Malignant

Wan abandons the restraint of his Conjuring films for something gleefully unhinged: a woman tormented by visions of killings that prove horrifyingly real, building to a third-act revelation so deranged it has to be seen to be believed. For most of its length it plays as slick gothic horror; then it detonates into pure delirious excess, gory and absurd and fully committed to its own madness. It is not subtle and does not want to be. It is a swing for the fences by a director secure enough to be ridiculous, and it has become a cult object for exactly that reason.