Universal Unleashes Horror in Chicago

Spain, Argentina, and France collaborate on Pedro Martín-Calero’s feature-length directorial debut, The Wailing(unrelated to the 2016 South Korean film of the same name), which made its Canadian premiere at the Fantasia Festival. Co-written by Martín-Calero and Isabel Peña, the film takes an ambitious approach to ghost stories, fragmenting its narrative across different timelines and characters, while anchoring all its terror in one shared, sinister force—an entity that can only be seen through the lens of video.

Set across different eras and countries, The Wailing follows three women—each segment titled after its protagonist—as they are stalked and psychologically eroded by a spectral presence visible only through video recordings. The entity becomes increasingly threatening as the tale unfolds, linking the women together in a disturbingly twisted fate.

There’s no denying the excellent lead performances from Mathilde Ollivier (Overlord, 2018), Ester Expósito, and Malena Villa. Their portrayals carry emotional depth, capturing a shared vulnerability that unites the women across time—even if some have never met.

From the opening frame, The Wailing demonstrates a meticulous command of mood. The film’s score is used sparingly but effectively—each note ratcheting tension to near-unbearable heights. Even more powerful is its strategic use of silence. In key moments of dread, the absence of music amplifies the sense of unease, making viewers hyper-aware of ambient sounds—breathing, footsteps, distant whispers. This immersion was fully realized during its Fantasia screening, where the surround sound design made ghostly voices feel as though they were whispering directly into your ear from different corners of the theater.

Visually, Martín-Calero’s film possesses numerous unsettling images, evoking comparisons to David Robert Mitchell’s It Follows (2014) in its slow, hypnotic pacing and intensely creepy visuals. There are only a handful of overt scares, but the imagery lingers long after the credits roll. However, the film’s force eventually gives way to familiarity—much like Sinister (2012), The Wailing stumbles slightly when its paranormal apparitions become too visible. The mystique and horror of the entity diminish with overexposure, causing some of the carefully built fear to slip away.

The structure of the film, while intriguing, might prove divisive. Martín-Calero and Peña intentionally leave several plot threads unresolved. Not all the stories are neatly tied together, and while ambiguity can enhance supernatural tales, some narrative gaps feel frustratingly disconnected—too distant to form meaningful conclusions. This is especially noticeable in the final stretch of the film. The ending arrives with an abruptness that feels at odds with the film’s otherwise deliberate pacing, leaving viewers with a multitude of unanswered questions. While mystery can heighten a ghost story, the final segment leaves a few too many strands floating in the dark.

Nevertheless, this three-country collaboration succeeds as an emotional slow-burn horror film, building sheer tension through its intelligent use (or absence) of music and resorting to haunting images that linger rather than relying on cheap, out-of-context jump scares. Its abrupt and anti-climactic ending may leave a sour, ghostly taste in some viewers’ mouths, but it deserves to be seen for its dark atmosphere, which settles like a heavy blanket you just can’t slither out of.

Pedro Martín-Calero’s feature-length debut earns a respectable 3.5 candy-coated eyes out of 5.