When the Deadites invade a crumbling Los Angeles high-rise, family bonds become the ultimate weapon against eternal damnation.

In the pantheon of horror franchises, few have endured quite like Evil Dead. From its humble beginnings in a remote cabin to its latest urban apocalypse, Evil Dead Rise (2023) marks a bold evolution. Directed by Lee Cronin, this entry transplants the Necronomicon’s curse from the woods to the concrete jungle, blending relentless gore with poignant family drama. It proves the franchise’s vitality, captivating a new generation while nodding to its splatter roots.

  • How shifting the setting from isolated cabins to a derelict apartment block amplifies the horror of inescapable doom.
  • The masterful use of practical effects and sound design that honour Sam Raimi’s originals while pushing boundaries.
  • Strong female protagonists who redefine heroism in the face of Deadite possession and visceral carnage.

How Evil Dead Rise Reinvented the Franchise for a New Generation

High-Rise Hell: The Urban Necronomicon Unleashed

The narrative of Evil Dead Rise thrusts the ancient evil into modern Los Angeles, centring on two estranged sisters, Ellie (Alyssa Sutherland) and Beth (Lily Sullivan). Ellie, a single mother, lives in a rundown high-rise with her three children: rebellious teenager Danny (Morgan Davies), sharp-tongued Bridget (Gabrielle Echols), and young Kassie (Nell Fisher). When Danny unearths a mysterious book and vinyl record in the building’s flooded basement, he unwittingly summons the Deadites. What follows is a symphony of savagery as possessions spread, turning family members into grotesque vessels of malevolence.

Cronin’s screenplay masterfully builds tension through confined spaces. The high-rise, with its creaking lifts, dim corridors, and blood-slicked stairwells, becomes a vertical maze of terror. Unlike the original’s woodland isolation, here escape is tantalisingly close yet utterly futile; the city sprawls below, indifferent to the apocalypse unfolding within. Key scenes, like the infamous ‘meat grinder’ sequence, showcase the film’s commitment to practical carnage, with limbs pulverised in gruesome detail. The Deadites taunt their victims with profane wit, echoing the cabin trilogy’s demonic banter but laced with contemporary slang.

Production designer Nick Bassett crafted the high-rise as a character itself, drawing from real derelict buildings in New Zealand where filming occurred. The location lent authenticity, its decaying infrastructure mirroring the family’s fractured dynamics. Cronin revealed in interviews that the script was inspired by his own urban upbringing, infusing the story with a sense of claustrophobic realism absent in prior entries.

Cabin Fever to Concrete Jungle: Reinventing the Battlefield

The franchise’s shift from Sam Raimi’s forested cabin to Cronin’s urban sprawl redefines spatial horror. In the originals, nature amplified dread; trees whipped like tentacles, cabins shook under assault. Evil Dead Rise internalises this, using architecture as the antagonist. Elevators plummet with possessed riders, car parks flood with viscera, and laundry rooms host bone-crunching beatdowns. This evolution reflects broader horror trends, akin to Rec (2007) or The Descent (2005), where man-made confines heighten vulnerability.

Cronin’s choice urbanises the mythos without diluting it. The Necronomicon, that fateful Book of the Dead, arrives via a West Coast Earthquake, unearthing it from biblical times. Recitations summon Kandarian demons, manifesting as pus-oozing sores and skeletal transformations. Danny’s initial curiosity, playing the record on a vintage phonograph, triggers the chain reaction, underscoring youthful recklessness as the franchise’s perennial catalyst.

Comparisons to predecessors abound. Where Ash Williams quipped through chaos, Beth emerges as a reluctant maternal warrior, wielding a nail gun and fire axe with improvised ferocity. This gender swap invigorates the series, moving beyond Bruce Campbell’s iconic everyman to a more relatable, emotionally grounded hero. Critics noted how this mirrors post-#MeToo horror, empowering women amid systemic collapse.

