250) Ghost Train (2025)

Halloween 2026's Haunted Cinematic Playback Extravaganza – The Manifestation of Ectoplasmic-Saturated Spook, Spectre, or Ghost Movies (Part VIII) 

Director
Tak Se-woong

Cast

Joo Hyun-young - Da-kyung
Jeon Bae-soo - the stationmaster
Choi Bo-min - Woo-jin
Kim Ji-in - Hye-jin

October is winding down, and Halloween is tomorrow.
I had three more supernatural horror movies to comment on after this post for this year's thread of October reviews, but time got away from me. I started watching the movies for this thread back in the summer, and I still won't be able to add the rest of the films before tomorrow.
I was going to include "Poltergeist II: The Other Side" and "Poltergeist III," along with the Robert Zemeckis movie "What Lies Beneath" from 2000 which stars Harrison Ford and Michelle Pfeiffer. I'll just have to post them after Halloween sometime.
So, this is it. The 2025 South Korean horror anthology "Ghost Train" offers a unique approach at telling ghost stories, weaving its multiple stories together through their shared setting in a subway station.

This was a random pick for me, as I wanted to watch something I had never seen or even heard of. I searched through all sorts of titles to fill this spot. I happened to have "Ghost Train" saved on my Hoopla app, and the haunted subway premise drew me in.
I'm glad I picked it despite knowing nothing about it. I went on the title and plot alone.
"Ghost Train" starts with a YouTube personality who goes by the name "Horror Queen." Her real name is Kim Da-kyu (Joo Hyun-young), and she's struggling to attract viewers to her channel.
So, she goes the extra mile and investigates Gwanglim Station, which has a terrible reputation as a place where people go missing. From what I gather, people attribute the high number of disappearances to the malicious supernatural entities that lurk in the subway.
Kim decides to investigate the station in the hope of increasing views on her YouTube channel.
The station manager (Jeon Bae-soo) isn't keen on entertaining her inquiries, but she manages to persuade him to tell her about some of these disappearances.
As Kim gathers stories from the reluctant station manager and uploads them to her channel, her popularity rises. Although the station manager shares these stories despite his better judgment, he warns Kim to leave the secrets of Gwanglim Station alone.
Kim, however, is spurred on by the intrigue and the growing popularity of her channel. Her ambition is complicated by jealousy toward a YouTube beauty influencer who is beginning to attract the attention of a male colleague for whom Kim has feelings.
Amid all this, Kim continues to dig deeper into the darkness of Gwanglim Station, uncovering stories of the entities believed to be responsible for the disappearances the station is infamous for.

The Woman on the Train

In this story, a troubled young man traveling on the subway spots a strange woman with long black hair who repeatedly bangs her head against the train window.
Of course, subways are always graced with unusual and downright crazy riders, so he doesn't want to interfere. he figures it's best to ignore her and perhaps go sit in a different car.
But no matter where he goes, he keeps seeing this girl. Wherever he sits, she just... appears.
It gets to the point where it's clear the girl must be following him. His mundane subway ride turns into a straight-up nightmare.
The black-haired Asian female ghost trope is a familiar one, but it's still unsettling in this tale. The man's own misdeeds seem to have something to do with attracting the attention of this horrifying fellow passenger, who has suddenly taken an unmistakable interest in him.

The Bandaged Woman

In this tale of Gwanglim Station, a young student Lee Mi-ju (Kim Na-yeon) spots a young woman whose face is wrapped in surgical bandages as she waits to board a train. 

She's certainly unpleasant to look at and Lee tries not to stare..
The bandaged girl also notices her, though and becomes interested in Lee Mi-ju's face - particularly her nose. 

The strange girl keeps telling Mi-ju how pretty her face is and follows her around. 
Mi-ju notices that the girl is carrying a cup of acid.
She's obviously disturbed by the bandaged woman. Her uneasiness soon turns to outright fear as the girl's actions increasingly become threatening. The cup of acid doesn't help matters.
It's a tale of woe, for sure, built around the vices of envy and vanity.

The Red Vending Machine

I think I recognize this tale but I can't put my finger on it. And yet, it strikes me as familair.
It centers on a homeless man who lives around the station. He happens upon a red coin and an unusual vending machine that dispenses red soda cans. 

But, the machine seems to appear and disappear at random.
He puts two and two together, and inserts the red coins into the mysterious machine. When he retrieves his can and opens it, something good happens to him, but at someone else's terrible expense.
This includes his revenge on a subway rider who constantly torments him whenever he sees him. 

Upon opening the can, the passenger disappears, only to reappear trapped inside the vending machine, where he ultimately meets his death.
This story reminds me a bit of "The Monkey's Paw," albeit in a skewed, updated, and twisted form.
It's a departure from the string of ghost-encounter stories that make up much of the movie.

The Beauty Influencer

The movie shifts its focus to Hye-jin (Kim Ji-in), the beauty influencer who is Kim's rival and romantic competition.
Hye-jin is vain, self-interested, and obsessed with appearances. She's also rather full of herself.
While riding the train, she comes into contact with a nasty, slimy substance. Despite her flaws, I actually feel a bit sorry for Hye-jin in this scenario. Few things in life are nastier or more repulsive than mysterious substances found on subway trains. Poor kid.
She dismisses the encounter as an unfortunate mishap, but she soon begins developing strange symptoms.
Her skin breaks out in a severe rash. She suffers random nosebleeds. Worse still, she begins undergoing some kind of supernatural transformation. The thing she holds most dear—her appearance—begins to deteriorate, and there's nothing she can do about it.
The segment is obviously a critique of the beauty industry and the envy it encourages.

The Final Story

In the end, the station manager gets his own ghost story which ties everything together.
When he and a colleague investigate a possible intruder, the manager enters a train and then finds himself trapped inside.
The temperature becomes unbearably hot, and he desperately calls for help. 

However, his colleague cannot reach him in time.
Kim discovers that the station manager she has been interviewing isn't who he claims to be.
While he's trapped on the train, a mysterious voice reveals the dark history of the station, exposing the evil that lies behind its disturbing reputation.

My Thoughts

"Ghost Train" transforms a subway station—an already creepy place without ghosts—into something even more unsettling and dangerous. It's a danger the subay cops can't do anything about. Although the victims aren't alone, the other passengers don't seem to know what's happening, nor do they seem particularly interested.

