“Live from Hell… it’s Saturday Night!”
Every now and then, a horror film slithers onto the screen so confident in its concept, so dripping with style, and so gleefully wicked that you can’t help but applaud it — even as it cheerfully drags you into the abyss. Late Night with the Devil, directed by the Cairnes brothers (Colin and Cameron), is exactly that kind of film: a satanic spectacle of sleaze, showmanship, and supernatural chaos.
Imagine The Tonight Show hosting The Exorcist, produced by Satan himself, and you’re halfway there.
This movie takes place entirely during a single 1977 Halloween broadcast of a late-night talk show gone horribly wrong — and it might just be the most entertaining televised meltdown since Geraldo opened Al Capone’s vault.
The Setup: Lights, Camera, Damnation
Our host for the evening is Jack Delroy (played by the wonderfully haunted David Dastmalchian), a man with the slick charm of Johnny Carson and the existential dread of a man who just Googled “does the devil keep receipts?”
Delroy’s show, Night Owls, is struggling. The ratings are low, the sponsors are nervous, and the only thing scarier than cancellation is the ghost of his dead wife, Madeleine. So, naturally, he does what any desperate entertainer would do: he sells his soul for a killer Halloween episode.
The plan? Bring on a psychic, a skeptic, a parapsychologist, and a possessed child. Because nothing says “family-friendly entertainment” like a demonic thirteen-year-old who survived a satanic mass suicide.
The guests are an all-star freak show: Christou, the chain-smoking medium who looks like he’s been to too many seances and not enough dentists; Carmichael Haig, the magician-turned-skeptic who gives off big “I hate fun” energy; Dr. June Ross-Mitchell, a cool-headed scientist who may or may not be sleeping with the host; and Lilly D’Abo, the sweet little girl who’s just one bad commercial break away from turning into a lava lamp with teeth.
And of course, all of it is being broadcast live. What could possibly go wrong?
The Style: Found Footage Meets the Fires of Hell
The film is presented as a rediscovered broadcast intercut with a pseudo-documentary — the cinematic equivalent of “we found this cursed VHS, and we had to air it.”
The Cairnes brothers nail the 1970s vibe so well you can practically smell the polyester. Every frame hums with analog authenticity: the static, the camera zooms, the nicotine stains on the talk show couch. It’s Network by way of Paranormal Activity, and it’s brilliant.
The production design is so on point it deserves its own applause track. The wood-paneled set, the orange carpeting, the oversized microphones — it’s like being trapped in the world’s tackiest haunted Holiday Inn.
But beneath the nostalgic funhouse veneer lies something genuinely unsettling. As the night spirals into chaos, the film captures that strange, live-television energy — that queasy feeling that what you’re watching isn’t supposed to happen. You can’t look away. You want to change the channel, but you can’t find the remote.
The Performances: Dastmalchian’s Devilish Turn
David Dastmalchian delivers a career-best performance here. Jack Delroy is a perfect cocktail of charm, desperation, and repressed guilt — the kind of man who smiles for the camera while quietly wondering how many souls it takes to get a renewal contract.
He’s the embodiment of the American entertainer: a man who’ll literally sell out the afterlife for one more ratings bump. Watching him unravel on live television is both horrifying and darkly hilarious — like if Dick Cavett suddenly started speaking in tongues halfway through an interview with Burt Reynolds.
Ingrid Torelli as Lilly D’Abo is the film’s ace in the hole. She transitions from shy and broken to full-on infernal nightmare with unnerving ease. By the time she’s floating in midair and melting the studio audience’s sanity, you realize she’s not just possessed — she’s the most powerful child actor since Linda Blair.
And Ian Bliss, as Carmichael the Skeptic, deserves a medal for playing the guy who’s forced to eat his own smug disbelief — literally, as worms pour out of his hallucinating body. It’s the best use of cosmic irony since someone said, “Let’s name the ship Titanic.”
The Humor: Laugh Tracks from the Abyss
Despite its grim premise, Late Night with the Devil is wickedly funny. Not in a “haha” way, but in a “we’re all doomed and isn’t that hilarious” way.
The film skewers the desperate showmanship of television with a demonic grin. There’s a scene where Delroy tries to keep the show moving after his psychic has vomited black bile all over the stage, chirping, “We’ll be right back after these messages!” That’s not just dark humor — that’s corporate realism.
Even the dialogue feels like it was ghostwritten by Beelzebub’s PR team. When the possessed Lilly hisses that she’s met Jack “under the tall trees,” you can practically hear Satan smirking off-camera.
And when the studio audience starts clapping at literal hellfire, you realize the film’s satire cuts deep: people will applaud anything, even the apocalypse, as long as it’s televised.
The Horror: Smile for the Camera, Scream for the Devil
When Late Night with the Devil finally unleashes its full horror, it’s like the TV gods decided to remake The Exorcistinside The Truman Show.
We get levitations, hallucinations, bleeding ceilings, and a head that splits open like a demonic piñata. But what makes it truly terrifying isn’t the gore — it’s the spectacle. It’s the slow realization that Jack has no idea where the performance ends and damnation begins.
The climax, where Jack is trapped in a hellish version of his own show, is a surreal masterpiece. The lights flicker, the applause echoes into eternity, and he realizes that his fame — his dream — was built on the bones of his wife’s soul.
That’s when the film goes from spooky to Shakespearean. It’s not just a possession story; it’s a morality play about ambition, grief, and the curse of wanting to be remembered.
And in true horror fashion, the final twist — that Jack has literally murdered a child on live television — lands like a devilish mic drop.
The Message: The Devil’s in the Ratings
At its core, Late Night with the Devil is a satire of fame — a reminder that America would sell its soul to Nielsen if the numbers were good enough.
It’s about the unholy marriage of media and the macabre, about how even the apocalypse can be commodified if you slap a commercial break on it. Jack doesn’t just make a deal with the devil — he is the deal. The devil doesn’t need to possess him; he’s already broadcasting on his frequency.
And in that sense, it’s the perfect horror movie for our age — an era where people livestream their breakdowns for clicks and call it content.
The Verdict: A Hell of a Good Time
Late Night with the Devil is a masterpiece of form and tone — a possession movie disguised as a lost broadcast, a media satire dressed up as supernatural chaos. It’s smart without being smug, scary without losing its sense of humor, and deeply entertaining from its first flickering frame to its final cursed credits.
David Dastmalchian owns every second he’s on screen, the direction is razor-sharp, and the production design is so good it feels like the devil’s art department got involved.
If you love horror that’s clever, nostalgic, and just self-aware enough to wink at you before slamming the studio doors shut, this one’s for you.
Rating: 9/10 — A live broadcast from hell that proves once and for all: the devil doesn’t need a pitchfork when he’s got a microphone.
