Veneciafrenia (2022)

Veneciafrenia is the kind of horror film that reminds you why the genre can feel like a theme park ride: loud, bold, and unapologetically stylish, with Álex de la Iglesia turning Venice into a gorgeous labyrinth where every postcard view seems to hide a blade. It plays like a slasher filtered through operatic giallo fever—rich colors, heightened menace, and set pieces that don’t just shock but linger in the mind. The movie’s real pleasure is its gleeful genre energy, escalating from uneasy hostility to full-throttle mayhem with a confidence that feels both nasty and cinematic. Fair warning: this is a bloody, transgressive good time, so if you’re squeamish or looking for subtle scares, you may want to steer clear—but if you want horror with flair and bite, it delivers.

Veneciafrenia is clearly trying to mash up a gory survival horror ride with a pointed jab at anti-tourist resentment, and on paper that’s a juicy setup for Álex de la Iglesia. The problem is it often plays like two half-finished movies: the social commentary isn’t sharp enough to sting, and the horror beats can feel choppy, with characters making choices that are more irritating than suspenseful. It also tends to lose steam in the back half, building toward an ending that many will find oddly soft for a film this blood-soaked. If you’re here purely for nasty violence and a Venice-as-nightmare vibe, you’ll get some gnarly moments, but if you need smart plotting, empathetic characters, or a satisfying payoff, this probably isn’t your trip.