That's perhaps more terrifying than meeting one's fate in a dark, secluded haunted house at night. At least in a haunted house, you might expect something to go wrong. On a crowded subway, you're surrounded by people, yet you can still be utterly alone.

There's something particularly unnerving about this setting. Normally haunted places are secluded or abandoned. To have a haunted location in a place where thousands of people need to be every day, and it still poses a threat to them, is unnerving. 

The movie doesn't rely heavily on jump scares. Instead, it builds its horror through atmosphere, tone, and the expressions of fear on the characters' faces. Rather than rushing from one fright to another, "Ghost Train" takes time to create an eerie atmosphere, allowing its individual ghost stories to unfold before converging on a larger mystery.

"Ghost Train" is a gem of a modern-day collection of ghost stories. 
The transitions are impressive in themselves, weaving the stories together in a believable fashion. That alongside the gradual buildup of tension between each ghost story gives the movie a refreshing sense of originality. The clever camera angles and cinematography build tension through the visuals and the light to dark to red-lit atmosphere also create a sense of uncertainty.

Honestly, the movie captures the trepidation of a local urban legend. The Japanese urban legend of Kisaragi Station comes to mind. Look it up! Then the story intensifies it enough to make an otherwise mundane place like a subway station all the more terrifying.
What's more, the movie is less concerned with the ghosts than with the people who encounter them. That seems to be how urban legends work. I touched upon this kind of perspective in my "Kwaidan" review. The characters' faults and inner turmoil are what feed the things that suddenly haunt them amidst their otherwise ordinary day. The movie works remarkably well as a modern collection of urban legends under the modern outlet that brings urban legends into a global scale - social media.

Ghost stories put us in danger for as long as we care to listen. But our curiosity into the most unknown of realms known to us is what brings us back.

I've never found myself bored by a good ghost story or a personal account of a supernatural encounter. I have my own beliefs about the spiritual realm, and I'd never be foolish enough to attempt to contact a spirit myself. Besides, if I ever did try (heaven forbid), I'm sure I'd be talking to something far more unholy than I bargained for.
The past is never completely gone. Perhaps that is the enduring power of a ghost story. These stories remind us that some wounds don't completely heal, that some love carries on after death, and that some questions don't always follow a person into the grave. These things can linger. 
It's funny that when the soul and body are separated, the living cringe at both. We're afraid of ghosts, and we're creeped out by dead bodies.
The afterlife is a realm more mysterious than outer space. It's a realm we'll only truly know once we get there. In the meantime, few things are as intriguing or captivating as a ghost story.

Happy Halloween.

249) Poltergeist (1982)

Halloween 2026's Haunted Cinematic Playback Extravaganza – The Manifestation of Ectoplasmic-Saturated Spook, Spectre, or Ghost Movies (Part VII)

"They're here." 

Director

Tobe Hooper

Cast
JoBeth Williams - Diane Freeling
Craig T. Nelson - Steven Freeling
Oliver Robins - Robbie Freeling
Heather O'Rourke - Carol Anne Freeling
Dominique Dunne - Dana Freeling
Beatrice Straight - Dr. Lesh
Zelda Rubinstein - Tangina Barrons
James Karen - Lewis Teague

If "Jaws" is "The Godfather" of thriller movies, and "Star Wars" is "The Godfather" of science-fiction action movies, and "E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial" is "The Godfather" of alien buddy movies, and "Raiders of the Lost Ark" is "The Godfather" of adventure movies, and whatever Marvel movie (I don't care. Just pick one!) is "The Godfather" of comic book movies, and "The Godfather" is "The Godfather" of mafia movies, then "Poltergeist" is "The Godfather" of supernatural horror movies. Obviously!
Directed by Tobe Hooper, with a story by Steven Spielberg, "Poltergeist" is one of those movies so firmly cemented in pop culture that surely everyone ought to see it at least once in their life, like "The Wizard of Oz," "Star Wars," or "Casablanca."
In this movie, the all-American Freeling family - Steve and Diane (Craig T. Nelson and JoBeth Williams), along with their eldest daughter Dana (Dominique Dunne), young son Robbie (Oliver Robins), and youngest daughter Carol Anne (Heather O'Rourke) - move into an all-American planned community called Cuesta Verde in California.
It's a comfortable, peaceful, and quiet suburban neighborhood. In a horror movie, that's usually the perfect recipe for one heck of a haunting.
Things go from perfect to paranormal when little Carol Anne starts hearing voices coming from the static on the television screen late one night. By the way, is static still a thing when it comes to television nowadays? 

Heather O'Rourke as Carol Anne in "Poltergeist."

Anyway, this somehow opens an unseen portal to another dimension, and spirits begin causing disturbances throughout the house. It all seems spooky yet fascinating to the Freelings. The phenomenon turns terrifying, however, when Carol Anne disappears into another dimension.
Her parents feel completely helpless and desperate. How does someone rescue a child, or anyone for that matter, who's been sucked into another dimension?
They turn to a small group of parapsychologists, essentially a ghost-hunting team, for help. These investigators experience the terrifying poltergeist activity in the house firsthand. But they have no idea how to rescue a child from another dimension. They eventually call in a spiritual medium named Tangina (Zelda Rubinstein) who not only knows where Carol Anne is but also understands the threat she's facing unless someone goes in and rescues her. It has to be fiction when a medium can actually offer help in spiritual matters.
Meanwhile, the Freelings discover the hard way that their dream suburban home was built on top of a cemetery that developers claimed to have relocated. Well, they relocated the headstones, but not the dead. And those spirits are mad!
Who knows how much time the Freelings have to figure out a way to cross into the dimension where Carol Anne is trapped and pull her out? Is such a rescue mission even possible?
"Poltergeist" arrived at a time when horror movies had already taken a turn toward the real and plausible during the 1970s. Horror in the 1980s brought fantasy back into the genre, albeit a dark version of it. To me, "Poltergeist" is a transitional film, bridging the plausible horror of the 1970s and the dark fantasy of the 1980s. It has a sense of plausibility, and the dark fantasy behind the haunting doesn't detract from its realism.
Tobe Hooper directed "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre" back in 1974, a film heavily steeped in that realistic horror style.
I'm not the first person to point out that the plot of "Poltergeist" bears a striking resemblance to an episode of "The Twilight Zone" called "Little Girl Lost," written by author and screenwriter Richard Matheson. The episode is about a little girl named Tina who wanders through a portal in her bedroom wall and finds herself in another dimension. Her parents can hear her calling but can't see her. The only way to get her back is for one of them to enter the other dimension and bring her home. Classic!
Matheson, by the way, is known for many well-known horror stories. His short story "Duel" was adapted for the screen by Steven Spielberg and is one of my personal favorite thriller films.
Going back to plausibility, that's what really makes "Poltergeist" scary, even more so than the poltergeists themselves. Add the predicament of an innocent five-year-old girl trapped in a dangerous situation with no obvious way to rescue her, and the horror really strikes a chord.
Some of the plot points also suggest a bit of social commentary.
For instance, the supernatural trouble begins with the television. The fact that the youngest child is the one who first interacts with the mysterious voices could easily be interpreted as an allegory for television's influence over children and families. The modern equivalent would be smartphones and tablets.

