‘Hokum’ Review: Damian McCarthy Is Making His Mark On Folk Horror
- Hannah Tang
- 20 hours ago
- 3 min read
I first encountered Damian McCarthy’s films on the syllabus for my psychoanalysis and horror class when studying in the States. One April evening, my roommate and I snuggled up on our dorm room sofa with cherry slushies, and pressed play on his 2024 release, Oddity. I’d read Letterboxd reviews that raved about its scares. But nothing could have prepared me to be so viscerally afraid, and so enchanted, by its folkloric dread. So when Hokum was announced to be in pre-production, let it be known that I was watching its progress like a hawk.
Hokum follows the journey of apathetic American author Ohm Bauman (Adam Scott) to the rural Irish hotel where his parents once honeymooned. While all three of McCarthy’s feature films have been set in Ireland, this is the first to have a non-Irish protagonist. The film begins and ends within the novel Bauman is concluding, framing the narrative with scorching sands that juxtapose the chilling forest surrounding the Bilberry Woods Hotel. From the get-go, tension is interlaced with comedy at the small and cosy estate, and Bauman is both curious and hostile to its inhabitants: apprehensively inquiring after a staff member’s crossbow, and chatting with the bartender about his novel, but also burning the talkative bellboy’s hand with a teaspoon.
It’s clear that his sole purpose - to sprinkle his parents’ ashes on the hotel grounds - is to be fulfilled without messing about, or extending niceties to the staff. Evidently, something is weighing Bauman down (and his mental health struggles become crystal clear early on in a scene in the film) and, like Caveat and Oddity, we return to the themes of trauma, guilt, and grief. Adam Scott portrays this trauma excellently - although, in terms of writing, I think the allusions to the scarring event that ‘haunts the narrative’, so to speak, are made a little too obvious in being explicitly stated rather than implicitly depicted.
Recently, indie horror fans have witnessed a trend of gory body-horror narratives. But McCarthy sticks to his signature: haunted houses, isolated rural settings, uncanny figurines, and terrifying jump-scares. What really works for me, in terms of his characteristic jump-scares, is that the other spooky and sinister elements of sound and image flow excellently in dialogue with them, like the tent scene in Oddity (if you know, you know). And it isn’t just one monster or ghostly apparition that features - there is a range of haunted figures that appear in these flashes. The sound design complements this perfectly, rife with ghastly wails, bell chimes, and instrumental lulls.
Claustrophobia and isolation are paramount to Hokum’s terror: the derelict honeymoon suite and the multiple spaces within it all contribute to a sickening sense of entrapment. One of the most evocative set pieces, and my personal favourite, is the bone-white bed draped with a silky white canopy, once a location of love and luxury. Now, Bauman cowers inside of it, the sheer curtains simultaneously providing zero protection from creatures lurking outside, and preventing a clear view of what exactly the creatures are. As seen in the trailer, this angelic backdrop frames one of the film’s scariest images, tinged with childlike nostalgia and terror. The ominous dumbwaiter that is occupied for nearly all of the second and third acts is utilised so effectively as both a hiding place and a method of transportation - descending deep into the witches’ lair.
What we are reminded of is that human brutality is at the heart of Hokum, and folkloric monsters offer the possibility of karmic retribution. I would have liked to have seen a deeper dive into the witch and the ancient dread associated with her - perhaps the plot becomes too concerned with the human side of things. Nevertheless, Hokum was an absolutely chilling nightmare that does a brilliant job in maintaining palpable tension throughout, and I’m extremely sat for whatever Damian McCarthy chooses to pursue next. He has a niche, and he does it beautifully.
Edited by Lara Walsh, Co-Film & TV Editor
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