Evil Dead Burn – Review

When somebody opens the Book of the Dead, bad decisions inevitably follow. That has been the one unwavering commandment of the Evil Dead franchise ever since Sam Raimi (Spider-Man), in his feature directorial debut, unleashed screaming Deadites upon an unsuspecting cabin in 1981. Across four decades, that simple premise has shapeshifted from relentless supernatural terror to chainsaw-wielding slapstick and back again, with every subsequent filmmaker finding a different balance between gruesome horror and gleeful mayhem. Lee Cronin’s Evil Dead Rise (2023) found common ground between both extremes, while Sébastien Vaniček has little interest in playing referee in Evil Dead Burn. Armed with a vicious streak already evident in his directorial debut, Infested (2023), the French filmmaker drags the series into even nastier territory, delivering an entry that rarely pauses long enough for audiences to recover, before finding a fresh way to make them wince.

Evil Dead Burn, the sixth chapter in Raimi’s blood-soaked saga, follows directly from Evil Dead Rise while remaining comfortably standalone, sprinkling in just enough connective tissue for longtime fans without burying newcomers beneath decades of mythology. Vaniček and co-writer Florent Bernard (Meet the Leroys) wisely resist simply replaying familiar beats, introducing a fresh wrinkle to the familiar formula by giving the Deadites a more urgent objective than indiscriminately harvesting souls. Their pursuit revolves around an ancient dagger mentioned within the infamous Necronomicon Ex-Mortis, the only weapon capable of destroying one of the possessed permanently, transforming what would normally be a siege into something resembling a desperate supernatural arms race.

Caught squarely in the middle is final girl Alice, played with bruised determination by Swiss actress Souheila Yacoub (Dune: Part Two), whose day is already collapsing long before the first Deadite flashes its familiar unnerving grin. Following the death of her abusive husband Will (George Pullar, Stonefish), she reluctantly returns to his family home for the funeral, surrounded by in-laws carrying secrets, resentment and grief in equal measure. Will’s mother Susan (Tandi Wright, Pearl), father Edgar (Erroll Shand, Roman Empire), grandmother Polly (Maude Davey, The Dry), brother Joseph (Hunter Doohan, Wednesday) and his girlfriend Thya (Luciane Buchanan, The Night Agent) gather under one roof, unknowingly walking straight into another chapter of Kandarian nightmare fuel. 

Family dysfunction has always been fertile ground for horror, and Vaniček wastes little time allowing ancient evil to weaponise every buried resentment, every painful memory and every uncomfortable silence, turning a house already haunted by emotional scars into exactly the sort of place where Deadites feel most at home.

Bernard and Vaniček’s screenplay understands that those tensions need room to breathe before unleashing absolute carnage, although that patience comes with mixed results. Relationships are established clearly enough, yet few of the characters ever develop into particularly compelling company, leaving much of the opening stretch feeling surprisingly subdued for a franchise built on manic escalation. Family arguments, generational resentment and inherited violence provide familiar dramatic groundwork, though none leave quite the same impression as Alyssa Sutherland’s unforgettable possessed mother Ellie from Evil Dead Rise. Edgar initially appears positioned as the film’s central source of corruption, but once possession begins spreading through the household, individual personalities are quickly swallowed by the snarling collective, leaving Alice as the only figure consistently capable of commanding attention.

Fortunately, once Evil Dead Burn finally decides to stop clearing its throat, restraint is dragged into the woods and violently dismembered. Vaniček deliberately takes longer than expected to ignite proceedings, favouring prolonged stretches of mounting dread punctuated by stomach-turning bursts of violence rather than immediately flooring the accelerator. 

Years removed from the peak of the New French Extremity movement, Vaniček nevertheless feels spiritually descended from its gleeful disregard for audience comfort, filling every frame with shattered bones, mangled flesh, cascading blood and acts of cruelty delivered with unapologetic enthusiasm. Anyone still mourning the apparent disappearance of practical gore from modern studio horror should consider their prayers enthusiastically answered. 

Extended tracking shots glide effortlessly through collapsing rooms, frantic confrontations and corridors drenched in blood, while cinematographer Philip Lozano’s (The Transporter) camera constantly finds inventive ways to place audiences directly inside the carnage. Gravity appears optional once Deadites begin scampering across ceilings, skittering over rooftops and hurling themselves through walls with impossible speed. Fingers are crushed inside car doors, skulls collapse beneath blunt-force impacts, charred flesh peels away in sickening strips, and fire tears through the house with almost sentient fury. Every room, crawlspace and hidden corner becomes another playground for escalating violence, transforming the family home into a giant haunted funhouse where survival depends on what unfortunate household object happens to be within arm’s reach.

Improvised weaponry has always been part of Evil Dead’s DNA, and Burn gleefully continues that tradition with a detached car-seat headrest, an expensive fountain pen, an especially hideous candelabra, a corkscrew, jagged porcelain ripped from a shattered toilet bowl and lengths of fishing line armed with hooks that truss one poor soul like tomorrow night’s roast dinner. Familiar nods to Raimi’s beloved chainsaw arrive through equally savage substitutes, including a roaring brush trimmer and a heavy-duty hammer drill that would make most hardware stores reconsider their return policy (we wish we were kidding, but that R21 rating says it all). 

Double Danger’s score grows alongside the escalating madness, evolving from ominous electronic pulses into full-blown satanic hysteria, complete with choral flourishes that sound ripped straight from a Black Mass. Combined with make-up artist Jane O’Kane’s (Evil Dead) wonderfully grotesque practical effects, every scream, crunch, squelch and guttural laugh serves as another reminder that Evil Dead Burn has absolutely no interest in playing nice – Deadites never have, and thankfully, neither does this film.

That relentless commitment to misery won’t suit everyone though – Vaniček buries the story beneath grief, inherited rage and the ugly legacy of domestic abuse, setting everything against the bitter cold of winter while Deadites enthusiastically exploit every emotional wound they can find. Combined with the sheer quantity of bloodshed, shattered limbs and mangled flesh, Evil Dead Burn often feels deliberately oppressive, asking viewers to endure punishment almost alongside its characters. Some may find themselves longing for a little more of Raimi’s trademark groove to break the tension, though Vaniček’s refusal to soften the experience also gives the film a personality all its own. 

Natalie

Natalie is a big fan of anything related to movies, TV shows, and anime — you name it. When she’s not reading or being a dedicated cinephile, she’s probably playing gacha and tabletop games, or daydreaming of Caleb from Love and Deepspace.