Midnight Mediocrity
Every horror fan knows the rules: don’t split up, don’t read from the ancient book, and for the love of Lin Shaye’s career, don’t open mysterious boxes full of bloodstained parchment. The Midnight Man—directed by Travis Zariwny and released in 2016—breaks all three of these commandments and pays the ultimate price: 90 minutes of cinematic punishment.
This isn’t just a horror film. It’s an endurance test. It’s the movie equivalent of stepping on a Lego barefoot while someone whispers “boo” in your ear for an hour and a half. It’s a game where the winner is anyone who turns it off before the third act.
The Plot That Couldn’t Find Its Own Candle
Let’s start with the “plot,” a generous term for what feels like the result of a séance where the spirits of ten different bad horror scripts fought for dominance. It begins in 1953, when some kids summon a demon because Monopoly just wasn’t cutting it that winter. Predictably, it doesn’t go well. Flash-forward to the present, where the same house still stands—a fixer-upper with excellent resale potential and one minor downside: occasional ritual slaughter.
Teenager Alex (Gabrielle Haugh) lives with her senile grandmother Anna (Lin Shaye), who spends most of her screen time mumbling cryptic warnings like a haunted GPS. When Alex and her buddy Miles discover the cursed game in the attic, they decide to play it because, well, curiosity kills more than cats in horror movies. Soon, the Midnight Man arrives—a supernatural bogeyman with the charisma of wet drywall—and begins torturing everyone for the crime of having free time.
It’s Jumanji, if Jumanji hated you.
The Rules of the Game: Boredom Edition
The game’s rules are long, confusing, and somehow less interesting than your average Ikea instruction sheet. You must light candles, stay inside a circle of salt, avoid falling asleep, and apparently never wonder why you’re doing this in the first place.
Breaking the rules means death, but following them just means you’ll die slower and with more exposition. The Midnight Man—who, let’s be honest, looks like the Grim Reaper’s unpaid intern—shows up to “test your fears.” Except his idea of terror seems to be minor inconveniences. If the Midnight Man wanted to make me suffer, he could’ve just forced me to rewatch the movie.
Gabrielle Haugh: Screaming in the Dark for Help and a Better Script
Gabrielle Haugh gives it her best, bless her, but she’s stuck playing the kind of horror heroine who has two modes: “terrified” and “confused.” Her character, Alex, might be the only person in cinematic history to learn she’s in mortal danger and immediately decide to play along.
She screams on cue, she runs up the stairs instead of out the door, and she trusts her friends’ judgment—a fatal trifecta in horror logic. To her credit, she’s the emotional anchor of the movie, though that’s like saying she’s the prettiest house in a ghost town.
Lin Shaye: A National Treasure Trapped in a Curse
Lin Shaye deserves better. The veteran of Insidious and countless horror gems spends The Midnight Man bedridden, muttering warnings like a doomsday prophet stuck in an elder-care facility. She’s the only one with any gravitas, and the film rewards her by letting her die twice—once emotionally, once physically.
Every time Shaye appears on-screen, you get the sense she’s wondering when Insidious 5 starts filming. Her eyes say “help me,” but her mouth says, “the Midnight Man is real.” Same sentiment, different delivery.
Robert Englund: Freddy Krueger, But Make It Tired
Then there’s Robert Englund, the horror legend himself, playing Dr. Harding, a man who seems as confused about his presence here as we are. He wanders through the film dispensing vague exposition like a demonic tour guide: “Ah yes, the Midnight Man. Old folklore. Everyone dies.” Thanks, doc. Invoice the audience for the therapy session.
Englund has made a career of elevating bad horror with his presence, but here even he looks like he’s been exorcised of enthusiasm. Watching him deliver lines about salt circles and candlelight while clearly thinking about his next convention appearance is both tragic and hilarious.
The Monster Who Clocked Out Early
The Midnight Man himself is supposedly terrifying—a creature who feeds on fear, darkness, and shoddy pacing. Unfortunately, he resembles a mix between Nosferatu, a tree branch, and a rejected Pan’s Labyrinth extra. He pops in and out of scenes like a malfunctioning screensaver, occasionally torturing victims with visions of their childhood guilt.
The concept had potential. A supernatural being who manifests personal nightmares could’ve been Sinister meets Hellraiser. Instead, it’s Scooby-Doo meets a sleep paralysis demon with a union break.
When he does appear, the scares are telegraphed so loudly you can hear them coming three jump cuts away. Imagine a magician who tells you every trick before performing it, then drops the rabbit anyway.
The Atmosphere: Gothic Ikea
Visually, The Midnight Man tries very hard to look spooky. There are flickering candles, fog machines working overtime, and an attic that looks like it was designed by Hot Topic. But instead of eerie tension, we get dimly lit confusion. The film’s color palette is fifty shades of gray—without any of the interesting parts.
Every shot screams “haunted house,” but none of it feels alive. The cinematography is so murky that you half-expect a disclaimer warning epileptics and people with functioning eyeballs alike.
Pacing: Like Watching Paint Dry at Midnight
The movie’s first half promises tension. The second half delivers repetition. Every scene follows the same rhythm:
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Candle flickers.
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Someone whispers, “Did you hear that?”
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The Midnight Man appears.
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Repeat until someone dies, or you mentally check out.
The film could’ve been a tight 20-minute short—an eerie ghost story about childhood games gone wrong. Instead, it’s stretched like old gum over 90 minutes of déjà vu.
By the time the ending rolls around, featuring yet another cursed-object-hand-off to an unsuspecting child, you’ll be too numb to care. It’s less of a twist and more of a sigh.
The Real Horror: Wasting Potential
The saddest thing about The Midnight Man is that it could’ve worked. The original 2013 Irish film it’s based on had atmosphere and tension. This version has Gabrielle Haugh lighting candles and Lin Shaye wondering why she’s still awake past her bedtime.
Zariwny’s direction lacks confidence. The scares are lazy, the tone confused, and the script so cluttered it might as well be haunted itself. It’s like someone played the “Bloody Mary” game, summoned a ghost, and the ghost just recited the screenplay aloud as punishment.
Final Thoughts: Midnight Missed
Watching The Midnight Man feels like losing a bet with the horror gods. It’s technically competent, occasionally atmospheric, but emotionally empty. Every actor deserves hazard pay for surviving the dialogue alone.
Lin Shaye tries. Robert Englund collects his check. The rest of the cast looks like they’re waiting for someone to shout “cut” so they can burn the script for warmth.
The scariest part? There’s a chance this film might still summon sequels.
Verdict:
⭐️½ out of 5.
A supernatural slog that confuses monotony for mystery and darkness for depth. The real terror isn’t the Midnight Man—it’s realizing you just spent 96 minutes playing his game.
