Nerdly » ‘The Incubus’ Blu-ray Review (88 Films)

10th Apr2025

‘The Incubus’ Blu-ray Review (88 Films)

by Phil Wheat

Stars: John Cassavetes, Duncan McIntosh, John Ireland, Kerrie Keane, Helen Hughes, Erin Noble, Harvey Atkin, Harry Ditson | Written by Ray Russell, George Franklin | Directed by John Hough

There are films that scare you in the moment, and then there are films that unnerve you in ways you can’t quite name. The Incubus, a 1981 horror oddity starring John Cassavetes, falls squarely into the latter category. When I sat down to watch this new 88 Films Blu-ray, I expected the usual genre mechanics of early-’80s horror: a town in peril, a shadowy force, the expected body count. What I didn’t expect was the eerie, fragmented atmosphere, the lingering existential melancholy—and above all, the strange, haunted performance from Cassavetes that somehow elevates this film from exploitation fare to something more enigmatic.

Let’s get the basics out of the way. The plot, on paper, sounds like pulp: a small New England town is beset by a series of brutal, sexually charged murders. Cassavetes plays Dr. Sam Cordell, a local physician who becomes entangled in the increasingly surreal investigation. The killer, or entity, is suspected to be more than human. A teenager (played with twitchy vulnerability by Duncan McIntosh) experiences horrific dreams that may be premonitions… or confessions. And lurking behind it all is something ancient, evil, and impossible to fully comprehend.

From the first frames, The Incubus wears its sleaziness like a second skin, but there’s a weirdly elegant rhythm beneath the grime. Director John Hough (The Legend of Hell House) brings a Gothic sensibility to the sleepy town, drenched in mist and foreboding, where evil festers not in crumbling castles but in church basements and high school auditoriums. It’s a rare film where the supernatural horror and the psychological trauma of its characters are almost indistinguishable. You can’t always trust what you’re seeing yet you can’t look away.

Cassavetes, known for his raw, improvisational indie dramas, seems like an odd fit for a film like this. And maybe he is. But that’s part of what makes his performance so fascinating. He plays Dr. Cordell with a jittery, mournful intensity, as if he’s not just chasing a monster but running from a private hell of his own. His grief – he’s a recent widower – hangs over the film like a fog. Even when the plot wobbles, which it often does, Cassavetes roots it in something human, something painful.

Is The Incubus a great film? No. It’s uneven, occasionally absurd, and leans heavily into sensationalism. But is it interesting? Unquestionably. There’s a sick poetry to its madness, a kind of dream logic that rewards the patient and punishes the distracted. Like a nightmare you can’t quite shake, it lingers. And in the pantheon of horror films that unsettle more than they entertain, that might just be the highest compliment.