Hokum Finds Terror in Silence, Shadows, and the Human Psyche

 

by Tara Adams
The Creature Beat

Hokum is showing the entertainment world that you don’t need buckets of blood to crawl under an audience’s skin. 

It's the kind of horror that works patiently, somewhat quietly, and then all at once. It's less about shock and more about dread that seeps in and lingers.

And it's terrifying. 

The film, directed and written by Damian McCarthy, is an Irish haunted house story with sustained tension. The setting, a secluded, ominous-looking hotel, feels genuinely cursed. That's not because of flashy effects, but because of how carefully McCarthy constructs the atmosphere. Isolated. Flickering jack-o-lanterns. Dim lighting. And a sense that the hotel is holding a terrible secret. 

The sound design adds to the fear, using silence and low, unsettling music and noise to keep you constantly braced for something you can’t always see.

The acting across the board is strong, grounding the film’s supernatural elements in something that feels human and real. 

Adam Scott delivers a particularly effective performance, anchoring the story with a quiet, troubled intensity that slowly unravels as the pressure mounts.

Although his character is a jerk, Scott sells both the fear and the exhaustion of a man being worn down from the inside out, making his reactions lived-in rather than theatrical. It’s a performance that relies on small looks, measured responses, and emotional cracks that widen over time, which fits the film’s overall approach to horror.

What really elevates Hokum, though, is that the supernatural threat isn’t the only thing stalking the main character. As the story unfolds, it becomes clear that the ghosts in the hotel are only part of the nightmare. The film digs into human cruelty, regret, and self-destruction, making the horror personal rather than abstract. 

The scariest moments often come not from what’s lurking in the shadows, but from what people are capable of doing to others and to themselves.

Like his movie, Oddity, McCarthy doesn't overwhelm the audience with jump scares, and the pacing allows tension to build naturally. And when the scares do arrive, they land because the groundwork has been laid so carefully. 

It’s confident filmmaking that understands fear as an emotional experience, not just a visual one.

What I found welcoming was that Hokum doesn’t leave you in total darkness. Without undermining the dread that comes before it, the film closes on a note of hope. It's a hope that's earned, not tacked on. It suggests that confronting horror, both supernatural and human, doesn’t have to end in despair.

Sometimes survival, understanding, or even forgiveness can be its own victory.

For viewers who appreciate atmosphere-driven horror with something on its mind, Hokum is a chilling, thoughtful ride. And it'll linger long after the hotel doors close.