There has been a thrilling resurgence of horror in recent years, with films like Hereditary and When Evil Lurks proving that the genre has far more to offer than the tired tropes of superhero spectacles. For fans of the macabre and unsettling, it has been an exhilarating time to witness horror reclaim its cultural space, pushing even the dominance of capes and spandex into the background. But then there’s Longlegs, the latest offering from Oz Perkins, son of the legendary Anthony Perkins, a film that delivers nothing but disappointment and frustration.
Longlegs comes bearing the weight of hyperbolic praise, with some claiming it to be the “scariest film in years” or the best horror film of the decade. Such praise is not only misplaced; it is downright misleading. For anyone who has a passing familiarity with good horror, this film fails on virtually every front. If Longlegs is truly the pinnacle of what contemporary horror has to offer, then we are in serious trouble. Perkins continues his streak of filmmaking mediocrity with a film so incoherent and underwhelming that one might wonder when, exactly, someone will finally have the courage to say, “Enough.”
Perkins, who has previously helmed The Blackcoat’s Daughter; a sluggish, unscary meditation on isolation, and the pretentious, overly stylized Gretel & Hansel, has long displayed a troubling penchant for borrowing from better films without understanding what makes them work. This time, Longlegs attempts to merge a psychological crime thriller with supernatural horror, and it fails miserably at both. The film is a tonal mess, caught somewhere between the eerie, meticulous dread of films like Se7en and The Silence of the Lambs, and a supernatural occult narrative that would be better suited for a dime-store paperback. Neither thread is executed with enough care to make the film coherent, and the result is a film that is frustrating, confused, and ultimately unscary.
At the heart of the story is Lee Harker (Maika Monroe), an FBI agent in the 1990s tasked with investigating a series of grisly murders that span several years. She is paired with her new partner, Carter (Blair Underwood), and the two begin to uncover disturbing clues about a mysterious figure known as Longlegs, played by Nicolas Cage. Early on, the film suggests that Harker may possess psychic abilities, but these flashes of prescience, like a brief vision of a snake in red light, are more baffling than intriguing. If Harker can sense these eerie disturbances, why then does it take her so long to piece together the connection between Longlegs and the grisly murders? The film’s logic quickly unravels, and any potential for suspense is squandered.
The plot proceeds through its too-long 100-minute runtime with the detective duo discovering life-size dolls spreading Satanic influence, pushing families toward self-destruction in ways that feel as uninspired as they are implausible. The film lazily explains its convoluted mythology in an on-the-nose, expositional manner that defies any meaningful engagement with the material. There is nothing ambiguous or chilling about these revelations; just a series of hollow gestures meant to evoke shock without any genuine terror.
Then there’s Nicolas Cage, who has made a career out of oscillating between restrained performances and frenetic, rage-fueled outbursts. In Longlegs, he swings between both extremes with abandon, playing a bizarre, cross-dressing version of the character Powder. Cage is undoubtedly a captivating actor, and while his enthusiasm for the role is palpable, his performance here is more comical than terrifying. His delivery of lines like “Hail Satan” feels so out of place that it risks becoming parody rather than terror. His character is less of a menacing figure and more of a walking sideshow, inadvertently transforming the film’s more disturbing moments into an unintentional comedy.
Monroe, who was so memorable in It Follows, plays her role with a kind of somber seriousness, but her performance ultimately fails to bring any real weight to a character whose motivations and actions are so poorly fleshed out. Underwood, who brings an air of quiet authority to his role, is tragically underused, left to wander aimlessly through scenes without ever really making an impact. Even Kiernan Shipka, appearing in a cameo, delivers a line of dialogue so awkward and out of place that one wonders whether it was inserted by mistake.
In short, Longlegs is a film that desperately wants to be more than it is, borrowing liberally from better works without ever finding its own voice. Perkins’ inability to generate any palpable tension or atmosphere leaves the film feeling like a collection of half-formed ideas, with no coherent vision to tie them together. If anything, it is a masterclass in how not to handle genre storytelling.
Perhaps the most egregious offense of all is the film’s total lack of genuine scares. Unlike the films it so blatantly imitates, Longlegs fails to inspire even the faintest tremor of unease. The few attempts at gore are laughable, and any attempt at atmosphere is drowned out by interminable dialogue and a complete disregard for pacing. For a film that desperately wants to be considered a horror triumph, it fails to deliver on the one thing that should be non-negotiable: fear.
In a time when horror is experiencing a well-deserved renaissance, Longlegs stands as a reminder that not all films with dark ambitions deserve to be celebrated. It is a confused, tedious mess, and the less said about it the better. Don’t believe the hype. Instead, turn your attention to films that understand what makes horror so compelling, and save yourself from the disappointment of another Oz Perkins misfire.
