A mother and daughter rock band film themselves into witchcraft legend. Hellbender (2021) is the Adams family’s lockdown-born tale of spells, riffs, and rebellion, brewed in the forests of upstate New York. FolknHell dives into its homemade horror, punk-fuelled ambition, and questionable folk credentials, asking what really happens when cabin fever meets black magic.

Shot at the family home during the pandemic, Hellbender is a curious mix of family therapy, DIY filmmaking, and teenage witch fantasy. Mum Toby Poser, dad John Adams, and daughters Zelda and Lulu share writing, directing, editing, and acting duties, creating a home-spun brew of coming-of-age angst and occult awakening. The result is part music video, part family art project, and part fanged parable about isolation, appetite, and inherited power.

The story follows Izzy, a teenage girl kept away from civilisation by her mother, who insists she is ill. In reality, both are witches, members of a near-extinct line called Hellbenders who feed on fear to grow stronger. When Izzy meets a local girl and tastes her first worm, the magic takes hold, triggering a gory self-discovery that sets her against her protective, equally dangerous mother. What begins as a bond between two outsiders becomes a slow collision of maternal control and adolescent rebellion, shot through with buzzing guitars and pine-forest mysticism.

As always, the trio pull the film apart to test whether it truly belongs in the folk horror coven. Andy admires the ambition and momentum despite rough edges. Dave Houghton recognises the charm but points out the uneven tone that comes from four directors working on alternate days. David Hall argues that while witchcraft lies at the genre’s heart, Hellbender lacks the rural community and ancestral dread that define true folk horror. Instead, it is a modern fairy tale about power, parenting, and punk spirit, more Sabrina than The Wicker Man.

They discuss the film’s resourceful but patchy visual effects, improvised dialogue, and lighting that sometimes turns homemade into half-haunted. With only two main characters, the supposed isolation feels more like lockdown necessity than mythic setting. The music, provided by the family’s own band, adds drive but not always menace, leading to a film that fascinates more than it frightens.

Scoring the film out of 30, the panel agree on its good intentions but modest success. Andy gives it five, David Hall three and a half, and Dave Houghton three, for a total of eleven and a half. All agree that the Adams family’s spirit and imagination outstrip their resources, but that Hellbender’s claim to folk horror status relies more on marketing than merit.

Still, there is admiration for the effort. Making a feature film from scratch during lockdown deserves respect, even if the cauldron bubbles over. The trio conclude that Hellbender might be more of a family diary in disguise, a story about creativity and confinement rather than ancient rites or rural terror.

Join in and raise a glass (and an eyebrow) to the Adams family’s DIY witchery, ponder whether feeding on fear ever pays off, and debate once more the immortal question: Is it really folk horror?

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Full transcripts, show notes folkandhell.com.

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In this episode of FolknHell, Andy, Dave, and David take on Azrael (2024), Simon Barrett and E.L. Katz’s tense, wordless horror starring Samara Weaving. Set after the Rapture, the film drops us into a mute Christian fundamentalist cult who have severed their vocal cords in pursuit of purity, and the fiery “burned ones” who stalk the forests around them. Azrael herself is caught in a relentless cycle of capture, escape, and pursuit, with blood rituals, underground tunnels, and a climactic birth scene that veers into the demonic.

The trio weigh up the film’s survivalist atmosphere, its biblical overtones, and the striking choice to dispense almost entirely with dialogue. They explore whether the film’s rustling woods, mute cult, and sacrificial rites amount to genuine folk horror or whether these are merely borrowed tropes designed to ride the current wave of folk horror popularity.

Discussion ranges from the unexplained “mysterious winds” that herald the burned ones, to comparisons with The Descent and Mad Max, to the confusing symbolism of Azrael’s apparent satisfaction at a demonic child’s birth. While the group acknowledge the film’s tense pacing and some striking imagery, they find its folk horror credentials thin, its theology muddled, and its climax more frustrating than fulfilling.

In the end, the panel agree that Azrael is a lean, often gripping chase horror, but one that fails to root itself in the earthy authenticity that defines the folk horror tradition. Their final score of 11 out of 30 marks the lowest yet on the podcast, with Andy defending its visceral thrills while Dave and David knock it down for cheapness, repetition, and lack of genuine folk resonance.

For those curious, Azrael is worth a watch for its atmosphere, unusual silence, and brisk 86-minute runtim, just don’t expect the folkloric depths its marketing suggests.

IMDB: https://www.imdb.com/title/tt22173666/?ref_=nv_sr_srsg_1_tt_6_nm_2_in_0_q_Azreal

Rotten Tomatoes: https://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/azrael

Wikipedia: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Azrael_(film)

Enjoyed this episode? Follow FolknHell for fresh folk-horror deep dives. Leave us a rating, share your favourite nightmare, and join the cult on Instagram @FolknHell.

Full transcripts, show notes folkandhell.com.

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In this episode of Folk ’n’ Hell, Andy, David, and Dave dive into Laurin (1989), Robert Sigl’s German oddity that blurs the line between fairy tale, Hammer horror homage, and supernatural thriller. Set in a rural village where children begin to vanish, the film follows nine-year-old Laurin as she receives visions from spirits, guiding her towards the unsettling truth: the schoolmaster, returned from military service, is a predatory murderer.

The trio wrestle with the film’s esoteric storytelling and oblique structure, noting how its dreamlike quality lends it a fairy-tale atmosphere. From the heavily saturated reds and 1960s Hammer-inspired visuals to the claustrophobic compression of the village setting, Laurin dazzles visually even as its narrative proves difficult to pin down. The group debate whether it truly counts as folk horror, weighing it against their three criteria: isolated rural community (yes), threat from the environment (no), and menace rooted in folklore (no). While Andy makes a case for including it in the wider folk horror canon alongside films like The Anchoress and Flower of Evil, Dave and David see it more as a supernatural coming-of-age story with horror-adjacent leanings.

The discussion touches on gender roles, psychological trauma, and the protective presence of Laurin’s mother’s spirit, symbolised by a haunting musical box. The trio also find humour in the hard-drinking grandmother and the mercifully short runtime, which keeps the film from becoming too heavy. Ultimately, Laurin scores 14 out of 30, the lowest rating so far, admired for its atmosphere but criticised for its lack of narrative clarity and folk horror credentials.

If you’re curious about obscure Euro-horror curiosities, artistic Hammer-style visuals, or cult supernatural tales that sit awkwardly on the folk horror shelf, Laurin may well be worth your time. But be warned: it is as baffling as it is beautiful.

Enjoyed this episode? Follow FolknHell for fresh folk-horror deep dives. Leave us a rating, share your favourite nightmare, and join the cult on Instagram @FolknHell.

Full transcripts, show notes folkandhell.com.

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