There are two kinds of sequels: the ones people ask for, and the ones that sneak in through the back door like a drunk uncle at Thanksgiving. Amityville: A New Generation is the latter—a seventh(!) entry in a franchise that should’ve been euthanized after the third film, but instead was dragged out like a zombie in corduroy pants, moaning about demons while everyone pretends to care.
By 1993, the Amityville name had less prestige than a clearance-bin VHS copy of Ghoulies II. Republic Pictures knew this, so instead of bothering with the haunted house, they just grabbed a mirror, slapped “Amityville” on the box, and hoped horror fans wouldn’t notice they’d been sold a supernatural Goodwill item.
Spoiler: we noticed.
Thanksgiving Massacre, Brought to You by Hallmark
The film begins with a flashback to 1966, where Franklin Bronner slaughters his family at Thanksgiving dinner. Nothing screams holiday spirit like carving up your parents before the turkey. Franklin’s explanation? “The house made me do it.” Which, to be fair, is also how I explain my behavior after four bourbons at Thanksgiving.
Years later, Franklin reappears long enough to traumatize his son Keyes, kill his wife, and drop off a cursed mirror like a demonic DoorDash order. He then promptly dies, leaving the plot in the hands of… the mirror. Yes, this entire Amityvillesequel hinges on an evil mirror. Forget the house, forget the ocean avenue lore—this is Mirror, Mirror and a Side of Boredom.
Meet Keyes: Photographer, Plot Device
Ross Partridge plays Keyes, a photographer who lives in a run-down boarding house full of artsy roommates. His girlfriend, Llanie (Lala Sloatman), floats in and out of scenes like someone accidentally wandered in from a coffee commercial. Then there’s Suki, a painter with questionable taste, and Pauli, a sculptor played by Richard Roundtree, who clearly lost a bet to his agent.
The evil mirror wastes no time, killing Suki and her ex-boyfriend in ways so unmemorable you’d forget them while they’re still happening. Franklin occasionally pops out of the mirror like a demonic Zoom caller, reminding Keyes that destiny demands he massacre his friends at Thanksgiving. Because apparently the Devil really, really hates this holiday.
The Mirror Has Friends
Now, I’ve seen my share of killer objects in horror. We’ve had haunted cars (Christine), killer couches (Killer Sofa), and even an evil laundry machine (The Mangler). But a mirror? The best it can do is reflect your bad haircut back at you. This one, though, ups the ante by transforming into Suki, Franklin, or a Hellish version of the local art community. And yes, there’s a sequence where Keyes gets sucked into the mirror and ends up in a knock-off Hell dimension that looks like the janitor’s closet at a goth club.
Inside, he meets undead versions of all the people who already died, who sort of stand around like bored extras waiting for lunch break. It’s not scary—it’s the horror equivalent of running into your exes at the grocery store.
Performances: Bless Their Paychecks
Ross Partridge tries, bless him, but his entire role boils down to looking sweaty and screaming at furniture. Julia Nickson-Soul as Suki gets killed too early to matter. Lala Sloatman plays Llanie with the enthusiasm of someone reading IKEA instructions aloud.
Richard Roundtree—yes, Shaft himself—is here, sculpting clay like he’s in a community college pottery class. Watching him try to emote while surrounded by this nonsense is like watching a Shakespearean actor forced to perform at a Chuck E. Cheese.
Terry O’Quinn (better known later as Locke from Lost) is Detective Clark, who pops in occasionally to mutter lines and then deliver the film’s closing zinger: “Seven years bad luck.” That’s the movie’s sense of humor—an entire 91 minutes set up just for a dad joke.
The Horror: More Meh Than Murder
The kills? Forgettable. The gore? Minimal. The scares? About as effective as a Scooby-Doo villain. Instead of suspense, we get long scenes of Keyes staring into the mirror while the soundtrack groans like a constipated tuba.
At one point, the mirror manifests Franklin to torment Keyes. Imagine your abusive dad showing up in a full-length vanity from Target and you’ve got the vibe. At another, Suki’s ghost turns up, only to vanish again. The mirror doesn’t kill with flair—it just… exists, like an unwanted roommate who won’t do the dishes.
The Theme: Demons Hate Thanksgiving
The movie keeps hammering this idea that Keyes is destined to reenact his father’s Thanksgiving massacre. Why Thanksgiving? Who knows. Maybe demons really resent cranberry sauce. Maybe the Devil got food poisoning from undercooked turkey in 1966 and has been bitter ever since. All I know is that if evil wants me to commit atrocities during a holiday, Arbor Day is wide open.
Wally Pfister Deserved Better
The cinematographer here is none other than Wally Pfister, who would later shoot The Dark Knight. Yes, Christopher Nolan’s guy. Watching this film, you can sense Pfister trying—occasional shots glisten with competence before the script slaps them back into mediocrity. It’s like watching Picasso paint a bathroom wall beige.
Final Act: Shards and Shambles
The climax involves Keyes nearly gunning down his friends during an art show before he finds the courage to smash the mirror. That’s it. Ninety minutes of buildup, and the solution is the same thing your mom tells you to do when you get seven years of bad luck. Smash the damn mirror.
Detective Clark delivers his “seven years bad luck” line with the gravitas of a man cashing a paycheck, and the credits roll. It’s less a finale than a mercy killing.
Why This Movie Exists
The answer, of course, is branding. By 1993, Amityville was less a franchise and more a logo that producers could slap on anything. Evil lamp? Sure. Evil dollhouse? Why not. Evil mirror? Congratulations, you just wrote Amityville: A New Generation.
It doesn’t matter that none of these films connect. It doesn’t matter that the house itself is a forgotten footnote. What matters is that the word “Amityville” tricked someone at Blockbuster into renting it, only to return it the next day demanding their dollar back.
Final Verdict
Amityville: A New Generation is proof that horror franchises eventually eat themselves, and in this case, vomit up an evil mirror. It’s dull, it’s cheap, and it mistakes “existential dread” for “dad issues reflected in bad glassware.”
If you want to watch people trapped by supernatural forces, revisit Poltergeist. If you want haunted objects, watch Christine. If you want a bad time and a mirror that makes you wonder why you ever liked horror in the first place, then by all means, subject yourself to this.
But don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Because in the end, the real curse of Amityville: A New Generation isn’t the mirror—it’s the 91 minutes of your life you’ll never get back.
