Mara (2018)

Mara taps into a fear that’s almost too intimate for horror: the moment your body betrays you in the dark, when sleep becomes a trap instead of a refuge. It starts like a grounded crime mystery—Olga Kurylenko’s psychologist follows clues, interviews witnesses, and tries to keep her footing—then quietly tightens into a nightmare where every blink feels like a risk, and Javier Botet’s unnervingly physical presence turns the unseen into something you can’t un-imagine. Director Clive Tonge leans into a chilly, clinical vibe that makes the supernatural elements feel creepily plausible, building suspense through dread and sleep-paralysis terror more than cheap jump scares. It’s not for the squeamish (the imagery can get nasty), but if you want a thriller that weaponizes exhaustion and guilt into genuine, under-the-skin fear, this one will keep you wide awake.

Mara wants to mash up a police procedural with a sleep-paralysis demon movie, and on paper that’s a solid, creepy hook with a committed lead and some genuinely unsettling imagery. The problem is the execution feels oddly generic and overworked: the scares lean on loud, shrill “panic” beats, the mythology gets delivered in clunky chunks, and the pacing drags so much you can feel the film fighting to stay tense. If you’re hoping for smart investigative twists or a slow-burn dread that tightens the noose, this may frustrate you more than it frightens you. Still, if you’re an easy mark for sleep-paralysis horror and don’t mind familiar beats as long as the visuals occasionally bite, it can pass as a one-night watch.