“The Deliverance” promises a feast of fear but serves up reheated leftovers. It’s a cinematic bait-and-switch that’ll leave horror fans feeling like they’ve been tricked into attending a PTA meeting.
The film kicks off with a tantalizing appetizer of domestic dread. A fly infestation buzzes with menace, mysterious bruises bloom like sinister flowers, and an oppressive atmosphere oozes from every frame. For a moment, we’re gripped by the terror of the ordinary—a family unit crumbling under supernatural strain.
But faster than you can say “I see dead people,” we’re careening down Cliché Canyon. The scares that follow are as predictable as a calendar and half as exciting. The wall-crawling kid is about as frightening as a six-year-old on a jungle gym and a sugar high.
Lee Daniels, usually a maestro of the macabre human condition, seems to have misplaced his mojo. His direction, once razor-sharp in movies like “Precious” and “The Buler,” now feels as dull as a plastic butter knife. It’s like watching a lion decide to become a housecat—all purr, no roar.
Into this muddled miasma steps Andra Day as Ebony. Her performance crackles with desperate fury, especially during a dinner table confrontation that serves up a main course of raw dysfunction. For a precious few scenes, we glimpse the film that could have been—intense, unsettling, and authentically horrifying.
But even Day’s formidable talents can’t salvage this sinking ship. The demon, meant to be the film’s driving terror, comes off as a B-movie reject—about as frightening as a deflated Halloween decoration.
The finale’s stab at redemption feels more forced than a group hug at a misanthropes’ convention. It’s a Hallmark card stapled to a ouija board—neither convincing nor cathartic.
In the end, “The Deliverance” doesn’t deliver; it disappoints. It’s a magic trick where we can see all the strings, leaving us neither fooled nor amazed—just vaguely irritated at the waste of potential. Horror fans, save yourselves. This is one exorcism that should’ve been left unperformed.
