Demons

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Demons is the kind of movie that feels less like it was written and more like it escaped from a nightmare after being fed too much cocaine and heavy metal. Set almost entirely inside a movie theater where watching a cursed film literally turns the audience into demons, it’s pure mid-’80s Italian horror excess—loud, bloody, and unapologetically stupid. It’s also the kind of film where logic checks out early, clocks out halfway through, and never returns.

To be fair, Demons can be tedious and repetitive. The structure settles into a loop of people getting infected, screaming, transforming, and being hacked apart, over and over again. Characters are thin to nonexistent, dialogue exists mostly to scream exposition, and the film often feels like it’s killing time until the next gore effect or shrieking synth cue. There are stretches where you can practically feel the movie spinning its wheels, daring you to lose patience.

But here’s the thing: the story is so profoundly nonsensical that it becomes hypnotic. Plot threads appear and vanish without explanation. Rules are implied and then immediately ignored. Geography inside the theater makes no sense whatsoever. And then there’s the final 15 minutes—an escalation so baffling, so disconnected from reality, that it crosses the line from dumb to glorious. Motorcycles, katanas, helicopters, demon slime—everything is thrown at the screen with reckless confidence, as if the filmmakers themselves stopped asking questions and decided to go all in.

That commitment is what makes Demons a worthwhile “Bad Movie Sunday” experience. It’s not accidentally funny so much as aggressively insane, a film that believes in its own chaos with absolute sincerity. Yes, it drags. Yes, it repeats itself. But by the time the credits roll, you’re not thinking about the dull patches—you’re laughing, confused, and strangely satisfied. Demons may not be good, but it is unforgettable, and sometimes that’s the highest compliment a cult horror film can earn.

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