On a very dark and stormy night, Julia arrives for her very first overnight shift as a hospice nurse, only to end up trapped in a remote lakeside house with Evelyn, a dementia patient who might be dealing with something supernatural.
Julia took the job out of guilt because she avoided her own mom while she was dying of dementia. Now, she is stuck in this remote house, gradually unearthing the truth about their patient's past, realizing something supernatural is wrong with Evelyn.
Things get worse when Evelyn’s estranged ex-husband, Randall, shows up in the middle of the night, all "Torches and Pitchforks." He and Evelyn shared this dark past—they lost their daughter and used a sketchy spiritual ritual to try and save her. Randall's arrival kicks the movie's slow-building tension into overdrive, forcing Julia into a fight to survive the night.
Underneath the horror and the allure of the single-take execution Bury the Devil explores grief, guilt, and how far people go to save the ones they love. The story contrasts two sides of loss: Julia has moved on since her mom died, but her dad is still mourning. Meanwhile, Evelyn is haunted by the alternative, spiritual route she took to try and save her daughter. The movie places you alongside the nurse, building a claustrophobic, real-time panic that boils over as more people show up at the house.
You may already know co-writer and director Adam O’Brien from his shorts like Banshee or his segments in anthologies like Nightmare Radio. He moved to full-length features with his 2024 film Mom, and now he is back with his second feature, Bury the Devil. Reportedly known for building atmospheric dread, this time he pushes his preferred style by taking on a real-time, single-take supernatural horror/thriller.
The trick with single-take horror flicks is to not put on your Barney Stinson cap ("Challenge Accepted!") and try to find out where the stitches are. We all know the tricks by now. Filmmakers hide cuts in single-take style films with techniques such as frame blocking with passing obstacles and rapid whip pans. Directors also employ Texas switches to seamlessly exchange actors with stunt doubles just off-camera. We have to give credit where credit is due. The camera operator Éloi Sirois deserves top marks for navigating this smaller set so fluidly.
If you spend the movie looking for hidden cuts in any single-take film, you risk robbing yourself of the ride. But that creates a conundrum: what does the filmmaker want us to appreciate? The fact that they pulled off a coordinated logistical stunt, or the story? O'Brien delivers technically ambitious, real-time tension, but it leaves you weighing a choice. Are we watching a creepy movie, or are we appreciating a camera trick? As impressive as the hustle is, it makes you wonder: is the novelty of the single-take starting to wear thin? It's no longer a case of "how" did they do that, but "where" did they do that.
The buildup works, but the plot is predictable. It leans on generic demonic possession tropes and a mean-spirited twist that does not bring anything new to the table. Dozens of these possession movies come out every year across Hollywood, indies, and streaming, and this one does not reinvent the wheel. The single-take approach feels like a tool to make the film stand out. Because the possession elements are run-of-the-mill, you are left judging the movie on its camera trick.
Dawn Ford and Emmanuelle Lussier Martinez, as Evelyn and Julia respectively, pull off the heavy physical routine in these single, continuous shots. The same cannot be said for the rest of the cast. When a new supporting character shows up trying to force the drama, poor directing choices turn the dialogue into flat, community-theater territory. Also, Julia's personal story is very quickly left to the wayside so that all she is left to do is panic with each escalating scenario.
O'Brien successfully builds dread through fluid camerawork. As the camera follows and leads Julia while she investigates things that go bump in the night, Evelyn quietly, and with suspicious dexterity, leaves her bed and roams the halls of her home, often behind Julia's back without her knowing. Pulling off this coordinated shoot is a challenge, and the immersion risks being broken by the tricks and hidden cuts. There is one though that is obvious; during a transition from indoors to outdoors, it becomes clear that the production lacked a workaround for the shot, forcing the director to rely on the special effects team to bridge the gap. Or, it could just be a smokescreen, something to throw us off of the scent while we snoop for actual hidden cuts.
The film relies on intricate, invisible teamwork, not just for the fluid movements throughout the house but to pull off noteworthy practical effects. For example, before things literally go to hell, chaos does erupt in the home and a sadly hidden act of violence happens off-camera. The camera leaves a room so the sound effects team can fill the audience's ears with audible death and violence. At the same time, the practical effects team comes in behind the camera to splash the room with viscera and prosthetics before the lens pans back. While anyone would want to see something bigger pulled off in-camera, credit is due. These practical effects and other practical effects in the finale are top stuff.
Ultimately, Bury the Devil operates as a single-take supernatural thriller that relies on real-time tension and invisible teamwork. While the story features fluid camerawork and physical lead performances that build a claustrophobic sense of dread, it offers nothing new under the sun for the possession horror genre. However, the logistical coordination and practical effects offer a ride for horror fans who appreciate the craft behind the filmmaking approach.