Zelda Rubinstein in "Poltergeist."

The television is an ordinary part of the Freeling family's life long before the supernatural events begin.
It isn't simply an object that becomes haunted. It becomes the portal itself, making the movie's imagery more interesting than that of a conventional ghost story.
And the fact that the house is built on top of an old cemetery might say something about the past intruding on the present. Or it could just be a creative plot device to move the story along. It's something for the audience to ponder on after the movie. 
Spielberg's talent for making movies feel enormous, with plenty of memorable visuals and big payoffs, combines with Hooper's nightmarish style and disturbing scenarios to give "Poltergeist" a distinctive blend of realism and dark fantasy.
Poltergeist activity has been reported by people who claim to have witnessed it firsthand. There's the real-world connection. A scenario like this then comes across as something that could happen to anyone.
In this movie, however, the activity becomes increasingly outrageous while remaining terrifying: a tree attacks one of the children, television static transmits supernatural communications, Carol Anne's closet becomes a portal to another dimension, and, finally, the entire house implodes.
The spectacle isn't merely there to amaze the audience. It makes an ordinary suburban environment feel increasingly unstable and frightening beyond understanding. Hooper's horror sensibility gives these fantastic events a more disturbing and chaotic edge.
For those who didn't know, "Poltergeist" went on to spawn two sequels: "Poltergeist II: The Other Side" (1986) and "Poltergeist III" (1988).
It also received the reboot treatment in 2015, with a remake also called "Poltergeist." I know I saw it when it was released on DVD. And yet I remember nothing about it. I even forgot it stars Sam Rockwell.
That tells me something about the staying power of the original.
"Poltergeist" is more than a haunted-house movie. It's a suburban nightmare in which the comforts of modern life become the very things that make the nightmare possible. A family home becomes a spiritual battleground, and an American dream turns out to have been built on top of something nobody bothered to bury properly.
It's frightening, imaginative, and absurd. It manages to be both grounded in an ordinary family's fears alongside fantasy in its execution. "Poltergeist" works well as a contemporary haunted house movie, bringing the specters out of old, cold, dusty castles and into suburban America. 

248) The Innkeepers (2011)

Halloween 2026's Haunted Cinematic Playback Extravaganza – The Manifestation of Ectoplasmic-Saturated Spook, Spectre, or Ghost Movies (Part VI)

"If you expect nothing from people, then you go through life being pleasantly surprised."

Director
Ti West

Cast
Sara Paxton - Claire
Pat Healy - Luke
Kelly McGillis - Leanne Rease-Jones
Alison Bartlett - Gayle, the angry mom
Jake Ryan - Gayle's Son
Lena Dunham - The Barista
George Riddle - The Old Man
Brenda Cooney - Madeline O'Malley
John Speredakos - Officer Mitchell

The 2011 supernatural horror movie "The Innkeepers" was better the second time I watched it.
I first saw this movie around the time it was initially released on DVD. Back then I found it underwhelming and a little boring, but I remembered it all these years later.
I wanted to give it a second chance after "The Cobwebs Channel" on YouTube listed it as a supernatural ghost movie recommendation. So, I gave it another shot.
And I liked it better now that I did.
As a ghost story, it serves as something of a warning.
In this movie, an old hotel called the Yankee Pedlar Inn is about to close its doors for good. The only employees still working there, Claire (Sara Paxton) and Luke (Pat Healy), are basically winging it as the inn's last guests check out before the inn's final day arrives.
With little to do beyond tending to the remaining guests, Claire and Luke decide to make their final days of employment more interesting by investigating the hotel's alleged paranormal history. At first, there's little concrete evidence that anything supernatural has ever happened at the inn.
However, as they dig deeper and attempt to contact whatever spirits might be dwelling in the old Yankee Pedlar, Claire and Luke don't anticipate just how disturbed the spirits they awaken might be.
"The Innkeepers" has a moral to its story. To put it simply, if you go looking for ghosts, you're more than likely to find them. And once that happens, those ghosts may not be so easy to get rid of.
Director Ti West has a talent for slowly building dread and trepidation.
West is a director who takes his time building suspense.
Aside from "The Innkeepers," I've seen only a few of his other movies: "The House of the Devil," "V/H/S" (in which he directs the segment "Second Honeymoon"), and "The Sacrament."
Based on the few films of his I've seen, West has a slow-burn approach to pacing. His style can keep an audience intrigued by making viewers wait for the horror to unfold.
What draws me into many horror movies is atmosphere rather than jump scares and horrific monsters, although the monsters can be the icing on the cake.

Stories and films set in old homes and hotels with their age - pealing paint, clanging radiators, pattenred wallpaper and history that hasn't left - entices me. It pulls me in. Spaces like this, whether the interior is in need of repair or fixed up nicely, feel haunted not just by wandering souls but by a history only few know about. It's history alive or struggling to stay alive. Whatever is in these settings is waiting to be noticed.  

Sara Paxton as Claire in "The Innkeepers."

