Azrael

first english, below spanish: english: the danger of an angry woman. (the title is completely humorous, in relation to the development of the plot). the overwhelming proposal of 'azrael' rests, above all, on a formal exercise as risky as it is absorbing. its staging reaches moments of true brilliance —particularly in a car sequence that condenses tension, restrained violence and cinematic precision—, while the carefully crafted sound design turns silence into a narrative weapon of enormous weight, much like in 'a quiet place'. on the visual side, the film surprises with the strength of its makeup and characterization, giving the creatures a disturbing physicality without resorting to digital tricks. an atmosphere that recalls robert eggers’ 'the witch'. the blood, although at times it feels somewhat unreal, still manages to sustain a visceral impact that keeps it grounded in a tangible terrain. less fortunate is the color grading: a chromatic palette that, far from elevating the proposal, reduces it to a quasi-televisual appearance, constantly reminding us of its budgetary limits. samara weaving delivers an admirable performance, moving convincingly from initial fragility to a state of iron determination. her work undoubtedly lifts the film above average, while the rest of the cast fulfills their roles without reaching the same level of intensity. where 'azrael' becomes the subject of debate is in its narrative. empty, hollow, stripped of context or explanation, it opens up a field of opposing readings: for some, its refusal to explain becomes frustrating; for others, like myself, that very void is the seed of fascination that makes us long for a continuation. in the end, it is a short, forceful, irregular but suggestive work that —despite its shortcomings— manages to remain an attractive product within recent horror cinema. its brief duration, far from being a flaw, feels like a strength: a direct impact that shows how, even with limitations, it is possible to build an experience as dark as it is stimulating. spanish: el peligro de una mujer cabreada. (el título es completamente humorístico, en relación al desarrollo de la trama). la sobrecogedora propuesta de 'azrael' se sostiene, ante todo, en un ejercicio formal tan arriesgado como absorbente. su puesta en escena alcanza momentos de gran brillantez —particularmente en una secuencia dentro de un coche que condensa tensión, violencia contenida y precisión cinematográfica—, mientras que el diseño sonoro, minuciosamente cuidado, convierte el silencio en un arma narrativa de enorme peso, como ocurre en 'un lugar tranquilo'. en el apartado visual, la película sorprende por la fuerza de su maquillaje y caracterización, capaces de dotar a las criaturas de una fisicidad perturbadora sin necesidad de artificios digitales. una ambientación que hace recordar a 'la bruja', de robert eggers. la sangre, aunque en ocasiones acusa cierta irrealidad, consigue sin embargo sostener un impacto visceral que la mantiene en un terreno cercano a lo tangible. menos afortunado resulta el etalonaje: una paleta cromática que, lejos de engrandecer la propuesta, la reduce a una apariencia casi televisiva, recordando constantemente los límites de su presupuesto. samara weaving ofrece una interpretación admirable, que transita con solidez de la fragilidad inicial a un estado de férrea determinación. su trabajo, sin duda, eleva la película por encima de la media, mientras que el resto del elenco cumple sin alcanzar el mismo nivel de intensidad. donde 'azrael' se convierte en objeto de debate es en su narrativa. vacía, hueca, privada de contexto o explicación, abre un campo de lecturas opuestas: para unos, su renuncia a la exposición la vuelve insatisfactoria; para otros, como en mi caso, ese vacío es justamente la semilla de fascinación que invita a desear una continuación. en definitiva, se trata de una obra breve, contundente, irregular pero sugestiva, que —a pesar de sus carencias— logra mantenerse como un producto atractivo dentro del cine de terror reciente. su corta duración, lejos de restar, se percibe como una virtud: un impacto directo que demuestra que, incluso con limitaciones, es posible construir una experiencia tan oscura como estimulante.

Azrael is one of those movies where the lead actress carries the whole thing on her shoulders. Samara Weaving absolutely owns her role with such expressive intensity and raw energy that you can't take your eyes off her. She makes Azrael a character worth rooting for, even when the story doesn't give her much to work with. Her performance is electric, and she brings so much life to a movie that often feels like it's just... happening around her. Visually, the film is stunning. The cinematography and the dark, oppressive atmosphere set the perfect tone for a post-apocalyptic horror. The Burned Ones are terrifying to look at, and the world feels genuinely dangerous. But where it falters is the script. There's no backstory, no real character buildup, and the lack of explanation for anything, be it the monsters, the cult, or Azrael's choices, leaves you feeling like you're grasping at straws to make sense of it all. A little more depth or context would've gone a long way in turning this into something truly memorable. As it stands, Azrael is a chilling, beautifully directed horror movie with flashes of brilliance, but it's ultimately a missed opportunity. It delivers on mood and style, but it skimps on substance. It's worth watching for Samara Weaving alone, but don't expect the story to stick with you in the same way her performance will.

(Mauro Lanari) The nostalgia effect has found a new motivation. Beyond the regret of a now-aged generation, the cultural industry that minimizes creative investments, and a nihilistic adherence to the Zoroastrian eternal return reproposed by Nietzsche, today we have a new entry. The most recent surveys and market analyses attest to the transgenerational prevalence of a fear of the future that substantially alters Benjamin's philosophy of history: the "Angelus Novus" becomes Janus bifrons who, comparing the rubble on both sides, rightly or wrongly evaluates the already metabolized, experienced, and lived-through ones as less threatening. Given this, here's another media product that, having nothing new to say in a post-apocalyptic scenario, for consistency's sake reduces its characters to silence.

Nothing can save this because it doesn't give you enough to root for anyone. We have no idea why these idiots ripped out their vocal chords or who the crappy vampires are (if they're even vampires). No idea why this baby is so important, and no idea why they're the only group in the world doing this. There needs to be an anchor in the plot to tether it to the real world, and Azrael just doesn't give us one.

Azrael is a strange film where nothing is clear—why things happen or why we are even watching. Who's who, and why the creatures exist, is all uncertain. Samara Weaving killed some people again, and that's it. The film has no purpose. So what?