Chuck Russell makes a triumphant and gloriously over-the-top return to the horror genre with Witchboard (2024), a deliriously fun reimagining of the 1986 cult classic. The filmmaker behind A Nightmare on Elm Street 3: Dream Warriors and The Blob is clearly in his element, blending practical effects, camp, and chaos into a film that feels like a 1990s VHS treasure, rewound and reborn in a high-def 2024 package.
Set in the voodoo-rich atmosphere of New Orleans (though largely shot in Montreal), Witchboard introduces us to Emily (Madison Iseman) and Christian (Aaron Dominguez), a couple opening an organic café in the French Quarter. Their lives spiral into a world of witches, nightmares, and soul-snatching after Emily discovers a mysterious “pendulum board”—a circular, pre-Ouija occult relic. As the board begins to reveal hidden truths and unlock dark energies, Christian enlists the help of occult expert Alexander Babtiste (Jamie Campbell Bower), who brings with him grave warnings and even graver secrets.
What follows is an escalating series of supernatural incidents involving fiery birds, axe-throwing, hallucinations, green smoke, a masked ball, and a shape-shifting cat. It's absurd, chaotic, and often hilarious—sometimes by design, sometimes by accident—but always entertaining. Russell and co-writer Greg McKay wisely don't play this material too straight. The tone leans hard into camp, and the result is a spiritual cousin to Drag Me to Hell with the zany energy of Tales from the Crypt and a mythology-rich flair reminiscent of The Ninth Gate.
Visually, the film is stylish and baroque. The practical effects are a huge highlight—from creative deaths to surreal possession sequences that conjure Elm Street nightmares inside beds and bathtubs. A scene involving Emily and a cat brings to mind Videodrome, while the finale goes full Hocus Pocus with theatrical plumes of green flame and witchy mayhem.
Madison Iseman turns in a strong performance as the increasingly unhinged Emily, proving once again she’s a scream queen with serious emotional range (and tear ducts to match). Bower’s Babtiste is the type of rich, mysterious Brit who could convincingly sell you a cursed relic or a timeshare in Hell. Mel Jarnson gives her all to the "sexy foreign expert" trope, while Charlie Tahan and Antonia Desplat add layers of humor and menace, respectively.
The cast's chemistry, reportedly strengthened through a mix of stunt rehearsal, practical effects, and real camaraderie on set, is palpable. And yes, the cats steal scenes—and possibly souls.
Tonally, Witchboard is pure maximalism. Every horror trope gets its moment: the clueless boyfriend, the sultry ex, the drug dealer with an accent that defies geography, and of course, the ancient herbalist turned reluctant witch. It’s knowingly ridiculous, but in a way that feels curated rather than careless.
Russell keeps the film grounded in practical craft. He uses CGI sparingly, opting for in-camera tricks and physical rigs—like strapping a camera to the pendulum board itself—to keep the tension and physicality real. There’s a tangibility to the scares that’s rare in today’s CG-heavy horror landscape.
Is it messy? Sure. It drags between kills, and a few Louisiana accents sound like bad tourist impressions. The tone swings wildly, and some plot elements go unresolved. But these flaws are part of the charm. But that’s part of the fun—it all feeds into the film’s unwavering commitment to its own chaotic charm.
This isn’t prestige horror, and it’s not trying to be. Witchboard is Hallmark horror gone goth, a supernatural gumbo of jump scares, corny dialogue, and eye-popping visuals that never pretends to be subtle. It's a party movie—best enjoyed late at night, maybe with your parents, who call The Craft is peak cinema, and definitely with a bowl of gumbo.
Campy, chaotic, and a total blast—Witchboard is the kind of horror film Blumhouse should be making: weird, wild, and wildly entertaining. Fans of practical effects, outrageous set pieces, and no-holds-barred genre storytelling will find plenty to chew on here.
Jessie Hobson