Errementari: The Blacksmith and the Devil (2018)

Errementari: The Blacksmith and the Devil feels like you’ve wandered into a candlelit folktale that somehow found its way into a forge—sooty, ominous, and strangely tender. Paul Urkijo Alijo builds a world of creaking wood, scorched iron, and shadowy corners where Basque myth isn’t window dressing but the very air the story breathes, and the practical effects give its devilry a satisfyingly tactile weight. It’s horror with a storyteller’s patience: more atmosphere and moral fable than jump-scare machine, anchored by performances that make even the monstrous feel heartbreakingly human. If you want sleek, modern shocks, this may be too old-world and deliberate, but if you’re craving a visually ravishing, dark-fantasy mood piece with real cultural texture, it’s a spell worth stepping into.

Errementari is clearly aiming for a dark Basque folktale: part gothic horror, part tragic fable, with a streak of mischievous demon comedy running through it. The problem is the film can’t always decide which mode it wants, so you may feel yanked between grim drama and wink-wink fantasy in a way that undercuts the tension rather than deepening it. If you want clean, consistent horror or a tightly paced story, the uneven tone and occasional awkward staging might test your patience. Still, the creature design, moody production work, and commitment to local myth give it a distinct flavor that’ll land best for viewers who value atmosphere and folklore over polish.