Welcome to the Orchard of Awful
Every so often, a horror film comes along that makes you wonder: did anyone involved taste-test this thing before serving it? Bad Apples (2018), written and directed by Bryan Coyne, is one such cinematic fruit basket of despair—a slasher so lazy, so blandly mean-spirited, that even the killer twins seem bored to be in it.
At 85 minutes, it’s mercifully short—but that doesn’t make it feel any less like a punishment. Watching Bad Apples is like biting into a Granny Smith expecting sweetness and finding out it’s full of wasps.
This movie wants to be a dark suburban nightmare—a commentary on evil festering behind white fences. What it actually delivers is a movie about two girls in masks stabbing random people for no discernible reason. You know you’re in trouble when the killers themselves seem unclear on the plot.
The Setup: Suburbia, Sliced and Diced
The story begins with Helen (Brea Grant) and Rob (Graham Skipper), a married couple moving into a painfully generic suburban cul-de-sac that looks like the director rented it from Desperate Housewives. They’ve left California behind, hoping for a fresh start. Unfortunately, what they find is an HOA governed by Satan and two murderous Girl Scouts with a flair for DIY horror masks.
It’s Halloween, which in horror terms is shorthand for “the night logic dies.” Two teenage girls—unbilled, unnamed, and apparently unemployable—dawn paper-mâché masks that look like Etsy’s idea of evil and proceed to stab everything that moves. Pregnant lady? Stabbed. Principal? Stabbed. Pedophile? Also stabbed—but don’t mistake this for moral justice. The film has no idea what morality is.
The Killers: Emo Jack-o’-Lanterns of Doom
Let’s talk about these girls. They’re introduced with the cold precision of a psychopath’s Pinterest board: silent, masked, and moody. It’s all very The Strangers—if The Strangers had been directed by someone who fell asleep during their own movie.
They stalk, they slice, they scowl—but why? Are they possessed? Traumatized? Victims of bad parenting or expired candy corn? The movie never tells us. It just winks and says, “Isn’t ambiguity scary?”
No, Bryan. Ambiguity is not scary. It’s lazy.
When you can’t tell whether your killers are symbols of nihilism or just really committed to the aesthetic, you know you’re watching a film that’s taken “less is more” and replaced it with “nothing is something.”
The Victims: Freshly Unwrapped and Immediately Disposable
Poor Brea Grant, bless her heart. She’s the only one who seems aware she’s in a film and not a security camera reel from Purgatory. As Helen, she gamely tries to inject humanity into scenes that mostly involve her wandering through her house yelling, “Rob?!” while clutching a flashlight.
Graham Skipper, as Rob, is so bland he could be replaced with a mannequin and no one would notice. You almost expect him to be the killer—just to justify his existence.
Then there are the supporting victims: a trailer park resident, a school principal, a pedophile, a pregnant woman—each introduced just long enough for you to say, “Wait, who’s that?” before being transformed into a crime scene. It’s horror whack-a-mole.
Even Richard Riehle, a cult favorite character actor, pops in long enough to get himself axed. It’s as if the movie is allergic to personality.
The Plot (or What Passes for One)
The official synopsis might tell you that Bad Apples is about suburban decay and the rot underneath modern life. Don’t believe it. It’s about two girls stabbing people in poorly lit hallways while a married couple experiences mild inconvenience.
The structure is simple:
-
Murder.
-
Cut to Helen and Rob unpacking boxes.
-
Murder again.
-
Helen hears a noise.
-
Murder.
-
Repeat until the runtime expires.
The movie flirts with ideas—a traumatized community, suppressed rage, moral decay—but like a high school essay written the night before, it never follows through. The only consistent theme is that suburban life is hell, and apparently so is watching this film.
The Tone: Bleak, But Not on Purpose
Coyne clearly wants to channel John Carpenter—a minimalist slasher vibe with a synth score and a slow-burn menace. Unfortunately, he ends up channeling a student film version of Halloween shot during a blackout.
The cinematography is muddy, the editing erratic, and the lighting so dim you start to wonder if the real villain is the electric company. The pacing is somehow both too slow and too rushed—like the movie is late for its own death scene.
Even the sound mix is off: stabs sound like someone popping bubble wrap, and the “scary music” feels like royalty-free tension tracks downloaded from the same site as YouTube pranksters.
The Message: Nihilism, but Make It Boring
There’s a fine line between nihilism and nonsense, and Bad Apples dances right over it in clown shoes. The film seems desperate to say something profound about evil—maybe that it’s random, or that violence has no meaning. But without character, context, or consequence, it’s just cinematic white noise.
Movies like The Strangers and Funny Games earn their bleakness through psychological tension and subtext. Bad Applessettles for two teens in Halloween masks carving through suburbia like bored butchers. It’s nihilism without depth—a horror movie that shrugs its shoulders and says, “Eh, people die.”
The Scares: None, Unless You Fear Wasted Potential
There’s not a single genuine scare in Bad Apples. The kills are quick, poorly staged, and utterly devoid of suspense. It’s like watching someone summarize a better horror movie from memory.
The gore isn’t shocking—it’s perfunctory. The editing cuts away just as things might get interesting, as if the film is afraid of its own R rating. Even the jump scares arrive half a beat too late, like a horror movie that’s been sedated.
And those masks? Supposedly eerie, but they look like papier-mâché pumpkins crafted in detention. The film tries so hard to make them iconic, but they’re about as frightening as an off-brand Halloween store decoration.
The Ending: Roll Credits Before the Audience Riots
After 80 minutes of chaos, Helen finally fights back, and for a moment, you think, “Maybe this will pay off.” It doesn’t.
The killers walk away into the night, emotionless, unpunished, and uninteresting. The neighborhood is left traumatized, though frankly, everyone in it already seemed dead inside. The credits roll as if apologizing for the inconvenience.
It’s not an ending—it’s a shrug with a soundtrack.
The Humor: Accidental, but Appreciated
Here’s where Bad Apples accidentally redeems itself: it’s unintentionally hilarious. Watching these masked maniacs silently stomp around suburbia like homicidal trick-or-treaters is pure camp. The tonal dissonance between the film’s self-serious atmosphere and its utter lack of logic is comedy gold.
By the halfway point, you’re rooting for the killers—at least they’re doing something. Every “shocking” scene lands like a bad joke, and by the end, you’re laughing just to stay awake.
Final Thoughts: Toss These Apples Out
Bad Apples wants to be gritty, transgressive horror—something that sticks to your soul. Instead, it’s a cinematic bruise: mushy, flavorless, and starting to smell.
Bryan Coyne has a decent premise—a slasher that exposes the rot in suburbia—but his execution is so half-baked it collapses under its own apathy. There’s no rhythm, no reason, and certainly no rewatch value.
Brea Grant does her best to salvage it, but she’s like an actor giving Shakespearean intensity in a commercial for expired fruit.
In the end, Bad Apples proves its own title prophetic. Sometimes, one rotten piece spoils the bunch—and in this case, the whole orchard.
So if you’re looking for a slasher to make you scream, look elsewhere. If you’re looking for a horror movie to make you question life choices—especially renting it—then congratulations, you’ve found your nightmare.
Just remember: one bad apple might not spoil the bunch, but it can definitely waste 85 minutes of your life.