"The Innkeepers" has an enticing atmosphere that is enhanced by Sara Paxton's performance, particularly in her reactions to the various guests she encounters. All the while, Claire becomes increasingly consumed by her curiosity about the spirit realm, a realm she has no business meddling in.
What appeals to me most is the classic haunted-house atmosphere, with a hotel standing in for the usual spooky residence, and the gradual buildup of tension.
The film is particularly effective in that the hotel isn't initially spooky or creepy when it's introduced to the audience. The place is introduced as quite cozy and charming.
It's as though the Yankee Pedlar becomes a victim of Claire's curiosity and the trouble that curiosity brings upon the otherwise innocent little inn.
When I first watched "The Innkeepers," I recall thinking that the slow ride through the film, I thought the movie's payoff came too late and with too much ambiguity.
Now, I think the film works rather well.
Claire is an unusual protagonist for a paranormal movie. She seems motivated by mere boredom that gradually turns into curiosity as she explores the supernatural. The deeper she digs, and the more she meddles in things she shouldn't, the worse it gets. 

At first, she's drawn in by stories and rumors rather than by any firsthand experience of paranormal activity. Nothing happens until Claire and Luke approach it.
The whole setup feels much more plausible than that of many other paranormal movies. 
The ending initially struck me as too ambiguous, though I got the impression it's meant to suggest that the supernatural isn't necessarily something we can understand or control. Claire's curiosity leads her into a situation she doesn't fully comprehend, and her actions have consequences she cannot easily undo.
It's a potentially polarizing ending because it leaves so many questions unanswered. Audiences might find yourself asking, "What just happened?" I found it as a logical conclusion. She called up a spirit, only to be entangled in it, and it gave her what she was looking for. 
Still, the film achieves a great deal with very little: a few unexplained sounds here, a piano playing on its own there, and then Claire finally opens a door to a realm she doesn't realize may be a one-way trip.
That little bit is effective.
The entire movie works well as a cautionary tale about the dangers of searching for ghosts. But what will you do when you find them?

Oh, and Kelly McGillis from "Top Gun" is in this, too. I can't forget that added casting bonus!

247) The Lodgers (2017)

Halloween 2026's Haunted Cinematic Playback Extravaganza – The Manifestation of Ectoplasmic-Saturated Spook, Spectre, or Ghost Movies (Part V)

"Girl child, boy child, listen well. Be in bed by midnight's bell. Never let a stranger through your door. Never leave each other all alone. Good sister, good brother be, follow well these cautions three. Long as your blood be ours alone, we'll see you ever from below."

Director
Brian O'Malley

Cast
Charlotte Vega - Rachel
David Bradley - Bermingham
Bill Milner - Edward
Eugene Simon - Sean
Moe Dunford - Dessie
Roisin Murphy - Kay
Deirdre O'Kane - Maura
Carolyn Bracken - Lodger

After watching the 2017 Irish gothic horror movie "The Lodgers," I'm struggling to come up with something to say about it. After the general spookiness most paranormal horror movies embrace to get audiences in the mood for the ghost story they're about to dedicate their time to, everything that follows is drab and anything but thrilling. In other words, the movie falls dead, much like the ghosts it depicts.
I considered leaving this one out of October's horror flick lineup because I struggled staying focused, which was entirely the movie's fault. But I watched it. I sat through it. I struggled to stay awake. I grappled with what I was supposed to take away from it. I couldn't decide then, and still can't decide now, whether I liked it. That's a lot of work for one movie! I might as well keep it in.
"The Lodgers" is set in rural Ireland in the 1920s. The story centers on a pair of fraternal twins, Rachel (Charlotte Vega) and Edward (Bill Milner). They live together in a slowly deteriorating mansion that has been in their family for generations. 

From the outside looking in, the brother and sister appear to live alone. Well, they're not exactly alone. Thanks to a family curse, the house is also inhabited by ghosts who seemingly dwell in a watery void beneath the home.
These ghosts effectively keep Rachel and Edward prisoners in their own house, imposing three rules on the siblings. They must never allow strangers to cross the threshold. They must be in bed by midnight. And neither Rachel nor Edward can attempt to escape. If either tries, the life of the other will be in danger.
Rachel is about to turn 18, and like many young women her age, she wants to leave the nest and escape the dark curse that has weighed on her shoulders her entire life. She longs to leave the decaying mansion and be free of the spirits who loom over her with their wicked, imposing rules.
Edward, meanwhile, refuses to leave. He has succumbed to his cursed life.

Charlotte Vega as Rachel in 'The Lodgers.'

When a war veteran returns to a nearby village, he catches Rachel's attention. She thinks he may be able to provide a way out. Escaping the home, however, means risking the horrors that await anyone who dares to break the curse that has plagued her family for generations.
The storyline itself isn't the problem. A family curse, the sins of ancestors, and a haunted house are perfectly ideal ingredients for a ghost story. The presentation, however, nearly put me to sleep.
My interest was piqued at the beginning, but it diminished far too quickly as the story unfolded. Not even the sinister presence of the ghosts could revive my interest. Perhaps that's because the audience is barely treated to any ghosts at all. They're supposedly lurking beneath the house, floating around in some watery netherworld beneath the floorboards. A trapdoor in the middle of the main floor, at the bottom of the staircase, provides access to their domain. Yet the promise of something lurking just out of sight doesn't satisfyingly develop into the sustained sense of dread the film needs.

Aside from the sluggish pace, I think plot points came across as vague or nonsensical. For instance, why is there a curse in the first place. I honestly don't recall. If that's explained, my mind was probably wandering during that point in the movie. 

Also, the twins didn't commit the sins that supposedly condemned them, yet they're left to suffer the consequences all the same.
Rachel, however, is determined to break the generational cycle and confront the evil looming over her. Her desire for human contact is too strong to allow herself to remain indefinitely under the thumb of her family's ghosts.
I get the sense that "The Lodgers" is about breaking free from the past, which the film portrays as a burden that can become impossible to escape. It seems to suggest that inherited privilege can be a curse in its own right, and that the real darkness lies in isolating oneself from a changing world.

I see where this is going now! Rachel wants to break free, while Edward has surrendered himself like a prisoner to the past. Why?

I couldn't put my finger on whether he was a mere simp, or just wanted to be an obstacle for his sister.

I didn't see any convincing reason for him to just sit and take it. 

