Confirmed out of SXSW, Damian McCarthy is the new king of horror. The Irish filmmaker has previously thrilled audiences with the mind-bending Caveat in 2020. Then, came Oddity, a smash-up of Irish folklore and horror that centered around a creepy wooden man. Now, he's returned with the Adam Scott-fronted Hokum, which is his best and most terrifying film yet. 

Look, I don't say that lightly. I watch a lot of horror movies. Even outside of my job, I seek out the weird, the wonky, the scary-as-hell. And even though I loved Caveat for all its surreal spookiness and Oddity for its chilling imagery and gnarly twists, I was not prepared for Hokum. Sure, I called it one of my most anticipated films of 2026. But I could not predict from Hokum's curious first image of Scott, crouching in a wooden box, or even its trailer what was in store. As I teased in my headline, this movie scared me so intensely, so consistently, that I screamed myself hoarse by the end. 

And I can't wait to see it again. 

What's Hokum about? 

Written and directed by Damian McCarthy, Hokum centers on Ohm Bauman (Scott), an American author haunted by his past. Struggling to complete his popular book series, The Conquistador Trilogy, he takes a trip to Ireland, where his parents honeymooned long, long ago. There, he will sprinkle their ashes. But before he can find peace or leave the towering hotel with a dark history, he gets roped into the mystery of a missing woman and the lore of the witch said to haunt the honeymoon suite. 

Adam Scott is a real rat bastard in Hokum, and thank God. 

Scott is one of those American actors who do it all. On Parks and Recreation, he was a crush-worthy sweetheart. On Party Down, he was a comically cynical anti-hero. Step Brothers and The Good Place gave him hilariously malicious bros to play, while Krampus and The Monkey had him playing doomed dads. In the woefully underseen The Vicious Kind, he was a troubled and sexy lover. In the sci-fi series Severance, he thrills audiences as a tormented Lumon employee whose split consciousness leaves him torn between impossible choices. But in Hokum, he's a total jerk to just about all who come across his path. And it's thrilling to behold. 

The staff at the hotel is generally eager to please. Some even fawn over him when they realize he's the Ohm Bauman. The preening manager (Peter Coonan) gets a sneer for asking for an autograph. The kind bartender (Florence Ordesh) gets snark for daring to small-talk. The bellhop (Oddity fans, IYKYK) named Alby (Will O'Connell), who dreams of being a writer himself, is scorched by his idol's cruel attention. Ohm even has sharp words for the hotel's owner (Brendan Conroy), who — to be fair — is terrorizing young children with the tale of the local witch who snatches up tourists. 

The only person Ohm has any patience for is a weirdo in the woods called Jerry (David Wilmot), who looks after the wild goats, drinks their milk with magic mushrooms, and is on the run for a worrisome reason. Their connection is confounding but compelling, especially as Jerry presses Ohm into a series of deeply dangerous decisions in search of an impossible truth.

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It's a twisted pleasure to watch Scott snarl and jeer, in part because it's darkly funny to see this protagonist flaunt social niceties so blatantly. But moreover, his bad behavior gives horror fans a warning: Ohm will pay for being the ugly American, snorting at the locals and their lore, because as we all know from folk horror movies like The Wicker Man, such an attitude typically leads to disaster. Beyond that, however, Hokum carves out an unnerving story of healing, exploring not only why Ohm is such a prick, but also the terrifying path that will force him to reevaluate his vicious ways. Scott is uniquely perfect for such a role. For one thing, his ability to slide from one genre to another means that he just fits wherever he's set. So, whether he's facing down a furious brother, a spree-killing toy, or even a soul-splitting corporation, it just feels like of course, this thing would befall this guy. Scott is so skilled at locking into a tone from jump that he grounds whatever reality he's pitched into. Speaking of jumping….

The scares in Hokum had me howling, jumping, and desperate to cover my eyes. 

Jump scares often get a bad wrap because they can be considered a cheap thrill. McCarthy, however, is a master of building tension and expectation, twisting his audience into a knot of fear, until we explode with a bellow or jump. Within the first five minutes of Hokum, he sets up a spirit that seems to be stalking Ohm. And its first jump scare had me screaming at the SXSW premiere of Hokum so hard that I could feel my ribcage vibrate. 

McCarthy offers this quick scare not just as a thrill to get audiences on board with his ghost-infested tale, but also as a misdirect about what's to come. After this point, Hokum veers away from the standard "surprise! There's something behind you" scare that releases tension, and more into the looming dread that you know something is there, you just can't see it… yet. 

McCarthy sets up the framework of a witch in a haunted honeymoon suite, then lets us linger at the bolted gate that should keep snoops out. But there's a crackling cackle in the darkness beyond the gate. So, naturally, someone will reach in an arm with a lighter, trying to make sense of what lurks in the shadows. Rather than a quick scare, McCarthy waits. The arm probes the dark, the hand so human and so exposed to whatever cannot be seen. The flame flickers, toying with our expectations of what it might reveal. And McCarthy waits. 

I could feel the scream tickling in my chest. My fingers pulled my notebook up to my nose. I grit my teeth and refused to cover my eyes, even though I desperately wanted to. And then comes the reveal. Brief, simple, and yet absolutely horrifying. The scream again escaped me, this time ripping through the fingers clutched around my mouth. 

Again and again, McCarthy builds on this tension with a production design of cryptic decay. The colors of the hotel are of wood, rot, and beaten flesh. Those who loved Caveat and Oddity will squeal in anticipation over familiar iconography, like a small service bell or a recurring rabbit motif. These three films, all chiefly set in a single spooky location, share a folk-horror framework, where a logical man is lost to a world of superstition and dark faith he can't comprehend, much less control. Yet McCarthy isn't building some concrete horror universe. Instead, these talismans suggest a slippery sisterhood of horror and lore. And it's deviously entertaining in its wild twists, gnarly monsters, and masterfully paced scares. 

In the film's climax, where Ohm must face not only his fears but also a ruthlessly wicked foe, I wrote only one note in my book: "I'm gonna hurl." Thankfully, I managed to keep the tension gurgling in my guts to myself. But this experience brought back a similar SXSW premiere, when I saw Ari Aster's Hereditary for the first time. I screamed, gasped, and even dry-heaved as the suspense of his cult tale grabbed me by the throat. I didn't sleep that night until the sun came up. For Hokum, I did manage to fall asleep, or at least collapse from the exhaustion of the rigors of the festival. But I did so with the haunting knowledge that if something came for me in the dark, I no longer had a voice — much less a scream — to call for help. And that is a new one, even for a horror fan who can't get enough of being scared out of my wits. 

Hokum is a seriously scary masterpiece. Like Caveat and Oddity, Hokum is twisted, horrifying, and darkly amusing. McCarthy has built on his skill for weaving together freaky folklore and compellingly quirky characters in a claustrophobic setting to deliver a supremely frightening thriller that swells in ambition as it does star power. It's a nerve-shredding, bone-rattling, scream-pulling good time, and an absolute blast to see in a theater. Don't miss it. 

Hokum was reviewed out of the SXSW film festival. Hokum opens in theaters on May 1.