31 Days of Halloween: Not Witch…but Why?

Beezel (2024)
**** (4 out of 10 stars)
Director: Aaron Fradkin
Producers: Aaron Fradkin, Victoria Fradkin, Patrick Ewald, Paul Kim, Adam Liderman, Yulissa Morales
Starring: Bob Gallagher, Caroline Quigley, Victoria Fradkin, Apollo Nicolas, LeJon Woods

“She’s always been here… waiting.” – Naomi

Review:

Now, dear readers, I wish I had on spooky praise for this film, but I do not and will not pretend it was more than it was. Like a gasp cut short, yielding way to a yawn instead. This film did not reach to those horrific heights it may have aspired. Beezel is a film that began with promise, with atmosphere, and with the creeping suggestion of something truly sinister. But alas, what began as a chilling whisper in the dark became, by the end, a monotonous drone.

The film opens with a definite creepy vibe—an old New England home, cursed and brooding, its floorboards groaning with secrets. The first chapter unfolds with a measured pace, and I found myself leaning forward, hopeful. Could this be a legitimate witch film? One that doesn’t rely on cheap tricks or overused tropes? For a time, it seemed so. The cinematography was moody, the performances restrained but effective, and the lore—though familiar—was handled with a certain reverence.

Had I reviewed the film based solely on that first chapter, I would have gladly awarded it seven stars out of ten. But, as any honest reviewer must, I watched the entire film. And therein lies the tragedy.

As the story progressed, it became mired in repetition. Each tale—set across different decades—was essentially the same as the last. A new guest arrives, the witch stirs, and despair follows. Nihilistic tales of dashed hopes and drowning hopelessness. That alone would not have been enough to bend this film below my initial opinion. After all, horror often thrives in bleakness.

But what truly sank Beezel was its narrative stagnation. There was no expansion, no evolution. Each chapter was a carbon copy of the last, rubber-stamped with slightly different characters and an insignificant shift in time. It was like watching a flatline, hoping for a jump… a chirp… some sign of life. But no. There was no jump. No chirp. Only the predictable flatline stretching hopelessly ahead.

The performances, while earnest, could not overcome the script’s lack of depth. The witch herself—an eternal presence beneath the floorboards—was never given the mythic weight she deserved. Her menace was implied, but never fully realized. And the characters, though competently portrayed, were never allowed to grow or change. They were lambs to the slaughter, and nothing more.

If it weren’t for the need to give a proper review, I likely would have turned it off and done something else—perhaps something more rewarding, like watching paint dry or listening to the wind howl through an empty hallway.

Beezel had the bones of a great horror film. It had atmosphere, it had potential, and it had the makings of a truly terrifying witch tale. But it squandered those gifts in favor of repetition and narrative laziness. It is a film that promises much, but delivers little.

So, dear readers, I cannot recommend this film. Not with joy, and not with malice—only with disappointment. For in horror, as in life, potential unfulfilled is the cruelest curse of all.