The haunted house represents that dying past.
I also sense a left-wing critique of inherited "privilege," a familiar buzzword among our pals on the left side of the aisle. The film seems to suggest that those who cling to tradition risk isolating themselves from the changing world around them. But there's another side to that argument. People can embrace

change so enthusiastically that they lose sight of the cultural histories and traditions that once gave their lives meaning. Not every old thing deserves to be preserved, of course, but neither does everything new deserve an automatic welcome.
I had watched "Fiddler on the Roof" a few days earlier, so the importance of tradition was still fresh in my mind. That film's treatment of tradition makes for an interesting contrast with "The Lodgers." Where tradition can provide a community with identity and continuity, the past in "The Lodgers" seems to have become a prison from which its inhabitants must escape. The more interesting question is whether the film distinguishes between a tradition worth preserving and a destructive legacy worth abandoning. I'm not convinced it does.
The allegory is rather obvious, honestly. Unfortunately, the characters and the plot feel shallow by comparison with the ideas the film appears to be pursuing. The atmosphere is there, and the premise has potential, but neither develops into a particularly compelling story.
"The Lodgers" is a brooding gothic tale that seems unable to get out of its own way. It has something to say about the past, privilege, and the freedom to forge a different future, but its allegory is more conspicuous than its characters are compelling. The result is a film that mistakes a gloomy atmosphere for genuine suspense and leaves its audience with more to ponder about its intentions than to remember about its story.

"The Lodgers" depicts a notion that escaping the past is the same as escaping mistakes. For a film that seemingly wants to critique history or tradition, or maybe both, as a burden, I'd respect its intentions more if the story bothered to understand the difference between a history that imprisons us and one that gives us something worth preserving. Here, the distinction remains murky, the characters remain remote, and the horror is nothing but a scary mask that the past is wearing.

246) Ghostwatch (1992)

Halloween 2026's Haunted Cinematic Playback Extravaganza – The Manifestation of Ectoplasmic-Saturated Spook, Spectre, or Ghost Movies (Part IV)

"What's it like living in England's Amityville?"

Director

Lesley Manning

Cast
Michael Parkinson - Himself as the Host
Sarah Greene - Herself
Mike Smith - Himself
Craig Charles - Himself
Gillian Bevan - Dr. Lin Pascoe
Brid Brennan - Pamela Early
Michelle Wesson - Suzanne Early
Cherise Wesson - Kim Early
Keith Ferrari - Pipes

"Ghostwatch" is a little-known showcase in televised horror, perhaps at least in the U.S. Not so much in the U.K. 

It's a Halloween activity that turns an otherwise ordinary BBC investigation into something considerably more unsettling.
The show is a faux-live investigation presented as a special report and hosted by British talk-show host Michael Parkinson. It's something along the lines of the 1938 "War of the Worlds" radio broadcast, but on TV.
It first aired on BBC1 in the U.K. on October 31, 1992.
And it's pretty much what I expected it to be. That is, it's something "scary" to tune into on Halloween night.
The storyline behind "Ghostwatch" clearly draws inspiration from the famous Enfield poltergeist case, which supposedly took place in the U.K. back in the 1970s. The case was the basis for the 2016 sequel "The Conjuring 2," which is, in my infallible opinion, the only worthwhile movie in the "Conjuring" franchise.
Anyway, like the Enfield case, the story in "Ghostwatch" revolves around a single mother and her two young daughters. It's presented as a live BBC television broadcast investigating reports of an alleged haunting at the home of Pamela Early (Brid Brennan) and her two daughters, Kim (Cherise Wesson) and Suzanne (Michelle Wesson).
The three claim they're being tormented by a relentless spirit. So, the BBC is there to investigate live and see what's really going on.

While Michael Parkinson is at the BBC studio, co-host Sarah Greene spends the night with the family, providing moment-by-moment coverage as disturbing, unexplainable spooky stuff gradually increases in frequency, suggesting that the haunting is real.
Mike Smith is in the studio with Parkinson, supervising phone calls from members of the public who want to comment on the ongoing haunting investigation.
The ghost supposedly residing in the Early home is an entity called "Pipes" because it seems to love banging on the pipes inside the house.
The television investigation uncovers a dark history of the house, including claims that a child murderer who lived during the Victorian era died there.
As the investigation pushes through the night, viewers call into the show to report sightings of Pipes hiding in the background of various scenes during the broadcast, as well as strange activity in their own homes. The paranormal activity eventually spreads beyond the house, revealing that the entire broadcast may have been manipulated into becoming a nationwide séance.
The situation spirals, leading to Sarah Greene disappearing inside the house. The ghost or ghosts somehow make their way into the studio. So now the BBC becomes haunted, and the broadcast ends with Michael Parkinson falling under the influence of Pipes.
Happy Halloween!
Outside of "Ghostwatch" being, well, a thing that exists, there's not much to take away from it. It's like a Halloween decoration.
It starts off with just enough supernatural suspense to captivate me and pull me in. But it makes a feeble attempt to throw in a twist midway through, lest the whole thing become another news-magazine gimmick.
One thing it does succeed at, somewhat, is exploiting the what-if factor behind ghosts and hauntings. What if these hauntings and poltergeists are actually real? It's effective.
Among the most laughable and irritating things on TV these days are those insufferable ghost-hunting shows.
There are so many of these reality ghost shows on TV and streaming platforms. All they have going for them is the "what-if" factor. Outside of that, they're all the same. Dull. Doubtful. Laughable. And all the while, they're claiming to be experts on something they admit is unknown.
These shows conveniently feature paranormal activity in every episode. I've only met one so-called paranormal investigator in my life, back when I was writing for a newspaper. This guy said that finding actual paranormal activity, even in allegedly haunted locations, is damn near impossible. And he used the same nonsense they use on TV, with all manner of recording devices and electronic toys.

At least "Ghostwatch" doesn't try to be anything other than what it is: a more-or-less entertaining (I'm being generous) spooky television special designed to leave audiences a little uneasy when they go to bed.
Still, it kept me invested from beginning to end. I wanted to see where the story went.
I heard about "Ghostwatch" from the YouTube channel "The Cobwebs Channel," which features entertaining lists of horror movie recommendations categorized by subgenre.
Even TV can be frightening, and I'm not referring to the news. "Trilogy of Terror" from 1975 comes to mind, as do those paranormal segments that used to be featured on "Unsolved Mysteries." I loved watching those. They definitely made an impression. And they were scary.
"Ghostwatch" strikes me as a one-time program that understands that. It attempts to be a frightening TV experience, and it succeeds at times, especially in those instances when I had to rewind because I thought I saw someone standing in a reflection or appearing in a random scene who wasn't supposed to be there. Well done, in that regard.

Despite it being a Halloween funhouse experience, it deserves a rightful niche somewhere in the corridors of television horror history. 