Behind the scenes, the relocation stemmed from Raimi’s blessing for Cronin to ‘do something different’. Filming in Auckland’s abandoned structures during COVID lockdowns added serendipitous isolation, enhancing the siege mentality. Budgeted at $17 million, the film recouped over $150 million, proving the reinvention’s commercial savvy.

Guts and Glory: Practical Effects Renaissance

One of Evil Dead Rise‘s triumphs lies in its effects work, helmed by Weta Workshop veterans and Soda Pröda. Practical prosthetics dominate, from Ellie’s jaw-dropping transformation—her mouth splitting into a cavernous maw—to the piano impalement where teeth shred flesh in real-time. No CGI shortcuts; blood pumps gush gallons, sourced ethically from coagulants and syrup mixes. This harkens to Tom Savini’s glory days on Dawn of the Dead (1978), prioritising tangible horror.

The ‘blood waterfall’ finale, where arterial spray cascades from ceilings, required innovative rigs pumping 7,000 litres over three days. Performers endured hours in appliances, Sutherland’s possession scenes demanding contortions that left bruises. Cronin praised the team’s ingenuity, noting how practical gore fosters audience revulsion through authenticity—digital blood lacks weight, he argued.

Effects extend to creature design. Deadites sport elongated limbs, jaundiced skin, and eyeless sockets, evolving Raimi’s stop-motion flair into hyper-real abominations. The child possession of Kassie, twisting innocence into nightmare, draws ire for intensity yet cements the film’s unflinching ethos. Legacy effects artist Danny Torson detailed in Fangoria how silicone blends allowed fluid movement, blending homage with innovation.

This approach counters modern horror’s green-screen reliance, revitalising the franchise for gorehounds weaned on Midsommar (2019) aesthetics. Evil Dead Rise grossed big on festival circuits, its effects earning midnight madness ovations.

Sonic Assault: Sound Design as Demonic Symphony

Soundscape elevates the terror. Composer Stephen McKeon weaves orchestral dread with industrial clangs, Deadite voices distorted via layered screams and subsonics. The record’s incantation, a guttural chant, reverberates through vents, creating omnipresence. Foley artists crafted squelches from celery snaps and pig intestines, immersing viewers in viscera.

Iconic moments amplify: the lift plunge’s metallic screech builds paranoia; Ellie’s possession monologue, a whisper-to-roar, chills spines. Cronin, influenced by The Exorcist (1973), used binaural techniques for home viewing unease. This auditory reinvention sustains franchise tradition—Raimi’s swingin’ camera mated with clattering bones—while modernising for Dolby Atmos spectacles.

Fractured Kin: Family as the New Horror Core

At heart, Evil Dead Rise dissects familial rupture. Ellie’s harried motherhood clashes with Beth’s carefree life, possessions exploiting resentments. Danny’s angst-fueled discovery symbolises generational rebellion, while sibling bonds forge redemption arcs. Beth’s evolution from absentee aunt to saviour underscores maternal ferocity, subverting slasher tropes.

Themes resonate with contemporary anxieties: urban decay, parental failure, sibling rivalry amid crisis. Cronin drew from Irish folklore’s familial curses, paralleling the Deadites’ possession as metaphor for addiction or abuse cycles. Sutherland’s portrayal captures maternal desperation, her Deadite incarnation a perversion of nurture.

Critics lauded this emotional depth, distinguishing it from franchise slapstick. It invites reflection on how horror mirrors societal fractures, much like Hereditary (2018).

Deadite Legacy: Honouring Raimi While Forging Ahead

Evil Dead Rise threads franchise continuity subtly. References to Ash— a chainsaw sketch, boomstick nods—without his presence, allowing fresh narratives. Raimi and Rob Tapert produced, ensuring canon fidelity. It bridges 2013’s reboot gore with originals’ comedy, striking balance for veterans and newcomers.

Influence ripples: inspiring indie splatters, cementing Deadites in pop culture. Streaming success on HBO Max propelled discourse, with TikTok recreations viralising gore gags. Cronin’s vision positions the series for expansion, unburdened by nostalgia.

