Lights. Camera. Possession. In Late Night with the Devil, a 1970s talk show host hungry for number one ratings invites a set of paranormal oddities onto a Halloween-themed episode: What could possibly go wrong?
Night Owls is hosted by Jack Delroy (David Dastmalchian, Oppenheimer), a quick-witted, affable talent facing cancellation after rough years of declining numbers and personal tragedy, with his wife dying of lung cancer despite never smoking. Eager to take Johnny Carson's No.1 ratings spot, desperation sees Jack take on increasingly outlandish segments.
Hence the doomed 1977 Halloween episode with a psychic (Fayssal Bazzi), sceptic (Ian Bliss), and a parapsychologist (Laura Gordon), as well as her subject/adopted daughter Lily (Ingrid Torelli), the lone survivor of a cult's mass suicide who may or may not be possessed by a demon she calls Mr Wriggles.
We learn this context via Late Night's mockumentary opening, a montage of Jack's stunts combined with archival footage of the Vietnam War and the Jonestown massacre, alongside footage of Jack attending The Grove, a shadowy, possibly occultist woodland gathering for America's elite, based off the very real Bohemian Grove Club.
As the narrator (horror legend Michael Ironside) surmises with a generalisation usually reserved for Netflix true crime documentaries: the 70s was "a time of fear and violence".
It's a succinct framing that sets up Late Night's action as a long-lost tape of Night Owls' infamous, deadly episode, now presented to the public with BTS footage between ad breaks.
An inventive riff on found-footage horrors — popularised by the Blair Witch Project and turned into blockbuster franchises by Paranormal Activity and V/H/S — Late Night has a lot of fun with its 70s setting and tropes.
While not as outright frightening as the above found-footage films, Late Night is unsettling as the tension rises and rises. Best of all, it's 87 minutes — a trim, suspenseful watch where every moment builds to the bloody end.
Written and directed by Australian brothers Colin and Cameron Cairnes (Scare Campaign; 100 Bloody Acres), it's as much an ode to late night TV's quirks as to horror kingpins Brian De Palma, Cronenberg and Friedkin.
The Cairnes say the film was inspired by a moment from Australia's 1970s late night program The Don Lane Show, where the host stormed off-stage when a magic sceptic ruined a spoon-bending trick.
You don't need the devil for late night to feel dangerous; the electricity and chaos of live television is a perfect setting for demonic disruption.
The set, tinted with warm browns and oranges, is a wonderful time-piece, complimented by the camera's 70s fuzz.
These are contrasted with the high-definition, black-and-white BTS shots, where Jack shrugs off concerns as his producer informs him of their high ratings and someone shouts "Where's my sacrificial dagger? We're on in 60 seconds!".
Late Night doesn't forget that Night Owls is, even during a Halloween episode, ultimately a comedy show. Jack's pop-references may be dated, but his banter with right-hand band leader Gus (Rhys Auteri) can be genuinely funny – same with the awkward pauses during audience interactions or mistakes.
It's a shame that Late Night used AI-generated imagery to create three of Night Owl's logos and interstitials, as using technology that rips from artist's original works goes against the film's evident care and consideration in its world-building.
Those tempted to boycott the film, as a small group of artists and film lovers have done, are missing out on an otherwise exciting, unique horror, at a time where the box office doesn't always reward innovation. The film hasn't suffered as a result, having already made $US10 million ($15.5 million) globally.
Besides, nobody watches Seth Meyers for the set. A Late Night show is only as good as its host, and Dastmalchian, typically cast in small, unnerving roles (The Dark Knight; Suicide Squad; The Boogeyman), excels.
Jack is constantly at risk of letting his television persona slip — Dastmalchian's smile rarely fades, but his black eyes dart back and forth as if trying to escape their own emptiness. A deep, uncomfortable hunger lurks beneath his faux warmth, likely the exact reason he can't best Carson without cheap tricks. He's the type of celebrity you can't help but strongly distrust, despite their fun and friendly airs.
This film was made in Melbourne, and Dastmalchian is matched by Late Night's otherwise all-Australian cast. In particular, Ingrid Torelli (Bloom; The Dry 2) as Lily is completely unnerving as we see both the girl underneath, terrified, and the demon within, terrifying, in the same beats.
Once she's introduced, Late Night trades in tension building for action, speeding up to the inevitable end but offering a few surprises along the way — including a body horror moment straight from Existenz.
Not shying away from its influences, Late Night with the Devil jumbles together familiar tropes and figures – the Faustian bargain for fame meets The Exorcist meets Letterman – with a great understanding of their respective appeals.
While the final scenes might slightly over-explain its ending, overall this is clever filmmaking that doesn't announce its cleverness, instead focusing on fun, spooky entertainment. In a way, it achieves exactly what Jack wanted.
Late Night with the Devil is in cinemas now
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