Some movies are bad because they aim too high and fall flat. Others are bad because they never aimed at all. Artifacts(2007), directed by Giles Daoust and Emmanuel Jespers, proudly fits into the latter category—a film so bland, so utterly lifeless, it makes paint-drying videos look like Mad Max: Fury Road. If you’ve ever wanted to watch Mary Stockley furrow her brow for ninety minutes while things that barely count as “events” happen around her, boy, do I have the DVD bargain bin recommendation for you.
Plot: Déjà Vu With a Migraine
The “plot” (I use the term like a doctor uses “you’ll only feel a pinch” before jabbing a foot-long needle into your spine) revolves around Kate (Mary Stockley). She’s a workaholic whose boyfriend is tired of her ignoring him, which means we’re supposed to care about their relationship even though their chemistry makes the Arctic tundra look sweaty.
One night, Kate dreams her friend is thrown off a building. The next day, the cops show up and say: surprise! That friend actually died in the exact same way. Instead of calling a priest, a therapist, or literally anyone with a pulse, Kate jumps straight to: “Maybe it was me… or my evil twin.” That’s right—this movie’s central horror gimmick is evil doubleskilling her friends and stealing “artifacts” from their bodies. Imagine The Ring meets Scooby-Doo, but without the charm, scares, or plot coherence.
One by one, Kate’s friends die. One by one, Kate looks more confused. And one by one, you—the viewer—wonder if maybe you’re the evil twin for choosing to watch this instead of mowing the lawn, paying your taxes, or sticking forks into electrical sockets for fun.
Artifacts: More Like Props From a Yard Sale
The killers in Artifacts extract “artifacts” from their victims’ bodies. What are these artifacts? Are they mystical? Alien? Demonic? Nah. They look like the kind of junk you’d find in a cereal box or a Cracker Barrel gift shop clearance bin. If I died and someone pulled a rusty paperclip out of my chest cavity and called it “an artifact,” I’d come back just to haunt the screenwriters for being lazy.
This is the movie’s big horror hook: body doubles and pocket trinkets. It’s like they wanted to write Invasion of the Body Snatchers but ran out of coffee halfway through and decided, “Screw it, we’ll just wing it.”
Acting: Staring Into the Void, Professionally
Mary Stockley plays Kate with the energy of a substitute teacher forced to teach algebra to a room full of rabid raccoons. Her face does most of the heavy lifting: confusion, fear, sadness—all expressed with the exact same expression, like she’s trying to remember if she left the stove on.
Felix Scott, as her boyfriend, exists mostly to pout and look like he’d rather be anywhere else. And who can blame him? Their “team-up” to survive isn’t so much survival as it is sighing loudly in hallways and occasionally running through dimly lit sets that look like someone rented an office building for a weekend and forgot to bring props.
The doubles themselves? Don’t expect Us levels of creepiness or even Parent Trap levels of fun. They’re just… there. Stand-ins with bad haircuts and a scowl. Ooh, spooky. I’ve seen scarier versions of myself in the morning mirror before coffee.
Direction: Horror By Way of Ambien
Daoust and Jespers apparently decided atmosphere is overrated. Instead of dread, we get fluorescent lighting and endless shots of Kate walking down hallways. The camera lingers on nothing. The pacing lurches forward like a drunk on roller skates. Every “scary” scene feels like it was storyboarded on napkins after one too many gin tonics.
Jump scares? Nonexistent. Gore? Minimal and unconvincing. Mood? About as heavy as a rice cake. This isn’t horror—it’s filing paperwork while someone occasionally whispers “boo” from the next cubicle.
Dialogue: Written by Siri
The dialogue is the cinematic equivalent of eating plain oatmeal with a rusty spoon. Gems include:
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“Something strange is happening.” (You don’t say.)
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“It wasn’t me. It was my double.” (Shakespeare weeps.)
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“We have to stop them.” (Them being… vague shadow people no one bothered to explain.)
The script sounds like it was written by a bot fed on Wikipedia summaries of other, better horror movies. Nobody speaks like a human being. Conversations fall flat, characters repeat themselves, and no one ever, ever reacts like a normal person would if their friends started dying one by one.
Horror Without the Horror
The biggest sin of Artifacts isn’t just being bad—it’s being boring. Bad horror can be fun. Give me ridiculous kills, rubber monsters, over-the-top acting. Instead, Artifacts serves up flavorless dread soup with no seasoning. The evil doubles aren’t threatening, the kills are uninspired, and the artifacts themselves look like items from the world’s worst scavenger hunt.
When you strip horror of its horror, what’s left? A sluggish, pseudo-thriller that feels twice as long as its runtime. It’s not even bad enough to laugh at—it just sits there, daring you to hit “stop” on the remote.
The Awards: Lies, Damn Lies, and Film Festivals
Here’s the kicker: Artifacts somehow won awards at festivals. Best Picture (Horror) at the Houston Worldfest? “Official Selection” at Brussels and Fantasporto? Did the judges actually watch the film, or did the DVD menu play on loop and they assumed it was avant-garde?
This is proof that film festivals sometimes just hand out trophies like party favors. “Congrats, you turned on a camera and pointed it at something. Here’s your laurel wreath.”
Dark Humor Highlight Reel
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Kate’s dreams are supposed to be ominous but play like reruns of Unsolved Mysteries with all the interesting parts cut out.
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The doubles kill people with all the menace of mall cops.
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Every artifact looks like something you’d win at a claw machine after spending $20.
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The boyfriend’s survival strategy seems to be: complain loudly until someone else dies first.
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The police, as always in horror, are about as useful as a chocolate teapot.
Final Verdict: A Horror Film Without Teeth
Artifacts (2007) is the cinematic version of being handed a gift box, opening it, and finding socks. Not cozy socks. Not fun socks. Just plain, beige, hospital-issued socks. It’s technically horror, sure—it has death, doubles, and a whisper of supernatural nonsense. But there’s no tension, no scares, no pulse.
If horror films are supposed to get under your skin, Artifacts barely grazes your cuticle. It’s not terrifying, it’s not thrilling—it’s just there, like an awkward coworker at the office Christmas party.
So here’s my advice: if you want to watch a film about evil doubles, go see Enemy. If you want horror with strange relics, try Hellraiser. If you want to waste 90 minutes of your life questioning your choices, then, and only then, pop in Artifacts.
Final Score: 1 out of 5 “artifacts,” and that one point is only because at least the DVD makes a decent coaster.
