The Light of Things Burns Bright in the Darknes
What begins as a rainy night cliché—storm, friends, a cozy house and a bottle-spun game of “Truth or Dare”—quickly decomposes into a spiraling fever dream of blood, betrayal, and something much older than fear. The Light of Things, the latest short film from Brazilian horror artisan Manoel Rocha, is not just a chilling campfire tale. It’s a stylish, sinister séance conducted through a lens as sharp as a ritual blade.
Let’s not play coy—this is no backyard camcorder slasher. Rocha, already known for São Seus Olhos, swings for the fences here with a devil’s bouquet of gorgeous lighting, razor-tight editing, haunting production design, and creepily tactile VFX. The film is visually sumptuous—like Goya paintings possessed by the spirits of Sam Raimi and Ari Aster.
And that sound design? It doesn’t whisper. It slinks, claws, and cracks. Every creak of floorboard, every faraway moan, every guttural shriek from behind closed doors feels designed not just to scare, but to unsettle the soul. Pair that with a score that slithers rather than sings, and you’ve got horror that’s not just seen but felt beneath the skin.
But here’s the real curse: the cast works. Against all odds, the chemistry between the group feels alive—at least after the opening minutes. Sure, the first act is a bit stylized. We don’t quite buy these people as old friends lounging on a stormy night. It’s less hangout, more fashion ad with a Ouija board. But once the blood starts flowing and secrets start bleeding out, they become fully fleshed, fear-bitten characters. And the script? It’s clever, cruel, and a little too fun for its own good.
As the Entity begins its wicked work, we’re drawn not just into gore and chaos , but into something darker: the suggestion that what we summon often already lives inside us.
Manoel Rocha, still fresh-faced but already a deft hand at the genre’s language, directs with a confidence that borders on possession. Yes, the pacing stumbles here and there. But in a short film format, that’s a high-wire act. What matters more is that Rocha nails the landing—and sticks the knife in with a smile.