245) Kwaidan (1964)

Halloween 2026's Haunted Cinematic Playback Extravaganza – The Manifestation of Ectoplasmic-Saturated Spook, Spectre, or Ghost Movies (Part III)

 

Director
Masaki Kobayashi

Cast

The Black Hair

Rentarō Mikuni - the Samurai
Michiyo Aratama - the First Wife
Misako Watanabe - the Second Wife

The Woman of the Snow
Tatsuya Nakadai - Minokichi
Keiko Kishi - the Yuki-onna

Hoichi the Earless
Katsuo Nakamura - Hoichi
Tetsurō Tamba - the Samurai in Armor
Takashi Shimura -  the Chief Priest

In a Cup of Tea
Kan'emon Nakamura - Kannai
Noboru Nakaya - Heinai Shikibu
Osamu Takizawa - the Author/Narrator
Nakamura Ganjirō II - the Publisher

I have to give a huge amount of credit to Japanese filmmakers for making horror movies with such enthralling plots often so carefully put together like a fine tapestry. They seem to take the art of filmmaking, even horror movies, very seriously and with every bit of attention to detail. A lot of Japanese horror movies are crafted artfully and meticulously. Even when it comes to many of the Godzilla movies, Japanese filmmakers seem to give their films a lot of depth. Case in point, the 1964 horror anthology film, "Kwaidan."
It was directed by Masaki Kobayashi and taken from a screenplay by Yoko Mizuki.
I wouldn't hesitate to call "Kwaidan" a horror movie masterpiece.
This is one of the eeriest, most reverential, dignified, and captivating anthologies I have ever seen.
Watching this, there is certainly a sense of awe and historical reference that left me thinking I would be a huge jerk if I said anything negative about it.
"Kwaidan" tells four separate ghost stories that are taken from Greek/Irish writer Lafcadio Hearn's collections of Japanese folktales.
These haunting stories depict love, betrayal, pride, and spiritual consequence in a relatable way. Then they use these themes to tie the living with the dead.

"The Black Hair"
In this first tale, a samurai (Rentarō Mikuni) leaves his devoted wife (Michiyo Aratama) and heads to Kyoto so he can marry into a rich family. As he leaves his wife behind in tears and miserable loneliness, the samurai hopes that by marrying into a rich family, he'll improve his social standing and actually become somebody important and highly regarded.
He manages to find another wife, (Misako Watanabe) who can make all that happen. However, that marriage turns out to be a complete disaster, and not what the samurai was hoping for.
Disgraced, the samurai returns to the home where he left his first and more dedicate wife. Surprisingly, she welcomes him back with no ill feelings. The house, however, certainly hasn't been tended to very well during his absence.
It seems almost too good to be true. When the samurai awakens the next morning, he discovers that his first wife, who welcomed him back joyfully, is actually long dead. Her decaying corpse has been lying next to him during the night.
The samurai tries to escape, but his wife's long and gorgeous black hair entangles and subdues him.
It's an unsettling and emotional start to this anthology with its depiction of the horror of regret. It's a story that centers more on the dread of irretrievably losing something so precious rather than just being a spooky tale of regret.
Not only does the samurai find himself haunted by his wife, but he's also more keenly haunted by his own guilt and his longing for the good he had in his possession until he threw it away of his own free will. His is a longing for his own past. Now, it has become a source of torment.

"The Woman of the Snow"
This story begins during a terrible snowstorm up in the mountains. A woodcutter named Minokichi (Tatsuya Nakadai) witnesses a beautiful woman kill his elderly companion. Well, that beautiful woman is actually a yuki-onna, or a snow woman (Keiko Kishi), a supernatural entity linked to blizzards or whatever other severe winter conditions happen to occur. Though beautiful, the yuki-onna is a ruthless entity that kills unsuspecting people. Well, almost ruthless.
After she kills his companion, the snow woman turns her attention to Minokichi. However, she's taken by his handsome and youthful appearance, and spares his life.
However, she makes him swear never to tell anyone that she appeared to him and killed his companion. If he lets the cat out of the bag, figuratively speaking, she'll return to take his life.
Years roll by. Minokichi hasn't told a soul about what he witnessed during that snowstorm.
During those years, he finds himself a beautiful wife named Yuki and, together, they make a nice little family.
However, this little slice of heaven they made changes when Minokichi makes a pair of sandals for Yuki. He even places a little red ribbon on them.
He tells Yuki the ribbon symbolizes her young and gorgeous features. How precious!
Later, while watching Yuki sitting in candlelight sewing a kimono, Minokichi is reminded of the snow woman. He can't help noticing a resemblance.
So, he tells Yuki about what he saw all those years ago during that mountain snowstorm.
He didn't keep his end of the bargain, and now he has to pay the penalty. Yuki reveals herself to be the snow woman. However, she still can't bring herself to kill Minokichi or the children she had with him.
The fragility of a promise and the burden of secrecy are at play in this story. I like this story because, when it comes to horror, I’m drawn to that one thing in a horror story that disrupts a character's peace of mind in an otherwise peaceful existence. To me, that simple element is frightening. I picture that one horrific detail weighing on a character’s mind as something like a blemish or worm bothering one's conscience . It’s there in their mind. Amid all the joy and good things that surround them, the knowledge that this one bit of evil is still a part of their life keeps coming back every once in a while.
In this case, it’s the knowledge that evil, murderous, supernatural snow women exist, and that Minokichi can’t do anything about it or tell anyone what he has seen. That knowledge becomes a kind of secret burden he carries with him for the rest of his life. But there’s another tragedy here: love is stronger than the monster of the story, at least for a time. Minokichi manages to keep his life, but his true love is gone forever. And, in a strange twist, she wasn’t even exactly what he thought she was all those years. He loved her, lived with her, and built a life with her, all while unknowingly living alongside the very thing he had once feared. Tragic all around.
By the way, this story seemed very familiar to me. In fact, as the story progressed, I knew right away where I had seen this same story depicted before.
Anyone who's familiar with the 1988 horror anthology "Tales from the Darkside" will recognize this as the same plot as the story "Lover's Vow" with James Remar and Rae Dawn Chong.

