Seeking closure, an American writer visits his parents’ honeymoon hotel in Ireland, only to experience the horrors it hides.
Atmospheric, claustrophobic, and intense… with a “but”…
Hokum‘s impact, tone, and darkness are evident from the opening sequence. Writer/director Damian McCarthy once again proves that he can build tension. Following the success of Oddity (2024) and, for me, still unmatched by his own Caveat (2019): https://kaygazpro.com/caveat-2020/, he crafts a story that is tightly written, sharply directed, and very well performed. Adam Scott becomes Ohm Bauman and surfaces the trauma that hides inside him. Because beneath that horrifying surface, there is a deep, devastating drama unfolding – one that almost feels like it belongs to a different film, yet ultimately fuels everything we see.
And then there is the folklore. Irish horror, more often than not, draws from it. It is part of its DNA. There is a certain panache to how Ireland approaches the supernatural – seen in films like The Hole in the Ground (2019): https://kaygazpro.com/the-hole-in-the-ground-2019-drama-horror-mystery/ or Sea Fever (2019): https://kaygazpro.com/sea-fever-2019-horror-sci-fi/ – where darkness is not imposed but inherited. It resonates. It seeps. It does not need to announce itself. It simply exists, and in most cases, predates humans and our belief systems.
Which brings us to something I’ve been circling around lately: the fine balance between what the paranormal is, how we perceive it, how filmmakers think we understand it, and how it is ultimately delivered. Sometimes, that balance merges – almost seamlessly – with psychological horror. Look at recent films like Undertone (2025): https://kaygazpro.com/undertone-2025/ or Rabbit Trap (2025): https://kaygazpro.com/rabbit-trap-2025/. Which one is truly supernatural? Which one is psychological? The answer is rarely clear – and that’s the beauty of it.
Neon’s Hokum plays within that space. But it also leans – perhaps too heavily – on jump scares. And here is where my reservations begin. Because while they work (and they do, especially for certain audiences), they often overshadow the film’s more powerful and haunting moments. The kind of moments where suspense builds through absence, through silence, through what is not shown. Irish horror, at its best, does not rely on sudden jolts – it breathes through atmosphere. And every horror should. Jump scares have become, for some time now, the way to scare audiences because nothing else works. But all the aforementioned films prove otherwise. Because the play between on-screen and off-screen performs miracles. Jump scares are just a tool – not a replacement.
That said, Hokum remains an engaging experience. McCarthy’s vision is clear, his control over pace and rhythm evident, and his ability to turn intimate drama into horror is commendable.
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