The Descent

The Descent ★★★½

Let’s say half the runtime was spent reaching for a Prozac every time someone very almost had their head crushed under another falling rock. While squinting to make out what exactly my eyes were supposed to be seeing when presented with this heady mix of pitch black darkness and angles like a camera dropped in a faulty blender. Maybe the real monster was partial blindness this whole time.

The remaining half could have used no less than horse tranquilliser to numb the rabid bickering from this nondescript crew of wannabe extreme climbers who could hardly find their way from out of a petty argument. On second thoughts, the monster is definitely ego-tripping thrill seekers who put their strangely indistinguishable friends (worth repeating; dark doesn’t help) in life-threatening danger under the guise of fun.

I couldn’t tell you which kept me on the edge of my increasingly nail-coated seat for longer, so I suppose this did exactly what it says on the tin. If modern horror is a haystack of mediocrity tempting you not to wade through its darkest depths, THE DESCENT may not be the needle we so desperately needed.

But there’s enough claustrophobic blood-curdlery anchored in real life anxiety and flickered through a slowly dissipating pair of eyes to make the thread. The genuinely disgusting gore that rattles its head round every jagged corner when you can’t see two inches from either side of your nose (because of, you guessed it, the dark)? Doesn’t much help matters either.

Also; we’re all caved in by grief, or something.

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