Hideaway (1995)

Hideaway is the kind of gloriously overheated ’90s thriller-horror that commits to its premise with a straight face and a wicked grin, turning a near-death miracle into a doorway for something far darker. Jeff Goldblum’s jittery intelligence and Christine Lahti’s grounded warmth give the film a human center, so the psychic dread and lurid visions land as more than just shocks—they feel like a family’s reality being invaded. Director Brett Leonard leans into a pulpy, neon-tinged spookiness that’s equal parts melodrama and nightmare, delivering the exact “after-death” weirdness it promises without pretending to be tasteful. It’s not for the squeamish or anyone allergic to overwrought genre excess, but if you want a stylish, nasty, unapologetically intense ride that swings big and means it, this is a great one to rediscover.

Hideaway is clearly trying to mash up a high-concept near-death “what did I bring back with me?” idea with a gritty serial-killer thriller, and on paper that’s a tasty hook. The problem is it quickly settles into familiar, mean-spirited territory, leaning hard on graphic violence and a grimy atmosphere that can feel more punishing than suspenseful. Jeff Goldblum brings anxious, offbeat energy and there are flashes of visual ambition, but the pacing is sluggish and the story’s turns are often predictable, building to a finale that drags rather than tightens the screws. If you’re sensitive to gore or you want clever psychological horror instead of an unpleasant, routine killer plot, this is one to skip.