Paranormal Activity: Next of Kin is the cinematic equivalent of that distant cousin who shows up at a family reunion, loudly insists they’re “part of the legacy,” and then spills potato salad everywhere. Technically, this is the seventh and “final” installment in the Paranormal Activity franchise, but spiritually it feels like a completely unrelated horror script that got slapped with the brand name like a clearance sticker. Directed by William Eubank and written by Christopher Landon, the movie trades suburban security cameras and creaky hallways for Amish cosplay and a demon in a hole. In theory, that’s a refreshing change. In practice, it’s like watching someone try to reboot the series by deleting everything that made it work.
Amish, But Make It Fake
Our protagonist, Margot, is a documentary filmmaker in the loosest possible sense: she has a camera, a tragic backstory, and no apparent plan. Along with her cameraman Chris and sound guy Dale, she heads to Beiler Farm to find out why her mother, Sarah, abandoned her as a baby. Her long-lost relative Samuel, an “Amish” man on rumspringa, invites her to the family farm, which is the first red flag because nobody this pale and soft-spoken should be trusted in horror.
The big twist, revealed later, is that the Beiler community is not actually Amish. Which is adorable, because by the time the movie tells us that, the film has already squeezed every possible cliché out of “mysterious religious commune with candles and strict rules.” The reveal lands less like a shocking twist and more like an “oh, that tracks” confirmation. It’s basically: surprise, they’re not Amish, they’re just weird. This does not help.
Found Footage That Forgot It Was Found
One of the charms of the original Paranormal Activity films was their commitment to the found-footage aesthetic. The cameras had a reason to be there. The angles felt organic. The scares were built out of stillness and suggestion. Next of Kin, on the other hand, uses “documentary” as a flimsy excuse to justify whatever shot it wants. Sometimes it’s handheld, sometimes it’s body-cam, sometimes it’s full-on polished cinematic coverage that no in-world camera is capturing. The result is less “immersive horror” and more “who’s filming this and why do they own a crane?”
The faux-doc angle becomes especially hilarious when Margot and Chris sneak into a forbidden church at night. They’re supposedly terrified, but the footage is lit and framed like a studio shoot. Either someone in that commune is secretly a gaffer, or the film has completely abandoned its own premise. The original franchise wrung terror out of a bedroom tripod; this one can’t scare you with an entire church, a demon pit, and a sacrificial goat.
Margot’s Mommy Issues, Now with Demon
Margot’s motivation should be the emotional anchor of the film. She’s hunting for answers about her mother, Sarah, who left her outside a hospital and supposedly died. That’s fertile ground for psychological horror, but the script treats it like a checklist item: “tragic backstory: included.” Emily Bader does what she can with Margot, but the character’s emotional journey is mostly reduced to wide-eyed reactions and the occasional monologue about wanting to know “why.”
When she discovers that Sarah is alive, possessed by the demon Asmodeus, and living in a pit like the world’s worst rental situation, the film almost stumbles into something meaningful. The moment where Margot faces a dream-version of her dying mother and literally has to suffocate her to break the demon’s hold could have been a twisted, powerful metaphor for letting go of guilt. Instead, it plays like the movie briefly remembered it needed a character arc and then immediately went back to setting things on fire.
Asmodeus in a Hole
The film’s big supernatural centerpiece is the stone pit beneath the church where Asmodeus is housed, passed down from mother to daughter like the worst possible family heirloom. The idea of a generational curse tied to a bloodline could have given the story real weight, but here it’s mostly an excuse to lock women in basements and let a skeleton demon chew scenery.
The demon itself, when fully unleashed, looks like something halfway between a Silent Hill reject and a roided-out skeleton trying to make “culvert chic” a thing. It scrambles, screams, and murders with enthusiasm, but there’s no real build-up to its presence. It’s just: pit, demon, chaos. The mythology about the Norwegian village, the trapped demon, and Margot being the next vessel all gets crammed into quick exposition, because we need to hurry up and get to the part where people run around in the dark.
The Commune of Red Flags
Beiler Farm is a buffet of obvious menace. Creepy little girl with a doll that shares a dead woman’s name? Check. Locked church full of ominous artwork and a literal demon hole? Check. Newborn two-headed goat sacrificed in a barn ritual? Triple check. At some point, the horror stops being “what’s going on here?” and becomes “how is Margot still pretending this is just quirky Amish culture?”
Chris and Dale briefly represent the only functioning brain cells in the film. They leave the farm long enough to talk to a mailman, who casually drops the “they’re not Amish” bomb. Then they Google Asmodeus and instantly uncover the entire plot in about 30 seconds. It’s impressive, honestly—this demon survived centuries, but was no match for basic internet access and common sense.
Death by Plot Duty
Most of the supporting cast exists purely to feed the demon, stall for time, or deliver exposition. Dale gets killed while trying to help, because horror movies have a strict “nice people must die” policy. Jacob, the patriarch, is all stern glares and cryptic lines until Chris encounters and kills him in a moment that feels shockingly abrupt, like the movie got bored with him. Samuel goes from awkward rumspringa boy to full-blown demonic puppet at the end, complete with baby-cry mimicry and cop-murdering antics.
The climax devolves into a blur of running, screaming, burning barns, and demon rampage. Any tension built from the initial subtlety of the commune’s secrets evaporates in favor of “let’s just torch everything.” It’s noisy, frantic, and technically eventful, but emotionally hollow. You don’t feel afraid; you feel like you’re watching someone fast-forward through the last act of a better movie.
Paranormal Activity in Name Only
The most damning thing you can say about Paranormal Activity: Next of Kin is that it doesn’t feel like a Paranormal Activity film. It’s a generic cult-and-demon story wearing a franchise mask. Gone are the static cameras, creeping unease, and domestic dread. In their place: faux-Amish theatrics, a demon that prefers pits to poltergeist tricks, and an ending that sets up further mayhem with zero payoff, because this is allegedly the “final” chapter.
What made the original series stand out was how intimate and grounded it felt. Ordinary homes, ordinary people, slowly invaded by something they couldn’t escape. Here, we’re in a remote farm with a secret cult of non-Amish demon enthusiasts. It’s louder, bigger, and somehow much emptier.
Final Verdict: Next of Kin, Distant from Quality
Paranormal Activity: Next of Kin isn’t unwatchable—it’s just deeply unnecessary. It has a few solid images, a handful of effective jumps, and a concept that could’ve worked in a different, more focused movie. But as a franchise entry, it feels like a weird off-brand experiment that never justifies its own existence.
If you’re hoping for a chilling, slow-burn paranormal story in the spirit of the original, you’ll mostly find goats, Google, and a demon in a hole. In that sense, the title is accidentally accurate: no one gets out alive, including the franchise’s dignity.
