Night of the Reaper Review: Be Kind, Rewind, Run

There’s comfort in horror that knows its roots. Recently, genre films have leaned into extremity—hyperviolence, trauma porn, nihilism dressed in prestige packaging. So when Night of the Reaper, a Shudder original from director Brandon Christensen (Z, The Puppetman), opens with the kind of slow-burn tension you remember from When a Stranger Calls or The House of the Devil, it feels like a welcome throwback. Then it flips the script entirely.

Set in a convincingly cozy 1980s Reagan-era suburb, the film follows college student Deena (Jessica Clement), home on break and roped into a last-minute babysitting gig for the town’s sheriff. Simultaneously, Sheriff Rodney Arnolds (Ryan Robbins, Seventh Son) receives the first of several strange packages: an unmarked VHS tape showing a murder previously ruled an accident. From there, Night of the Reaper splits into dual narratives. Deena gets stuck in a creaky house with a young kid and too many unlocked doors, while the sheriff enters a deadly scavenger hunt orchestrated by a masked killer with a flair for analog horror.

Clement carries the film with the kind of internalized performance that’s rare in this genre. As Deena, she plays a “final girl” who isn’t just waiting for her moment to scream—she’s practical, perceptive, and plays fear without theatrics. Christensen’s smart to center her in quiet moments—small expressions, subtle glances—which pay off in a third act that demands audience buy-in. Her chemistry with Max Christensen (yes, the director’s son, making his feature debut as the sheriff’s son Max) feels surprisingly natural. There’s no mugging for the camera or precocious kid energy; Max plays it straight, and their dynamic feels refreshingly honest.

Robbins as the widowed Sheriff Rod offers strong, understated work. He’s a man weighed down by grief and responsibility, and the film wisely lets his desperation build slowly throughout the day and into a deadly evening. His deputy, Cassidy (Matty Finochio, Woman of the Hour), wonders why his superior officer is so fixated on this mystery, and so are we—at least initially. Eventually, we’ll understand why the Sheriff needs answers and will do almost anything to find them. When emotional cracks show, they hit harder than expected—especially when he’s faced with the possibility that the Reaper’s game is more personal than procedural.

On a technical level, Night of the Reaper punches well above its indie weight, but not in the glossy A24 sense. Cinematographer Clayton Moore leans into rich shadows and saturated neons that evoke everything from Stranger Things to early Carpenter. The VHS aesthetic isn’t just a gimmick—it adds texture and menace, especially when snuff tapes start to unravel the timeline you think you’ve been tracking. Michelle Osis, Terry Benn, and David Arcus‘ synth-laced score buzzes in the background like a threat you can’t place, always lurking just out of frame. Costume designer Tracey Graham smartly avoids cartoonish nostalgia, opting instead for the grounded, one mall trip every few months wardrobe of middle America.

It’s clear from the start that Christensen isn’t aiming for pure body count or over-the-top gore. What you get instead is an unnerving game of misdirection—one that relies more on tone, suspense, and visual unease than buckets of red corn syrup. The opening sequence, featuring a chilling kill straight out of the Scream playbook, sets the bar high, and for a good chunk of the runtime, Night of the Reaper coasts on that momentum.

Where the film falters is in its final stretch. As the mystery deepens, so does the exposition. While the twist is satisfying, the journey gets bogged down in dialogue-heavy detours that feel overwritten and poorly acted by supporting cast members. There’s a tonal shift that lets weaker performances sneak through, and when the mask comes off (literally and figuratively), it lands less like a mic drop and more like a shoulder shrug—though the film rallies with one final, brutal moment that’s as funny as it is shocking.

Still, for a 93-minute slasher with modest budget and high ambition, Night of the Reaper doesn’t waste your time. It knows the beats, plays with them, and subverts expectations just enough to feel like more than homage. There’s clever self-awareness here—not the winking, meta kind, but the kind that respects the audience’s horror IQ. Christensen and his brother/co-writer Ryan Christensen clearly love this genre, and they’re not afraid to twist the knife once they’ve earned your trust.

With its autumn-soaked visuals, low-fi terror, and clever structural bait-and-switch, this one is made for a late-September night, curled up with a blanket and the lights left on just in case. It won’t become iconic. The Reaper isn’t the next Freddy or Ghostface. But the film itself—compact, sharp, and structurally ambitious—sticks with you. It respects the genre’s mechanics and knows when to play by the rules and when to break them. It’s exactly the kind of under-the-radar gem that genre fans will be excited to uncover and reap its benefits.