995) covered much of the same material, he did it with flair and humor, knowing when to draw the line with overkill. I’m not saying that film is subtle either, but Cundieff leaned harder into Rod Serling-style social commentary, a smart move.

Prows insists on making this a supernatural “Training Day” (2001) but stumbles badly in the third act.

I like how the studio has promoted the film, as the posters and tag line (“Defang the Police”) are eye catching. Sitting through the entire film, however, is no fun whatsoever.

Also, I cannot think of a film where the characters utter the title more frequently than this one. If I had a dollar for every time someone on screen says, “night patrol,” I’d have enough money to see this at least four more times.

One Star

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