Welcome back, horror freaks and streaming addicts, to another round of Streaming Screams, where we sift through the blood, guts, and questionable creative decisions lurking in your favorite streaming platforms. This time, we’ve got a folk horror vacation from hell, a corpse with commitment issues, frat bros discovering actions have consequences, and a wrestling deathmatch that goes full Satanic panic. Some of these films are fun. Some are… less so. But all of them will make you grateful you’re watching from the safety of your couch, rather than trying to escape a cursed Airbnb or getting powerbombed by a demon. Let’s dive in.

Get Away: When Folk Horror Goes on PTO

Horror comedy, from my perspective, is exceedingly difficult to get right. Get Away is what happens when a folk horror comedy forgets to bring the horror—or much of the comedy, for that matter. Nick Frost (Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz, The World’s End) stars as Richard, a dad who drags his family to a very unwelcoming Swedish island festival. From the start, it’s obvious that the locals hate the Smiths. Everyone stares, there’s a creepy Airbnb owner, and mysterious coffins keep popping up. Despite all this, the Smiths soldier on, like the oblivious tourists they are, completely unbothered by how likely they are to die horribly.

The movie starts with some dry humor and awkward culture-clash moments that work well enough, but it stalls out long before the big twist arrives. The twist itself is hyped up as if it’s going to blow your mind, but instead, it just sort of happens and leaves you thinking, “Wait, that’s it?” It’s frustrating because the buildup promises more than the payoff delivers. By the time the film veers into its blood-soaked finale, you’re either rolling your eyes or just waiting for it to end.

Nick Frost, usually a master of blending horror and humor, seems to be on autopilot here, relying on tired jokes and flat dialogue. Aisling Bea does her best with the material, and there are a few moments where the family dynamic clicks, but those moments are too rare. The gory third act is entertaining in a chaotic way, but it doesn’t make up for the slow pacing and lack of genuine tension earlier. Get Away tries to be clever and subversive but ends up feeling shallow and overlong, even at under 90 minutes. It’s not terrible, but it’s also not worth going out of your way to watch.

Lizzie Lazarus: Corpse Hiking 101

Lizzie Lazarus begins with a singing corpse and somehow gets weirder from there—a grim buddy comedy that’s part existential crisis and walking simulator. Writer-director Aviv Rubinstein spins a dialogue-heavy tale about a sister, Bethany, and a boyfriend, Eli, dragging Lizzie’s body through the woods in pursuit of resurrection. The setting? The Summer Solstice of 1990, where mullets and mysticism collide (why did this need to be set in the 90s again?). As the two bicker about conspiracy theories and the finer points of guilt, you’ll either be charmed or annoyed by their banter. Think Waiting for Godot meets Pet Sematary, with the added tension of a body bag that just won’t stay zipped.

The cinematography does a lot with a little, lighting faces with flashlights and lanterns, creating a forest that feels both vast and claustrophobic. But let’s be honest: this movie drags as much as Lizzie’s corpse. The second act meanders and by the time the twist rolls around, you’re more relieved than shocked. Still, the performances by Lianne O’Shea and Omar Maskati are strong enough to keep the ship afloat—or at least the corpse moving.

Lizzie Lazarus is an acquired taste, like artisanal kombucha at a séance. It’s not scary, but it’s unexpectedly funny and occasionally touching. If nothing else, it’s a reminder that grief makes us do crazy things—like hauling a body nine miles to a mystical spot in the woods. Recommended for fans of offbeat indie cinema, but bring patience—and maybe a flashlight.

Bystanders: When Frat Bros Fuck Around and Find Out

Bystanders is like the drunk, slightly unhinged cousin of the rape-revenge genre—staggering into the room with big ideas, some killer moments, and a whole lot of rough edges. Director Mary Beth McAndrews takes a feminist crowbar to the usual tropes, swapping out gratuitous suffering for immediate, blood-splattered retribution. The result is a film that’s got its heart in the right place but trips over its own feet like a horror villain in a final-girl chase scene.

The cinematography is flatter than a frat boy’s personality, and the pacing occasionally slows to a crawl—because apparently, we needed extra time to marinate in the douchebaggery of these entitled predators. Jamie Alvey’s script swings between sharp social commentary and dialogue that feels like it was ripped from a particularly edgy Twitter thread. The performances are… present, with Alvey and Garrett Murphy holding it down as a surprisingly capable murder-couple, while the villains trye to chew scenery like it’s an all-you-can-eat buffet.

Still, watching these frat boys get what’s coming to them is a satisfying exercise in cinematic schadenfreude. The film’s commitment to flipping the subgenre’s usual power dynamics is its biggest strength, even if the execution is messier than a basement kegger. It’s not a good movie per se, but it’s got enough bite (and buckets of blood) to be worth a late-night hate-watch with friends. Watch it for the message, stay for the cathartic carnage, and try not to think too hard about the awkward line delivery.

Dark Match: Hell in a Cell… Literally

Dark Match takes the sweaty, melodramatic world of indie wrestling and suplexes it straight into a blood-splattered cult horror movie. And somehow, it mostly works—like a botched moonsault that still gets a pop from the crowd (see, I know my pro wrestling shit). Director Lowell Dean (of WolfCop fame) trades in his werewolf badge for a steel chair to the face, serving up a film that’s Satan worshiping, neon nightmare. Chris Jericho plays Prophet, a cult leader who looks like he walked straight out of a Mad Max knockoff, and damn it, he sells every second of it, just like he did during his heyday in the ring.

Ayisha Issa steals the show as Miss Behave, the only person in this deathmatch who seems to realize, “Oh shit, we are definitely going to die.” Steven Ogg, always a delightfully unhinged presence, brings some begrudging heart to the whole mess as Mean Joe Lean, the grizzled vet who just wanted one last payday and instead got an invite to a backwoods sacrifice. The film’s devotion to the ‘80s aesthetic is impressive, complete with grimy VHS-style footage and enough neon lighting to give Miami Vice a seizure. And while the wrestling choreography hits harder than expected, some of the horror elements are awfully sloppy.

The biggest sin? It gets a little too wrapped up in its own lore, losing the thread in a tangle of supernatural nonsense when it should have just kept punching forward. Still, if you’ve ever wanted to see a luchador fight for his life against a bunch of cultists who think the Four Elements should be a match stipulation, this is your film. It’s weird. It’s messy. It absolutely leans into the absurdity of wrestling’s inherent kayfabe. And by the end, you’ll be left with two questions: “What the fuck?” and “Why did I kind of love it?”