In the flickering glow of a 1977 television set, one man’s quest for ratings unleashes hell itself. Could any live audience survive what aired that Halloween night?

As horror cinema continues to evolve, few films capture the raw terror of the found-footage subgenre quite like Late Night with the Devil (2023). Directed by Australian siblings Cameron and Colin Cairns, this chilling mockumentary transplants the demonic possession trope into the garish world of 1970s late-night television. Premiering to rapturous acclaim at SXSW, it not only revitalised interest in retro-styled horror but also sparked conversations about fame, grief, and the occult. This article dissects its meticulously crafted plot, explores its festival triumph, and uncovers the artistry that elevates it beyond mere shocks.

  • A frame-by-frame plot breakdown revealing the escalating horrors of a cursed broadcast, complete with twists that redefine the genre.
  • The electric SXSW reception that propelled it from indie darling to global streaming sensation, backed by audience awards and critic raves.
  • Deep dives into performances, effects, and themes that cement its place as a modern horror essential.

The Doomed Broadcast: Setting the Satanic Stage

Jack Delroy, portrayed with magnetic desperation by David Dastmalchian, hosts Night Owls, a struggling late-night talk show modelled after the era’s real-life icons like Johnny Carson. The film opens with archival-style footage establishing Delroy’s backstory: a rising star whose wife, Madeleine, succumbed to lung cancer shortly after his purchase of a Malibu observatory rumoured to harbour sinister energies. This personal tragedy fuels his on-air charisma, but beneath the polyester suits and toothy grins lurks a man haunted by loss and professional rivalry.

On Halloween 1977, Delroy stakes everything on a special episode promising supernatural thrills. The guests include ex-mentalist Christou (Fayssal Bazzi), who unmasks psychics; author June Rosslyn (Laura Gordon), chronicler of the occult; skeptic Carmichael Haig (Ian Bliss); and, most perilously, possessed girl Lily (Ingrid Torelli), survivor of a mass cult suicide documented in gruesome detail. As the cameras roll in grainy 16mm evoking kinescopes, the show commences with festive banter, magic tricks, and cocktail-fueled levity. Viewers sense the impending doom as subtle glitches plague the broadcast—flickering lights, unexplained shadows.

The plot masterfully builds tension through period authenticity. Delroy’s monologue drips with rehearsed charm, name-dropping celebrities while alluding to his wife’s death, a raw nerve exposed for ratings. Christou’s hypnosis segment introduces unease, planting seeds of vulnerability. Yet the narrative pivot arrives with Lily’s entrance, wheelchair-bound and catatonic, her demonic inhabitant stirring under June’s prodding. What begins as sensational entertainment spirals into visceral horror, the live format amplifying stakes—no retakes, no escape.

Grief, Fame, and the Occult: Thematic Undercurrents

At its core, the film interrogates the Satanic Panic of the 1970s, when moral guardians vilified rock stars and talk shows alike for flirting with the infernal. Delroy embodies this zeitgeist, his pact with unseen forces—hinted at through Zenith Observatory visits—mirroring real scandals like those surrounding Alice Cooper or the Exorcist craze. The script weaves personal demons with literal ones, Delroy’s grief manifesting as professional hubris.

Gender dynamics emerge starkly: female guests June and Lily bear the supernatural brunt, echoing horror’s history of punishing inquisitive women, from The Exorcist to The Witch. Yet the film subverts this by granting them agency—June’s expertise challenges male scepticism, while Lily’s possession unleashes primal fury. Class tensions simmer too, Delroy’s working-class ascent clashing with elite occultism, underscoring how fame devours the soul.

Trauma permeates every frame. Delroy’s monologues crack with suppressed rage, his wife’s phantom presence haunting cutaways. This psychological layering elevates the film, transforming a simple possession tale into a requiem for lost innocence amid television’s golden age.

Pivotal Scenes: Where Chaos Erupts

The hypnosis sequence marks the first fracture. Christou compels Delroy to confront repressed memories, triggering migraines and visions—a mise-en-scène of swirling colours and distorted audio foreshadowing possession. Lighting shifts from warm studio amber to cold blues, composition tightening on sweating faces.

Lily’s awakening delivers the iconic centrepiece. As June recites incantations, the girl levitates, her body contorting unnaturally. Close-ups capture pustules erupting, eyes rolling back, voice warping into Mr. Wriggles, a Miltonic demon craving sweets and souls. The set design—gaudy props, bloodstained tablecloths—amplifies claustrophobia, cameras capturing unscripted mayhem.

The finale descends into pandemonium: crew melting, guests incinerating in grotesque slow-motion. Delroy’s transformation, horns sprouting amid laughter, cements the irony—his ratings soar as hell reigns. These scenes masterfully blend humour and horror, the canned applause underscoring absurdity.

Crafting 70s Authenticity: Cinematography and Sound Design

Shot on 16mm film stock by German cinematographer Matthew Land (known for The Babadook), the visuals meticulously replicate 1970s broadcast quality—soft focus, video noise, aspect ratio quirks. Multi-camera setup mimics live TV, with static shots interrupted by frantic pans during chaos.

Sound design proves revelatory. Period ads, eerie stingers, and a synthesiser score by Giona Ostinelli evoke Halloween‘s minimalism. Demonic whispers layer under dialogue, subliminal at first, crescendoing into roars. Foley work on possessions—crunching bones, bubbling flesh—immerses viewers in tactile dread.

Class politics subtly infuse via blue-collar crew reactions, contrasting Delroy’s gloss, a nod to how media exploits the proletariat.

