There are bad horror films, and then there are horror films that make you question your own life choices. Don’t Let the Devil In belongs squarely in the latter category — a 2016 “Appalachiasploitation” thriller (a term the director proudly invented, as if he’d discovered fire in a meth lab) that takes the phrase slow burn and stretches it until it burns out completely.
Written, directed, scored, and possibly exorcised by Courtney Fathom Sell, this cinematic fever dream is like if The Wicker Man had been remade by a community theater troupe who just learned what “psychological horror” meant on Wikipedia. It’s grim, it’s confusing, and it’s the only movie I’ve ever seen where the devil himself feels underutilized.
The Plot: Welcome to Nowhere (Population: Plot Holes)
The movie opens with a couple moving to a small Appalachian town to “save their marriage.” Immediately, that sentence tells you all you need to know — because if your relationship is failing, the one sure cure is relocating to an isolated village full of vaguely hostile hillbillies.
Our protagonists, John and his wife (whose name barely matters, since the movie forgets her character arc halfway through), move into a creepy rural house so John can open a casino. Because nothing screams “romantic fresh start” like gambling in a town that looks like it hasn’t had electricity since the Carter administration.
They are quickly warned that the locals don’t take kindly to outsiders — and by “warned,” I mean glared at by people who look like they were auditioning for Deliverance 2: Appalachian Boogaloo. Soon enough, strange things start happening: mysterious knocks, shadows in the woods, and the vague sense that even the cameraman doesn’t want to be there.
John’s casino dreams dissolve faster than the film’s budget, the marriage unravels, and the couple descends into paranoia as the town’s sinister secrets surface. Or maybe they don’t — it’s genuinely hard to tell, since most of the movie’s “horror” consists of people staring suspiciously at trees.
By the time the credits roll, you’re not scared so much as relieved that it’s over.
The Atmosphere: Less “Eerie” and More “Empty”
Sell describes this film as “Appalachiasploitation,” a genre that apparently combines exploitation cinema with the Appalachian aesthetic — which, in practice, means 90 minutes of dirt roads, flannel, and incoherent mumbling.
There’s no denying that the movie looks atmospheric. Every shot is saturated with that kind of grayish-green filter that screams artistic depression. The woods are ominous. The houses are crumbling. The people are deeply unwashed. Unfortunately, “looks atmospheric” is where the compliments end — because atmosphere without storytelling is like a fog machine with no concert.
Instead of tension, Don’t Let the Devil In gives you long, drawn-out scenes of absolutely nothing happening. The silence is less ominous and more “did my streaming service freeze?” Even when something supernatural might be occurring, it’s filmed so murkily that you can’t tell if it’s a demon attack or just poor lighting.
If this movie were any slower, it would qualify as a still photograph.
The Characters: Marital Problems and Zero Personality
Our main characters, John (Marc Slanger) and his wife (Jordan Lewis), are a couple in crisis — though you’d never know it from their acting. They communicate mostly in sighs and medium glares, as if they’re less haunted by the devil and more by the realization that they’ll never make it out of regional indie cinema.
John is supposedly a businessman opening a casino, but he spends most of his time brooding in rooms so dimly lit you could hide a small army in them. His wife exists primarily to look concerned, wander into dangerous places, and occasionally mutter things like “something’s not right here” — which doubles as the audience’s motto while watching.
Supporting characters come and go with little fanfare. There’s a sheriff who seems perpetually confused, some townsfolk who look like they wandered in from a moonshine commercial, and — in a truly bizarre cameo — Conrad Brooks (in his final performance) as an old man who delivers ominous warnings like he’s reading them off a Waffle House menu.
The Direction: The Devil Is in the Editing
Courtney Fathom Sell clearly poured his soul into this film — he wrote it, directed it, edited it, and composed the soundtrack. Unfortunately, his soul could’ve used a little spell-check.
The direction is ambitious but disjointed. Scenes don’t flow; they just bump into each other like drunk patrons at a dive bar. One minute, John’s pacing around the house muttering about the locals; the next, we’re treated to long, silent shots of empty roads and flickering lights. It’s as if Sell feared that if anything actually happened, it might scare away the art-house crowd.
The editing doesn’t help — jump cuts appear randomly, as though the devil himself was working the Final Cut Pro timeline. Sometimes entire conversations fade out mid-sentence, which might be symbolic, but mostly feels like a rendering error.
And then there’s the sound design: ominous drones, creaking wood, and what I can only assume is Sell whispering “be scared” into a microphone. It’s the kind of soundtrack that makes you check your speakers, not your pulse.
The Horror: All Build-Up, No Payoff
For a film called Don’t Let the Devil In, there’s surprisingly little devil. In fact, there’s barely any horror. The closest thing to a scare is when someone drops a flashlight.
You wait and wait for something truly demonic to happen — a possession, a cult ritual, a goat that speaks Latin — but all you get are vague hallucinations and dream sequences that look like they were shot through a used coffee filter.
When the “evil” does finally appear, it’s so underwhelming that you wonder if maybe the real devil was the poor decision-making we made along the way.
Sell seems to want to create psychological dread, but instead he creates cinematic sedation. Watching this movie is like being haunted by ennui.
The Themes: Marriage, Madness, and Mediocrity
Don’t Let the Devil In tries to blend marital drama with supernatural horror — basically The Shining on a shoestring budget. The problem is that neither half works. The marital tension feels forced, and the horror lacks any sense of escalation.
We’re told the couple’s relationship is “troubled,” but their conversations are so flat you start rooting for the devil just to spice things up. The townspeople, allegedly part of some sinister conspiracy, spend most of their time glaring from porches. Even the house seems indifferent — less haunted mansion, more fixer-upper with attitude.
At its core, the movie is about guilt, paranoia, and the evil that festers inside small-town isolation. But instead of exploring those ideas, the film spends its runtime staring at trees and calling it symbolism.
The Legacy: Appalachian Horror or Appalachian Error?
Sell called this film “Appalachiasploitation,” which is either a bold new genre or a cry for help. To his credit, he does attempt to create something distinct — an eerie, regional horror steeped in folklore and distrust. But ambition only gets you so far when your movie plays like an unfinished student project shot during a blackout.
The film’s one lasting claim to fame is that it features Conrad Brooks’ final performance. It’s almost poetic — a legend of low-budget cinema going out not with a bang, but with a confused whisper about devils and outsiders.
Final Verdict: 2/10 — Don’t Let the Viewer In
Don’t Let the Devil In isn’t scary, suspenseful, or even particularly coherent. It’s the cinematic equivalent of driving into a small town, realizing you’ve made a terrible mistake, and then getting stuck behind a tractor for two hours.
Courtney Fathom Sell’s heart is clearly in the right place — unfortunately, the rest of the movie isn’t. The pacing is glacial, the scares nonexistent, and the dialogue sounds like it was recorded in a wind tunnel.
If The Exorcist is a master’s thesis in horror, Don’t Let the Devil In is a doodle on the back of a napkin that says “maybe the devil’s just misunderstood.”
In the end, the devil doesn’t need to be let in — he left long ago, out of sheer boredom.