"Hoichi the Earless"
This segment seems original yet familiar to me. I mean, I feel like I've seen a story similar to this third segment, "Hoichi the Earless," depicted someplace else, but at the same time, it strikes me as original. I get that originality from how reverentially deep the segment goes into old Japanese history, particularly the Battle of Dan-no-ura, which occurred in 1185.
In this segment, Hoichi (Katsuo Nakamura) is a blind musician who is a master at playing the Japanese lute-like string instrument called the biwa. He lives in a Buddhist temple and is known for how well he sings a chant called "The Tale of the Heike," which tells the story of the Battle of Dan-no-ura.
So much so that Hoichi is summoned by a mysterious samurai to perform this song for an audience of nobles, including the samurai's lord. The samurai instructs him not to tell anyone about this request.
Hoichi agrees. So, during the night, the mysterious samurai leads him to a strange court where he sings "The Tale of the Heike."
One of Hoichi's caretakers notices his late-night absence.
The samurai returns the following night to take Hoichi back to his lord and the nobles in the court to sing the tale once again.
His caretakers try to protect Hoichi, who doesn't realize the samurai, his lord, and the nobles he's playing for are actually spirits of the dead. To protect him, they write Buddhist scripture all over his body. Weird, I know. But that's what they do. This writing makes Hoichi invisible to the ghosts. But the monks he lives with forget to write on his ears. That means the ghosts can see Hoichi's ears floating around.
The samurai takes Hoichi's ears and leaves him...earless.
There's a real eeriness about the way this segment depicts the persistence and longing for the past, which the ghosts that seek out Hoichi are longing for. They're trapped in this ongoing recollection of the battle Hoichi sings about. They have him singing practically on repeat. It's like the ghosts are the haunted ones who can't escape their past of war, even in death. Their haunting won't let them rest in peace.
History and storytelling are doing the haunting, but history is still treated with the reverence it deserves.
This story is steeped in an almost sacred sense of history. The ghosts of the past demand to be remembered, while the living struggle to keep from being overtaken by it.

"In a Cup of Tea"
In this last segment, as told by a storyteller, a writer tells the tale of a samurai named Kannai (Kan'emon Nakamura) as he waits for a visit from his publisher.
While Kannai is waiting, he stops by a teahouse for refreshments. As he serves himself tea, Kannai suddenly starts seeing a random face of an unknown man in his cup of tea.
As disturbing and weird as this is, Kannai still drinks his tea, face or no face.
When Kannai and his publisher meet, the man whose face he saw in his cup of tea appears to him. He says his name is Heinai Shikibu (Noboru Nakaya).
Kannai tells others about what he witnessed, but of course they don't believe him.
Later that night, three spirit attendants of Shikibu manifest themselves to Kannai and then end up dueling each other.
However, the story deliberately ends without a formal conclusion. It ends with the eerie and unsettling image of the storyteller trapped inside a big jar. The story is left unresolved forcing the audience to use their imagination as to how the scenario ends. Uncertainty is one of the most haunting aspects of life. It can really bend a person in half, twisting their stomach with anguish. And that's what the audience is left with after this purposely unfinished segment. With the reverential historical tale told in song, this segment feels like the centerpiece of the film.

My thoughts
"Kwaidan" isn't just a spooky ghost movie. It's a substantial series of tales that's quite an experience. The frightening aspects go deeper than just seeing people haunted by spirits. These ghosts carry with them memory, guilt, broken promises, and uncertainy.
While I think a horror movie ought to depict the defeat of evil, this movie's ending on abrupt uncertainty rather than giving the audience a neat explanation gives a final and lasting haunting. It certainly works. The audience needs to regain its footing after the last segment.
One of the things that makes "Kwaidan" so effective is its atmosphere. Although every story is obviously constructed on a soundstage, the artificial sets give these worlds an uncanny feel. 

Reality seems to border the strange, dreamlike spiritual realm from which the ghosts cross over. The painted skies, semi-unnatural landscapes, stark colors, and theatrical sets distort reality just enough. The atmosphere becomes more and more unsettling as the stories progress. It's as if the audience is looking at a world that exists only a few steps away from our own, with the ghosts just on the other side of the curtain.
The human actions of the characters somehow invite the respective supernatural consequences.
The spirits in this movie are more than just souls of the dead. They act as metaphors.
This movie goes above just being a supernatural scare for a movie night. It gives the audience so much to take away in regard to human actions and supernatural consequences.
Some of the ghosts evoke pity more than fear. And, actually, it's the human frailty and weakness that drives each story. It's this human corruption that evokes the supernatural intrusion, for lack of a better word. All of this is depicted near flawlessly. It goes beyond conventional scares. It utilizes an amazing, almost dreamlike atmosphere throughout each tale. It's almost meditative in regard to our actions and what those actions may lead to. It doesn't pull any punches about it. The movie is certainly blunt in its depictions. 
Out of all the paranormal horror movies I've watched, this one is the most impressive.

244) 1408 (2007)

Halloween 2026's Haunted Cinematic Playback Extravaganza – The Manifestation of Ectoplasmic-Saturated Spook, Spectre, or Ghost Movies (Part II)

"Hotels are a naturally creepy place."

Director
Mikael Håfström

Cast

John Cusack - Mike Enslin
Samuel L. Jackson - Gerald Olin
Mary McCormack - Lily Enslin
Tony Shalhoub - Sam Farrell
Jasmine Jessica Anthony - Katie Enslin
Len Cariou - Mike's father


