The Funeral of Coherent Filmmaking
Every once in a while, a movie arrives that makes you question not only its existence but your own life choices. The Incantation (2018), Jude S. Walko’s directorial debut, is one of those cinematic experiences—a paranormal horror film that manages to summon neither fear nor coherence. It’s as if someone watched The Ninth Gate, The Nun, and a particularly lazy episode of Ghost Hunters, then thought, “Yeah, I can do that… with about twelve dollars.”
The film opens with Lucy Bellerose, a San Diego millennial played by Sam Valentine, who travels to rural France to attend her great-uncle’s funeral. What follows is a slow, meandering descent into gothic clichés and questionable accents. Lucy arrives at Borley Castle—a name that sounds spooky enough for a Scooby-Doo special—and immediately encounters two locals: a vicar who speaks like he’s auditioning for Monty Python and the Holy Ghost and a chambermaid who seems to have wandered in from a Renaissance fair.
If Walko’s goal was to make his actors sound possessed by bad dialogue, mission accomplished.
Tourism Horror: The Airbnb of Satan
Lucy’s French excursion plays like a cursed Airbnb listing: “Charming 14th-century castle with scenic views, no Wi-Fi, and a family history of witchcraft!” She soon meets J.P., a local gravedigger with the personality of damp bread. Their chemistry is so flat it could be carbon-dated. After some small talk that feels like it was translated by Google from an old Latin scroll, Lucy learns about her family’s involvement in the occult.
Then comes The Sortilegia—a mysterious book that apparently explains everything and nothing at once. Lucy flips through it like she’s browsing a Sephora catalog, and suddenly the ghosts start showing up. There’s a black-eyed girl, a spectral crone, and, because no bad indie horror is complete without him, a random insurance salesman who may or may not be Satan. It’s never clear. It’s also never interesting.
The Curse of Dean Cain
Yes, that Dean Cain appears in this movie—playing a character named Abel Baddon. Subtle. The former Superman looks like he’s doing this gig between real estate commercials, and his scenes have the energy of someone who agreed to the role as a favor and immediately regretted it. Every time he’s on screen, you can practically hear his agent weeping softly into a glass of Merlot.
Dean Cain’s performance can be summed up in one word: contractual. He doesn’t so much act as he appears, like a hologram of ‘90s television doing penance for Lois & Clark. His role could’ve been cut entirely, and the only thing that would change is that the movie would be thirty seconds shorter—and marginally less confusing.
Gothic Aesthetic, Dollar Store Execution
Visually, The Incantation tries hard to be atmospheric. There are fog machines, flickering candles, and enough drone shots of the French countryside to qualify as tourism propaganda. But atmosphere without tension is like a séance without ghosts—you’re just sitting around in the dark waiting for something to happen.
Walko clearly loves gothic imagery, but his direction lacks rhythm. Scenes linger long after their welcome, dialogue drifts like incense smoke, and the editing feels like someone accidentally hit “shuffle” on the timeline. There’s no sense of dread, no pacing, and certainly no payoff. Even the “scares”—and I use that word generously—are telegraphed from a mile away.
It’s not that the film is incompetently made; it’s that it’s indifferently made. It has all the sincerity of a student thesis film about “European mystery” shot during spring break.
The Curse of Exposition
If you’ve ever wanted to watch characters explain the plot to each other in circles until you forget what they were talking about, The Incantation delivers in spades. Lucy is constantly told she’s “part of something dark,” “chosen,” or “in danger,” but no one seems able to specify from what. The dialogue feels like an occult-themed chatbot wrote it after three bottles of wine.
Example: “There are things you don’t understand, Lucy.”
Yes, film. That makes two of us.
Even the titular incantation—supposedly the key to unlocking the film’s mystery—barely matters. By the time the final act rolls around, we’ve sat through so many slow pans, jump scares, and cryptic monologues that the climax lands with the impact of a damp baguette.
Acting Under a Spell
Sam Valentine deserves some credit for keeping a straight face through this mess. She’s earnest, even as the script gives her lines like, “The book called to me.” Her Lucy is a mix of confused tourist and paranormal intern. Dylan Kellogg as J.P. looks perpetually startled, as if he’s just realized he’s in a horror movie. And Walko himself, playing the vicar, delivers his lines like a man trying to exorcise his own career.
The supporting cast, including the “Ethereal Crone,” gives performances so wooden you could build a crucifix out of them. Every actor seems to be in a different movie—some think it’s a psychological thriller, others a gothic romance, and Dean Cain thinks it’s a paycheck.
The Incantation: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Hate Witchcraft Movies
There’s something almost admirable about The Incantation’s commitment to its own confusion. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a séance that accidentally summons a middle manager from the DMV. The ingredients for a compelling indie horror are all here—isolated setting, mysterious past, occult overtones—but they’re tossed together without cohesion or conviction.
Walko’s direction has flashes of ambition, but ambition without discipline is just chaos in a black cloak. Instead of tension, we get tedium. Instead of mystery, we get monotony. And instead of horror, we get Dean Cain in a fedora muttering about destiny.
By the end, Lucy learns something about her bloodline—though the real revelation is how much of your own blood feels drained by the closing credits.
Final Verdict: Exorcise Your Remote
The Incantation wants to be an eerie gothic fable but ends up as an unintentional comedy of errors. It’s the kind of movie you show your enemies when you want them to rethink life choices. A film so lacking in scares, energy, or purpose that you’ll start rooting for the ghosts to unionize and demand a rewrite.
If The Witch is a Michelin-starred horror feast, The Incantation is a microwaved Lean Cuisine eaten under flickering fluorescent lights.
Final Score: 1.5 out of 5 Haunted Baguettes.
At least the French countryside looks nice.
