Damian McCarthy’s first major Hollywood horror film clearly carries traces of The Shining, but what makes Hokum (2026) genuinely compelling is how it transforms folklore, guilt, and emotional collapse into something deeply human, anchored by one of Adam Scott’s strongest performances to date. Irish filmmaker Damian McCarthy, whom I consider one of the most talented horror directors working today, returns with Hokum after delivering one of the finest horror films of the 2020s, Oddity. This marks his first real step into Hollywood, and perhaps in an effort not to traumatize American audiences too abruptly with his distinctly unsettling sensibilities, he shapes the film into something more familiar to them — at least on the surface — evoking the form of The Shining. It is difficult not to stop and think about what an enormous film The Shining truly is when, nearly fifty years after its release, its fingerprints can still be found across modern horror cinema. Personally, I could name at least ten post-2020 horror films clearly inspired by it and include Hokum to the list, but I will not. Because Hokum is not a film crushed beneath its references; it is one capable of asserting its own voice. McCarthy’s use of horror elements enriched by Irish folklore gives the film a distinctive identity that separates it from many contemporary genre productions.
Ohm Bauman (Adam Scott) is a horror writer trapped in a deep emotional collapse, unable to finish the ending of his latest book. That crisis leads him to Bilberry Woods, an isolated hotel in Ireland where his parents spent their honeymoon years earlier. His purpose is both literal and emotional: to scatter their ashes and confront himself in the process.The sense of dread begins almost immediately upon his arrival. Rumors surround the hotel’s long-sealed “Honeymoon Suite,” tied to an old legend about a witch who chained people and dragged them underground. Ohm initially dismisses these stories with cynical mockery, calling them “hokum” — nonsense. Predictably, we eventually discover that the legend is real. Yet this is precisely where the film becomes truly interesting. McCarthy does not settle for the familiar “the ghost was real all along” formula. Instead, he folds Ohm’s guilt, repressed trauma, and inescapable past directly into the supernatural architecture of the film. Much like this year’s Mother Mary — a film I greatly admired — Hokum enriches its supernatural framework through personal regret and emotional wounds. Its protagonist is not merely battling an external evil, but himself.
When Fiona (Florence Ordesh), one of the hotel employees, disappears, Ohm is reluctantly pulled deeper into the nightmare. Up to this point, he has hardly appeared sympathetic or even particularly kind, yet the burden of his past — especially the guilt surrounding his mother’s death — drives him toward action. He decides to enter the supposedly cursed suite, and the film spirals from there. Ohm is not a conventional hero. He is fragile, selfish, irritating, and at times deeply unlikeable. That, to me, is one of the film’s greatest strengths. His fear feels tangible precisely because he is not an idealized protagonist, but a broken person much closer to the audience itself. Adam Scott delivers a remarkable performance far outside the territory most viewers associate him with. Like everyone else, I primarily knew him from excellent series such as Severance and Parks and Recreation. And let’s not forget, he also played Uncle Ben in Madame Web — yes, that Uncle Ben. As much as his work in Parks and Recreation remains my personal favorite, I am willing to join the growing consensus that Hokum may well contain the finest performance of his career.
McCarthy is a filmmaker who favors slow pacing, oppressive atmosphere, and jump scares used sparingly but effectively. He has an exceptional understanding of isolated spaces and folkloric horror imagery — witches, curses, uncanny objects — and Hokum continues that fascination with tremendous confidence. Here, he explores the intersection of a haunted hotel and personal guilt with striking precision. The cinematography also deserves particular praise. Cinematographer Colm Hogan, who previously collaborated with McCarthy on Oddity, returns once again. While the color palette occasionally shifts toward warmer tones whenever the film leans into the wooden textures and aging interiors of the hotel, the overall atmosphere remains deeply gothic and shadow-drenched. Many contemporary mainstream Hollywood films seem to have forgotten the idea that cinema should affect viewers visually as much as narratively. But idealistic young filmmakers like McCarthy still fight to ensure that what you watch leaves a visual imprint as powerful as its story.
Although I mentioned the similarities to The Shining earlier, those similarities are ultimately superficial — the presence of a writer in an isolated hotel, a few more. Hokum is an unmistakably original film with its own personality and emotional texture. In fact, there were moments when I found McCarthy’s approach to horror more human than Stanley Kubrick’s. The film is not merely interested in frightening or unsettling its audience; it pushes viewers toward empathy, forcing them to engage with the emotional trauma of its protagonist as much as the terror surrounding him. It is unquestionably one of the year’s most worthwhile horror films, and it seems we will continue admiring and appreciating Damian McCarthy for quite some time.