Horror writer Stephen King observed that hotels are naturally creepy places. How true that is. When I was a kid, hotels were a huge added bonus to the vacationing experience. Now, I'm kind of wary of hotels. Basically, I see everything in a hotel room as dirty. Everything has been used by hundreds of strangers before me. How many people have slept in the bed I'm sleeping in? How many people have used my towels to dry off their bodies and heads of hair? Did someone sit on the couch in my room bollock naked just to get a laugh at the thought that someone will sit in that same spot later? And these considerations come no matter how luxurious a hotel I'm staying in might be. Honestly, I don't stay in fancy hotels often. I'm willing to settle for a La Quinta or a Drury Inn. At least the Drury Inns have complimentary cocktails and complimentary dinners aside from the standard continental breakfasts.
Still, I can be paranoid about hotel rooms. On the other hand, it's best not to think about these kinds of things.
If only hotels would count hauntings as being part of their many amenities. I guess some do? It's usually the inns and motels that could use a gimmick to attract clientele. Free Wi-Fi. Free breakfast. Weight room. Hair dryer. Pet-friendly. Free on-site parking. Some rooms available with full complimentary poltergeist activity. Children under 12 stay free.
The 2007 movie "1408," based on the short story by Stephen King found in his book "Everything's Eventual," is a gem among paranormal horror flicks.
In this movie, John Cusack plays author Mike Enslin, whose catalog of published works deals with supernatural topics. His books include "Ten Haunted Hotels," "Ten Haunted Lighthouses," and "Ten Haunted Graveyards."
He stays at these "haunted" locations, conducts his paranormal research with all the usual ghost-hunting gadgetry, and yet doesn't believe in any of the things he writes about. Basically, he puts in a lot of work for something he doesn't really believe in. The big catch of his trade arrives when he receives a postcard from an anonymous source telling him not to stay in room 1408 at the Dolphin Hotel in New York City.
Of course, to Mike, it's an invitation to some great source material.
His intrigue spikes when he calls the Dolphin to book 1408, but he's told immediately that it's "unavailable" no matter what date he tries to book it for.
Thanks to Mike's publisher, Sam Farrell (Tony Shalhoub), and the publishing company's attorney, there's a legal loophole that if a hotel room is unoccupied, the hotel must give it to a paying customer upon request.
Just before checking in, the Dolphin's manager, Gerald Olin (Samuel L. Jackson), pleads with Enslin not to stay in 1408. Despite bribing him with expensive merchandise and a free stay in a nearly identical room, Enslin still insists on staying in 1408 for one night, just as he does with all the other haunted locations.

John Cusack as Michael Enslin in "1408."

But Enslin won't budge. He refuses to dupe his readers. Olin knows, however, that no one lasts more than an hour up in 1408. 
That's what Enslin quickly realizes within an hour of checking into the room. In that time, he realizes he should have heeded the advice on the postcard... whomever sent it. Maybe the room sent it? 
The evil that's staying in the room with Enslin seems to resemble the ghosts of his own past. His stay becomes an emotional breakdown once he has to wrestle with the evil as it uses memories of his deceased daughter, Katie, as well as his walking out on his wife after Katie's death, and his loss of belief in God.
"I've lived the life of a selfish man, but I don't have to die that way," he admits to himself.
There's something I like about this movie. Seldom, if ever, does a movie's creep factor stay with me to the point of making me wary of doing something or going someplace in particular...like a hotel room. That's thanks to one line in this movie: "Hotels are naturally creepy places."
My initial thought when I saw this movie shortly back in 2007 was that it would just be a jump-scare flick about a haunted hotel room. But it digs deeper than mere scares and creepiness. It's a story of a luxurious haunted hotel room. However, whatever resides in the room and prevents guests from leaving pulls its paranormal fireworks from within the guests themselves.
I read the short story just before writing this review. In the short story, just like in the film, room 1408 is the antagonist that pins the main character, Michael Enslin, against himself while nudging him around like a kid tormenting a bug.
But the attacks aren't just a scare here and an unusual happening there. The room attacks Enslin personally, digging into what he values most and tormenting him with his own memories, regrets, religious and supernatural skepticism, and emotional wounds.
That's well depicted in the movie, giving the haunted room emotional weight rather than making it just another ghostly gimmick.
It also gives the audience insight into Enslin and why he suddenly dedicated his life to writing about haunted locations after his young daughter dies. He claims he doesn't believe in God, and yet he's chasing entities he claims he doesn't believe in. Obviously, he does, as Enslin is really on a mission to get back at God for taking his daughter. Casting off faith and belief isn't enough of a revenge tactic against God. Enslin has to put in all his time and effort to convince himself and others that God doesn't exist, but nothing spiritual does either. 
"1408" is really a masterclass in showing and not telling.
King embraces uncertainty in his short story, making everything within Mike Enslin's reach inside room 1408 unreliable—the telephone, the room's door, and even time. He leaves Enslin with nothing to depend on.
I love how the movie doesn't make the monster thoroughly explained. It leaves a lot of ambiguity around whatever is in 1408. But whatever it is, the audience gets to sit and watch what it can do.
One scene sets this aspect off nicely.
When Olin realizes Enslin isn't going to bend on staying in 1408, he gives him the room key. To Enslin's amusement, the key is an actual key and not a magnetic card like hotels now hand to their guests.
"Most hotels have switched to magnetics. An actual key. That's a nice touch, it's antiquey," Enslin says.
"We have magnetic cards also, but electronics don't seem to work in 1408. Hope you don't have a pacemaker," Olin replies.

John Cusack and Samuel L. Jackson.

Throughout the movie, Enslin often talks into a small voice recorder he carries around with him when on an assignment for his books.
Enslin speaks into his voice recorder, "General manager claims that the phantom in room interferes..."
"I have never used the word 'phantom,'" Olin cuts him off.
"I'm sorry. Uh, spirit? Specter?"
"No, you misunderstand. Whatever's in 1408 is nothing like that."
"Then what is it?"
Olin leans in and whispers in his ear, "It's an evil f**king room."
The short story gives a bit more insight.
"There are no ghosts in 1408 and never have been. There's something in there—I've felt it myself—but it's not a spirit presence. In an abandoned house or an old castle keep, your unbelief may serve you as protection. In room 1408, it will only render you more vulnerable," Olin tells Enslin, begging him to reconsider.
I'm only on the second movie for this thread, and already I'm bending the rule with this review. The movie, like the short story, centers on something paranormal, but there's not really any ghosts except those of Enslin's past.
It's fitting that Enslin is a writer as the movie is his entrapment in his own mind. Writers are odd people because, among other oddities, they linger way too long in their own thoughts and considerations trying to craft clever ways to describe otherwise obvious truths and mundane observations. Writers generally love to artful ways of imposing their own ideas into truths and spaces where they don't necessarily belong. I'm probably doing that right now. It's like writers have to outperform the last guy.
And in typical King fashion, no one escapes their terror in the ideal way, and not without some kind of scar—external or internal, or both.
"1408" is a redemption movie. Evil inadvertently ignites a path back to God for Enslin. He ventured into evil despite being warned not to do so. He then got himself trapped. And that evil tried its darndest not to let him go. Even the skeptical Enslin turns his frightened and desperate glance to God and says, "You win."
Lastly, "1408" manages to turn the song "We've Only Just Begun" by the Carpenters into an unsettling experience. Nice move, movie!