In the ever-evolving landscape of horror cinema, Victorian Psycho emerges as a chilling reminder of how genre tropes can be repurposed to explore timeless themes. Directed by Zachary Wigon, this adaptation of Virginia Feito’s novel reimagines the 19th-century gothic setting as a canvas for psychological unraveling, where the line between madness and morality blurs. Maika Monroe, already a scream queen in It Follows and The Guest, takes center stage as Winifred Notty—a governess whose violent impulses seem to bleed into the very air of the mansion. What makes this particularly fascinating is how the film doesn’t merely resurrect old-school horror; it reframes it through a lens of existential dread, asking questions about control, power, and the cost of obsession.
Personally, I think this film is a masterclass in how genre conventions can be weaponized to explore human vulnerabilities. Monroe’s performance is both unsettling and mesmerizing, her portrayal of a woman trapped in a cycle of violence echoing the suffocating expectations of Victorian society. The setting—Ensom House, a decaying estate—becomes a character itself, its creaking floors and shadowy corridors amplifying the tension between the past and present. What many people don’t realize is that this isn’t just a thriller; it’s a meditation on how trauma can manifest in the most unexpected ways. The film’s reliance on visual storytelling—like the way the camera lingers on the bloodstained hands of the Pounds family—adds a layer of psychological depth that resonates far beyond the screen.
The casting choices are equally compelling. Thomasin McKenzie brings a haunting presence to the role of the enigmatic Lady Pound, while Jason Isaacs’ presence as the patriarch adds a sinister undertone. Even the supporting cast, including Ruth Wilson and Evie Templeton, contributes to the film’s atmosphere of unease. But it’s the director’s decision to prioritize atmosphere over exposition that truly elevates the piece. Wigon’s approach is reminiscent of his work on Longlegs, where the slow burn of suspense is matched only by the visceral impact of the visuals. This film isn’t just about the horror—it’s about the quiet, often overlooked horror of societal expectations.
If you take a step back and think about it, Victorian Psycho feels like a modern-day echo of classic gothic tales, but with a twist. It’s a reminder that horror isn’t just about fear; it’s about confronting the uncomfortable truths we carry within us. The film’s success will depend on how audiences interpret its ambiguous ending—whether it’s a cathartic resolution or a lingering question mark. In my opinion, this is a film that demands multiple viewings, each time revealing new layers of meaning. It’s a testament to the power of genre filmmaking to provoke thought and evoke emotion in ways that traditional narratives can’t.
As the world grapples with increasing anxiety about identity, control, and the unseen forces shaping our lives, Victorian Psycho offers a chilling yet insightful commentary on these themes. It’s a film that challenges viewers to confront their own fears and the invisible boundaries that define us. Whether you’re a fan of the genre or a newcomer, this one is worth watching—not just for the scares, but for the profound questions it raises about what it means to be human.