Practical Mastery: Effects That Linger

Special effects maestro Jen Osborne (returning from Cairnes’ prior works) forgoes CGI for prosthetics and animatronics. Lily’s pustules utilise silicone appliances, applied in-camera for realism. Mr. Wriggles’ manifestations employ puppetry—twitching limbs, pyrotechnics for combustions—recalling Tom Savini’s glory days.

The melting faces sequence blends practical burns with subtle digital cleanup, prioritising texture. Delroy’s horns, emerging organically, use forehead prosthetics that Dastmalchian wore for hours, enhancing performance authenticity. These choices ground supernatural excess in gritty physicality, distinguishing it from digital-heavy contemporaries.

Influence ripples to modern slashers; its restraint inspires practical revivals in films like Terrifier 3.

From Script to Screen: Production Hurdles

Conceived during lockdown, the screenplay drew from 1970s TV marathons and possession classics. Budget constraints necessitated Melbourne shoots, recreating New York studios with thrift-store finds. Censorship dodged via streaming release, though some territories trimmed gore.

COVID protocols challenged rehearsals, yet fostered intimacy. Dastmalchian’s improv elevated Delroy, while child actor Ingrid Torelli’s intensity under motion-capture suits awed castmates.

SXSW Ignition: Reception and Ripple Effects

World premiering in SXSW’s Midnighter sidebar on 11 March 2023, Late Night with the Devil clinched the Audience Award, audiences gasping in unison at twists. Critics lauded its ingenuity: Bloody Disgusting dubbed it “a devilishly perfect horror gem,” while The Hollywood Reporter praised Dastmalchian’s “career-best turn.”

Festival buzz propelled IFC Films acquisition, Shudder streaming deal. Social media exploded with memes of Mr. Wriggles, spawning podcasts dissecting Easter eggs like Zodiac nods. Box office modest at $11 million, yet cult status endures, influencing 2024 slashers.

Reception highlighted found-footage renaissance, bridging Gonzo excesses with narrative finesse.

Eternal Night Owls: Enduring Legacy

Sequels teased via end-credits, yet standalone power lies in universality—television as portal. It dialogues with Death Broadcast 2000, refining mockumentary satire. Cultural echoes appear in true-crime pods sensationalising hauntings.

For NecroTimes readers, it reaffirms horror’s potency in subverting familiar spaces, proving live TV deadlier than any slasher.

Director in the Spotlight

Cameron and Colin Cairnes, Melbourne-born filmmaking brothers, emerged from advertising and television commercials in the early 2000s. Their shared passion for genre cinema, nurtured on VHS tapes of Evil Dead and Italian giallo, led to early shorts like Scatterings (2005), a zombie tale that screened at festivals. In 2012, they helmed Nightmares Made Flesh, a New Zealand documentary chronicling local horror history, interviewing directors like Peter Jackson.

Transitioning to features, Scare Campaign (2016) marked their narrative debut—a found-footage prank gone wrong, earning cult status in Australia for gory humour and social media satire. Budgeted modestly, it grossed over AUD 1 million domestically. Their sophomore effort, Occult? Wait, actually honing skills via TV episodes of Blackspot.

Influences span Sam Raimi, George Romero, and Ti West; they favour practical effects and character-driven scares. Late Night with the Devil catapulted them internationally, with Cameron scripting solo before brotherly direction. Post-success, they announced EDEN

no, rumoured projects include a sequel and Hollywood offers. Filmography highlights: Scatterings (2005, short); Nightmares Made Flesh (2012, doc); Scare Campaign (2016, horror comedy about viral pranks leading to murders); Late Night with the Devil (2023, possession mockumentary); upcoming Radio Silence (TBA, thriller). Their collaborative ethos yields taut, atmospheric horrors blending laughs with frights.

Actor in the Spotlight

David Dastmalchian, born 21 July 1984 in Baltimore, Maryland, but raised in Overland Park, Kansas, overcame early struggles including substance abuse and incarceration, channelling experiences into acting. Graduating from The Theatre School at DePaul University in 2009, he debuted in bit parts before Christopher Nolan cast him as Joker henchman in The Dark Knight (2008).

Genre mainstay, he shone in Denis Villeneuve’s Dune (2021) as Piter De Vries, and Dune: Part Two (2024). Horror credits include Annabelle: Creation (2017) as a tormented parent, Low Life? Wait, The Last Voyage of the Demeter (2023) as a crewman battling Dracula. Trajectory peaked with Oppenheimer (2023), supporting in Nolan’s epic.

Awards: Fangoria Chainsaw nominee for Late Night; genre icon status via DC roles like Polka-Dot Man in The Suicide Squad (2021). Personal life: married to Evelyn Dastmalchian, advocates mental health. Filmography: The Dark Knight (2008, henchman); Prisoners (2013, cop); Ant-Man (2015, as Kurt); Annabelle: Creation (2017, father); Blade Runner 2049 (2017, salesman); Ant-Man and the Wasp (2018, Kurt); Bird Box (2018, cultist? minor); The Suicide Squad (2021, Polka-Dot Man); Dune (2021, Piter); The Flash (2023, Katana); Oppenheimer (2023, Lawrence); Late Night with the Devil (2023, Jack Delroy); Dune: Part Two (2024, Piter); Asteroid City (2023, scout master). His everyman menace anchors ensemble horrors.

Did the devilish broadcast chill you to the bone? Share your theories on Mr. Wriggles in the comments, and subscribe to NecroTimes for more spine-tingling breakdowns, festival dispatches, and horror deep dives every week!

Bibliography

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