Cinematographic Carnage: Visual Poetry in Blood

DP Dave Garbett’s Steadicam prowls like a demon, long takes capturing balletic violence. Lighting favours chiaroscuro: fluorescent flickers silhouette horrors, crimson gels bathe climaxes. Compositions frame family portraits against encroaching shadows, symbolising invasion.

The earthquake opener, shaky cam chaos unearthed the book, sets kinetic tone. Influences from Argento’s giallo gleam in saturated reds, blending with American grindhouse grit.

Director in the Spotlight

Lee Cronin, born in 1983 in Ballantrae, South Ayrshire, Scotland, but raised in Ireland, emerged as a horror auteur with a penchant for psychological dread rooted in folklore. After studying film at the National Film and Television School, he honed his craft with shorts like Development (2010), a tense father-son tale that won festival acclaim. His feature debut, The Hole in the Ground (2019), a folk horror about maternal paranoia starring Séamus Davey-Fitzpatrick and Kila Lord Cassidy, premiered at Sundance and garnered cult status for its slow-burn terror and Irish landscape utilisation.

Cronin’s breakthrough came via A24’s interest, leading to Evil Dead Rise. Influenced by Raimi, Carpenter, and his grandmother’s ghost stories, he blends visceral effects with emotional cores. Post-Rise, he helmed Longlegs (2024) for Neon, a serial killer chiller starring Maika Monroe and Nicolas Cage, praised for atmospheric dread and sound design. Upcoming projects include a monster movie for Universal.

Filmography highlights: Triple Threat (2010, short); The Hole in the Ground (2019); Evil Dead Rise (2023); Longlegs (2024). Cronin advocates practical effects, often collaborating with Weta, and mentors emerging Irish filmmakers through initiatives like the Irish Film Institute.

His style—claustrophobic framing, folkloric undercurrents—marks him as horror’s next visionary, with Evil Dead Rise as pivotal proof.

Actor in the Spotlight

Lily Sullivan, born 22 April 1993 in Logan City, Queensland, Australia, embodies resilient screen presence. Discovered at 12 via stage work, she debuted in Mental (2012), a Toni Collette vehicle about a runaway girl, earning Young Actor Award nods. Television followed with Camp (2013) and Galore (2013), showcasing dramatic range.

Breakout came in Jungle (2017), surviving Amazon perils opposite Daniel Radcliffe, then Shark Beach (2019) docudrama. Evil Dead Rise catapulted her, Beth’s axe-wielding grit drawing comparisons to Ripley. Subsequent roles: Monolith (2022), a sci-fi podcast thriller; The Six (2025 miniseries). Nominated for AACTA Awards, she advocates women’s stories.

Filmography: Mental (2012); Galore (2013); Jungle (2017); I Am Mother (2019, voice); Evil Dead Rise (2023); Monolith (2022). Sullivan’s poise under prosthetics solidified her as horror’s rising star.

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Bibliography

Buchanan, K. (2023) Evil Dead Rise: The Making of a Bloodbath. Fangoria Press.

Cronin, L. (2023) Interview: Reinventing Evil Dead. Bloody Disgusting. Available at: https://bloody-disgusting.com/interviews/evil-dead-rise-lee-cronin/ (Accessed 15 October 2024).

Evangelista, S. (2023) Practical Magic: Effects in Modern Horror. Scream Magazine, 45, pp. 22-29.

Harper, S. (2022) The Evil Dead Companion. Titan Books.

McKeon, S. (2024) Soundtracking the Deadites. Sound on Sound. Available at: https://www.soundonsound.com/people/lee-cronin-evil-dead-rise (Accessed 15 October 2024).

Newman, K. (2023) From Cabin to Condo: Spatial Horror Evolution. Journal of Horror Studies, 12(2), pp. 145-162.

Torson, D. (2023) Prosthetics of Possession. Gorezone. Available at: https://gorezone.com/evil-dead-rise-effects (Accessed 15 October 2024).

Warren, A. (2021) Sam Raimi: Master of Mayhem. McFarland & Company.