Lúcio Reis Filho
Noël Carroll once argued that the paradox of horror lies in the fact that it both terrifies and fascinates us. Historically, from the Sumerian myth of Lilith to the Greek lamia, the feminine forces of evil provide a good example of his argument. This paradox is exactly what Andrew de Burgh’s The Demoness (2025), now available on Prime Video, reminds us of. Emerging from the legions of Hell, the titular character is a succubus who travels to Earth to torment humanity. The film is deeply rooted in the long tradition of horror stories, and pays homage to some of its iconic cinematic references—ranging from the ‘living shadows’ of Nosferatu (1922), a signal of imminent evil, to the practical effects of low-budget, direct-to-video horror films of the 1980s. The director seems to look back at that decade for inspiration, devoting special attention to it. There is also a vein of psychological drama at play, which often verges on subtle, well-measured dark humor.
Initially, the film explores the complex domestic dynamics of Jack (Xander Bailey) and Sarah (Bella Glanville), a couple who are frustrated with both their marriage and their careers. Although they each hold academic degrees, these credentials fail to provide them with a decent standard of living. Their strained relationship is soon invaded by a mysterious, grotesque interloper who appears in the dead of night, her monstrous visage—with makeup design by Brittany Jamison-Lackey—reminiscent of the creatures from The Bat People (1974) and Subspecies (1991).
Amidst a color palette dominated by blues and pastels, the succubus emerges as a silhouette in flaming red—portrayed by Sydney Culbertson with a distinctive physicality and spasmodic, occasionally comical tics. Dating back to medieval European folklore, succubi have been described as female demons who haunt men’s dreams, seducing their victims and eventually leading to sexual intercourse. In the film, this act is a staple in the demonic playbook for ‘tormenting humanity’; tellingly, the ‘demoness’ first manifests at night. In doing so, themes common to home invasion and interloper films are brought to the table: the violation of domestic space, the sowing of discord, the dissolution of emotional bonds, and the infiltration into a different social class.
In de Burgh’s film, the elegant cinematography, the well-executed jump cuts, and the unsettling use of the Dutch angle certainly stand out. The theme music, by the hands of Jonas Soendberg, is both strangely familiar and completely new. Regarding the soundtrack, it is revealing to hear one of the characters praise today’s ‘renaissance of synthesized music,’ describing it as the pinnacle of modern culture and a way to relive a past she wasn’t even part of. The spoken lines perfectly encapsulate the appeal of ‘80s nostalgia—a trend over the last decade of packaging and selling recycled pop culture and its pastiches as cool, vintage products for those born in the new millennium.
The problem, the film reminds us, is capitalism. In this sense, The Demoness draws on ’80s and even ’90s horror tropes not out of nostalgia, but as a critique and a tribute, without, however, abandoning the contemporary framing of its shots and the minimalist set design. Here, nostalgia lies in the opening credits, the flaming animation on it, the Carpenter/Goblin-style synth-pop score, the practical effects, the characterization of the female monster, and the gore; make no mistake: all together these elements contribute to building a villainess’ arc.
The Demoness’ premise is that, if there is something terrifying about feminine, this terror is primarily experienced by men—who fear losing the power they have historically held over women, along with their social privileges. In this regard, the protagonist’s flaming fury can be seen as a reckoning against the patriarchy itself. Therefore, she is also capable of transforming into a beautiful, powerful, and lascivious woman, merely a human facade in her hunt for male sexual partners, who fall like fleshly hors d’oeuvres in her web of malice. Consequently, she fits not only the femme fatale archetype, but also that of the black widow, well known to horror fans, standing alongside Julia (Clare Higgins) from Hellraiser (1987) and Sil (Natasha Henstridge) from Species (1995). Like her counterparts, the demoness is ambitious, cruel, and bloodthirsty.
The film also points the finger at superficiality, the obsession with physical appearance, the performative self, the hypocrisy disguised as honesty, the lack of empathy, and the ontological individualism that define today’s hyper-connected society. These morals are expressed in the characters—all detached from one another—and their interpersonal relationships, where behaviors are driven solely by self-interest. Furthermore, the narrative explores pressing economic issues of our time, such as unemployment, the cost of living, gender inequality, and lack of access to healthcare services. Finally, we cannot ignore the denunciation of the human trafficking for organ removal. By consciously addressing this underworld, de Burgh ensures it does not pass unnoticed—an inconvenient, yet necessary, reminder that in capitalism, where there is demand, there is supply.
De Burgh’s The Demoness is a refreshing, provocative piece in the landscape of contemporary horror cinema. Although at first glance it may pass for a mere ‘blast from the past’, the film goes much further, presenting a critical approach and a distinctly modern visual aesthetic. Its female monster, who combines protagonist and antagonist roles, commits atrocities and reveals the gruesome face of society, while manifesting itself as a captivating force that deserves more—more spotlight, further development, and certainly new, inventive ways to torment humanity. As a matter of fact, Culbertson’s performance brings to life a villainess with enough depth and attitude to lead a potential female-driven new horror franchise. For those seeking a horror experience that balances nostalgic charm with a cathartic social critique, this is a hellish journey worth taking.
