Hellhole (2022)

Hellhole is the kind of religious horror that doesn’t just aim for jump scares—it slowly tightens a vise of dread until the air in the room feels thin, using its isolated monastery setting like a haunted instrument. Bartosz M. Kowalski stages the film with confident craftsmanship: the rituals, corridors, and candlelit austerity create a grim, tactile world where every creak suggests a secret, and the mystery pulls you forward even as you want to look away. Piotr Żurawski gives the story a grounded anchor, playing a man who thinks he’s investigating a disappearance and instead finds himself swallowed by something older, stranger, and far less rational than procedure. The effects land with nasty conviction and the finale delivers a bold, memorable payoff—but be warned, this is not for the squeamish, as the film’s appetite for gore is real and unapologetic.

Hellhole wants to mash up a grim monastery mystery with possession horror and a cynical “the church is hiding something” thriller, and on paper that’s a solid hook. The problem is it spends a lot of time coasting on familiar exorcism imagery, predictable beats, and routine jump scares, so the middle can feel like you’re waiting for the movie to actually get going. When it finally commits in the later stretch, it does deliver nastier, more memorable shocks and a bleak atmosphere, but it’s also extremely gory and leans into body-horror ugliness that won’t be fun for a lot of viewers. If you need smart, slow-burn dread or fresh mythology, this may disappoint; if you can tolerate clichés for a while and you’re here for a mean-spirited, bloody payoff, it’s more your lane.