Ash

In the end, Ash lingers less as an original story and more as an experience. The burn is slow, perhaps too slow for some, and this isn’t the kind of film that will resonate widely. It opens with a jolt, disorienting and immediate, thrusting you into a mystery that echoes Event Horizon. Psychedelic swirls recall 2001: A Space Odyssey, while the escalating tension evokes the lethal showdowns of Alien and The Thing.

This is a film that wears its influences on its sleeve with absolute reverence. And yet, it also manages to carve out its own voice as a piece of cosmic horror—one that asks: what is alien? We see an organism, because humans insist on seeing a creature, but its form doesn't make physical sense, suggesting that what we witness is only a shadow of the true entity.

I was captivated throughout—by the visuals, the performances, and the pulsing, unrelenting score that drove each moment forward with dread and urgency. But then the film falters. In its final moments, it insists on explaining itself, breaking the spell and dissolving much of the mystery it worked so hard to build. For a film that dares to be different, that moment of over-clarification feels like a betrayal.