As a horror writer, I spend a lot of time reviewing open calls for submissions of stories from various publishers. Each potential market posts a set of guidelines describing the type of stories they seek, listing minutiae such as the word count and formatting expectations, and detailing the submission process. Most editors also include a statement about what they don’t want to see in their slush pile. Those decrees usually include phrases such as “gratuitous or excessive sexual content,” narratives that “endorse racial hatred or malicious stereotypes,” and content that involves “the torture or abuse of children and animals.”
Those all seem like reasonable taboos.
Of course, sometimes horror writers manage to push the boundaries of what is considered acceptable. Sometimes horror literature escorts us outside of our comfort zone, transcending social mores. William Peter Blatty’s book “The Exorcist” depicts the demonic possession of Regan MacNeil, a 12-year-old girl. In Stephen King’s “The Shining,” 5-year-old Danny Torrence experiences ghosts and frightening visions, as well as his father’s descent into madness hastened by the supernatural influence of the Overlook Hotel. And let’s not forget that King also gave us Pennywise, who is reportedly responsible for the deaths of hundreds of children spread over the centuries.
Sometimes, the suffering of children is used as a narrative tool to highlight societal flaws or to explore profound psychological themes. The latter seems to be the case in the 2024 horror film “Family,” written and directed by Benjamin Finkel in his feature directorial debut. The film debuted at the 2024 SXSW Film Festival in Austin, Texas, where it scored the Kickstarter NextGen Award. Despite the win, it took filmmakers some time to secure a distributor. The film was finally picked up by Vertical and released in select theaters and on VOD on Sept. 25, 2026.
The film focuses on 10-year-old Johanna (Cameron Dawson Gray) and her parents, Naomi (Ruth Wilson) and Harry (Ben Chaplin). The family has just moved back to Naomi’s childhood home in the suburbs of Philadelphia. Their relocation was necessary so that Harry, who is being treated for an aggressive form of cancer, can be closer to better healthcare resources. Finkel wastes no time shocking the viewer: The opening sequence shows Johanna outside in a nighttime deluge, banging on a door and pleading for help just before Naomi grabs her and drags her across the wet pavement. This fragment — which instantly manipulates the viewer into believing Naomi is a malicious agent — is conveyed with intentional ambiguity: Is it a bad dream, a prophetic vision, or a hallucination?
From the beginning, Finkel sets an ominous tone. He allows glimpses of what life must have been like for this family unit before Harry got sick. These moments of warmth and affection are fleeting and usually culminate with a disconcerting reminder of how Harry’s illness has weakened him physically. It has also undermined the stability of their family by altering household roles and generating intense anxiety.
We soon learn that Johanna has a preoccupation with a small birdhouse. She believes she can summon a good spirit to the birdhouse, and that the spirit will help heal her father. Following her attempt to beckon a guardian, bad things begin to happen. Toto, the family dog, disappears. Harry’s condition worsens. Naomi becomes increasingly disapproving of her daughter. Johanna concludes that she may have accidentally drawn the interest of a malevolent spirit.
It is important to understand that the story is told from Johanna’s perspective. When bad things happen, the adults in her life — including her parents and her grandfather, played by Allan Corduner — often offer alternative explanations that are both logical and more credible than the idea that an evil entity has taken up residence in a store-bought birdhouse. But to Johanna, those arguments are nonsensical. This provides the viewer with a better understanding of Johanna’s state of mind.
What the viewer sees through Johanna’s eyes is absolutely terrifying. Finkel is sparing in his use of jump scares, but when he drops one it is stunningly effective. The dark, funereal tone is consistent throughout the film. There is an interesting digression into cosmic horror, which may speak to Johanna’s unconscious acknowledgement that the universe is indifferent to human suffering. Or, maybe it’s just another manifestation of the constant sense of dread she is facing as she watches her father’s physical deterioration.
“Family” is both an ambitious film and a deeply personal one for the director, who has shared in interviews that he began working on the script after his own father died from cancer when he was 14. Finkel’s achievement is significant: He has crafted a genuinely creepy, frightening horror film that graphically illustrates a child’s response to unbearable grief. As Johanna, Gray projects a heartbreaking sense of helplessness and impending loss. Wilson’s Naomi — again, as seen through Johanna’s eyes — is consummately crafted: cold, looming, intimidating and sometimes impenetrable. Naomi, too, is suffering. The viewer eventually sees she is an overstretched, exhausted caregiver. Sunk in her own despair and experiencing escalating paranoia that may suggest a psychotic break, Johanna is blind to her mother’s anguish.
Finkel’s film is best categorized as arthouse horror, centering on a child’s agonizing trauma as she loses a parent. It is a cerebral slow burn punctuated by moments of surreal terror and chaos. It may not appeal to every fan of the genre, but the solid script and unnervingly no-holds-barred performances of the cast make this a hidden gem.
Lee Clark Zumpe is entertainment editor at Tampa Bay Beacons, a Tomatometer-Approved Critic, and an author of short fiction. He can be reached by email at lzumpe@TBNweekly.com.