While Pyewacket may not be perfect, it's still a promising little feature, proving its writer/director definitely has a distinct genre voice, as long as he learns to polish the more recognizable elements into something unique.
MacDonald clearly wanted this to be a simple, heartfelt tale focusing on the disintegration of a mother/daughter bond, without too much background noise as a distraction. And he mostly succeeds in delivering just that.
It is a set-up as old as time, but this chilling, frequently terrifying work of horror manages to find fresh nightmare fuel in dark woods and incantations muttered in the moonlight.
The heavy-handed score, narrow performances and weak dialogue all fail to justify a provocative ending that overturns the exorcising conventions of the genre.
When it comes to horror movies that leave the biggest impression on me as a viewer, it's usually the films that tap into my emotional core that hit me the hardest, which is why Pyewacket hit me with such a ferocious gut punch.
The director is out for blood, and while this is a slow-burn affair that craftily bides its time until just the proper moment to unleash a flurry of dexterously ominous thrills, the craven wickedness of it all is portentously intoxicating.
