There are horror movies that make you afraid to go into the woods, afraid to answer the phone, or afraid to sleep with the lights off. ATM (2012) is not one of them. This film makes you afraid to use an ATM — not because of muggers or murderers, but because you might accidentally end up trapped in a glass box with three of the dumbest people to ever survive corporate employment. Directed by David Brooks and starring Brian Geraghty, Alice Eve, and Josh Peck, ATM tries to blend psychological suspense with survival horror. Instead, it produces the cinematic equivalent of watching three hamsters panic in a microwave. It’s like Phone Booth and Frozen had a baby, and that baby immediately walked into traffic. Our hero, David Hargrove (Brian Geraghty), is a stockbroker so socially awkward that asking out his co-worker Emily (Alice Eve) feels like watching a man defuse a bomb made of small talk. After a Christmas party, he finally gets the chance to drive her home — only for his drunk co-worker Corey (Josh Peck, channeling “frat bro in a headlock” energy) to tag along. On the way, Corey demands a pizza stop. Because apparently, at 1 a.m. in the dead of winter, nothing screams “good decision” like stopping at a random, unlit ATM booth in the middle of nowhere. They park their car a football field away — because who needs safety when you have cardio? — and head inside. Then, the horror begins: the ATM refuses Corey’s card. Terrifying, right? Then a man in a parka appears outside, staring silently. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move much. He just exists. Honestly, I can’t blame him — I’d also go mute after seeing how catastrophically stupid these three are. The hooded figure, known in the credits only as “The Man,” might be the least threatening horror villain in cinema history. He doesn’t have claws, teeth, or supernatural powers — just a winter coat and a dedication to cardio that would shame a Peloton instructor. He stands in the parking lot, patiently, as our trio debates every possible bad idea known to man. Should they call the cops? They can’t — one phone’s dead, one’s lost, and one’s in the car. Should they run to the car? It’s thirty feet away — far too dangerous. Should they break a window? Oh no, that would trigger the alarm. Instead, they do what any rational person in a crisis would do: they stand around and argue until people start dying. The killer’s main tactic seems to be mildly inconveniencing his victims to death. He cuts wires, slashes tires, turns off the heater, and waits. It’s like Home Alone if Kevin McCallister had a lobotomy and a snow fetish. The film tries to make us care about David, Emily, and Corey, but it’s hard to root for people who make decisions that violate the Geneva Convention of common sense. David is supposed to be the “smart one,” but spends the entire movie proposing solutions that would make Wile E. Coyote shake his head. When the killer first appears, David offers him $500 and jewelry to leave them alone — because everyone knows serial killers love spontaneous pawnshop deals. Emily spends the film alternating between panic, logic, and holding up surprisingly well for a woman trapped between two man-children. Unfortunately, she’s only as smart as the script allows, which is to say, not at all. Corey, meanwhile, is drunk, loud, and useless — the horror movie equivalent of a red shirt in Star Trek. He exists purely to die, and the audience is just fine with that. At one point, they kill a janitor who comes to help, mistaking him for the killer. It’s supposed to be tragic. Instead, it’s slapstick. They spend five minutes bludgeoning a random man to death like it’s a bad CSI parody, then stare in horror at their mistake. The only thing missing is a laugh track. The “tension” of ATM consists mainly of three adults staring through glass while muttering lines like “What does he want?” and “We can’t just stay here!” on repeat. The film stretches what could have been a ten-minute Black Mirror short into an hour and a half of slow-motion stupidity. The killer shuts off the heat, and the group begins to freeze. This could have been harrowing — but instead, it’s like watching three people slowly realize that their collective IQ won’t keep them warm. Every time you think they’re about to do something clever — break the door, smash the alarm, call for help — they immediately sabotage themselves. At one point, they write “HELP” on the window in lipstick, as if any driver passing by would think, “Oh yes, definitely a hostage situation and not just someone having a very weird Christmas party.” By the time they start flooding the booth with freezing water, I half expected David to start negotiating with an igloo. Corey dies first, and frankly, it’s a mercy. He tries to escape, runs into a tripwire, and gets stabbed. The audience doesn’t even flinch. It’s like watching a lemming do what nature intended. Emily dies next, and her demise is both tragic and hilarious. She climbs on David’s shoulders to activate a fire alarm, slips, and breaks her neck. It’s one of those rare cinematic deaths that’s both gruesome and slapstick — you half expect a cartoon “wah-wah” sound effect. David, now alone, concocts a grand plan: make a Molotov cocktail and throw it at the killer. Unfortunately, he accidentally sets fire to the dead security guard instead. The flames illuminate not the villain, but the audience’s collective regret. Finally, the police arrive and immediately arrest David — because, naturally, the killer managed to commit multiple murders without ever appearing on camera. That’s right. The mysterious man planned this entire elaborate death trap while being allergic to CCTV. The ending twist isn’t that the villain is a mastermind — it’s that the cops are too stupid to tell the difference between “killer” and “shivering guy in a sweater vest.” By the end, we’re treated to a montage of the killer returning to his evil lair — which, in this case, appears to be a suburban garage — where he starts mapping out more ATM-based attacks. The implication is that he’s some kind of hyper-intelligent sociopath planning a global crime spree. In reality, it’s just a man with too much free time and a love of graph paper. It’s the kind of ending that tries to be chilling but ends up feeling like a rejected Saw sequel. There’s no explanation, no motive, not even a cool backstory. The killer isn’t a ghost, a soldier, or a cult member — he’s just… a guy. A guy who hangs out at parking lots with wire cutters and the patience of a saint. ATM could have been an interesting psychological thriller about isolation and fear. Instead, it’s a film where you spend 90 minutes shouting “JUST RUN!” at the screen while the characters stare blankly into the void like penguins debating the concept of doors. The dialogue sounds like it was written during a power outage. The pacing makes molasses look like Fast & Furious. And the ending? It’s less of a twist and more of a whimper from a movie that gave up halfway through. If ATM teaches us anything, it’s that human stupidity is scarier than any masked killer. The real villain here isn’t the man in the parka — it’s the script. Rating: ★☆☆☆☆ (1 out of 5 frozen debit cards)Please Insert Logic to Continue
The Setup: Three Idiots and a Debit Card
The Killer: Budget Slenderman in a Ski Jacket
The Victims: Human Darwin Awards
The Horror: 99% Waiting, 1% Hypothermia
The Deaths: Dumb, Dumber, and Dumbest
The Message: Don’t Use ATMs or Logic
Final Thoughts: Less “Thriller” and More “Freezer Burn”
Verdict: Withdraw your time immediately. This ATM only dispenses regret.
