When the red light blinks on, the devil doesn’t just appear—he hijacks the nation’s living rooms.

 

In the annals of horror cinema, few films capture the claustrophobic dread of a live broadcast gone catastrophically wrong quite like Late Night with the Devil. This 2023 Australian chiller masterfully fuses found footage tropes with the glossy terror of 1970s late-night television, creating a nightmare that feels eerily plausible. As audiences tune in for a Halloween special, they witness not just supernatural horror, but a scathing portrait of fame’s corrosive hunger.

 

  • The innovative blend of period-accurate broadcast aesthetics and subtle found footage techniques that immerses viewers in a doomed telecast.
  • A piercing exploration of media sensationalism, personal grief, and the 1970s Satanic Panic, all wrapped in Jack Delroy’s tragic arc.
  • Standout performances, practical effects wizardry, and directorial flair that elevate it beyond typical possession tales.

 

The Airwaves Awaken: A Detailed Descent into the Broadcast

The film unfolds on October 31, 1977, during the Halloween special of Night Owls, hosted by the charismatic yet beleaguered Jack Delroy, portrayed with riveting intensity by David Dastmalchian. Jack, riding high after a meteoric rise from radio obscurity to national television stardom, introduces his eclectic lineup of guests with the polished patter of a seasoned showman. First comes author Christou, played by Fayssal Bazzi, whose book Demons of the Mind details his firsthand encounters with occult rituals, setting a tone of morbid curiosity. Next arrives parapsychologist Dr. June Ross-Mitchell (Laura Gordon), a poised expert on possession cases, accompanied by her young charge, Lily (Georgia Stapleton), the sole survivor of a recent exorcism whose haunted eyes hint at unresolved darkness.

As the show progresses, the atmosphere thickens with unease. Archival clips intercut the live footage, revealing Jack’s personal turmoil: the recent death of his wife Madeleine from lung cancer, whispers of his involvement with the secretive Waveband organisation, and plummeting ratings that threaten his empire. The band’s jazzy renditions give way to escalating strangeness when Lily begins manifesting disturbing symptoms under the studio lights. What starts as playful séance antics spirals into visceral horror as demonic forces take hold, transforming the soundstage into a battleground between rationality and the infernal.

Directors Colin and Cameron Cairnes construct the narrative with meticulous authenticity, drawing from real 1970s talk show formats like Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show. Handheld cameras operated by crew members capture off-script moments, while multi-angle studio setups simulate a genuine broadcast. The plot builds inexorably: Lily’s possession escalates from eerie whispers to grotesque physical contortions, claiming crew and guests alike. Jack’s desperate attempts to salvage the show—cueing commercials that never air, pleading with producers—underscore his denial, making his downfall all the more poignant.

Key sequences pulse with tension, such as the Ouija board session where Lily channels malevolent entities, her voice distorting into guttural snarls. The demon reveals intimate secrets about Jack’s life, shattering the facade of entertainment. By the finale, the studio descends into chaos: melting faces, levitating bodies, and a climactic confrontation that blurs the line between host and hostaged soul. This layered synopsis reveals not mere shocks, but a symphony of psychological and supernatural unraveling.

Static and Shadows: Reinventing Found Footage

Late Night with the Devil sidesteps the shaky-cam fatigue of modern found footage by rooting its style in the era’s technological limitations. Grainy 16mm film stock evokes VHS tapes unearthed from an attic, complete with tape hiss, colour bleed, and intermittent glitches that mimic broadcast interference. The Cairnes brothers employ a hybrid approach: scripted studio shots feel live and unfiltered, while ‘recovered’ backstage footage adds raw immediacy, creating a verisimilitude that pulls viewers into the panic.

Cinematographer Matthew Land (using the alias for atmospheric effect) masterfully utilises low-light conditions, with harsh key lights casting elongated shadows across the set. The composition frames Jack centrally, often isolated amid his audience, symbolising his emotional void. Sound design amplifies the terror: muffled crew chatter bleeds into musical cues, and the demon’s voice—layered with subsonics—vibrates through speakers, making home viewing an assault on the senses.

This stylistic gambit pays homage to pioneers like Ruggero Deodato’s Cannibal Holocaust (1980), but refines it for television’s intimate scale. Unlike sprawling mockumentaries, the confined studio setting heightens claustrophobia, turning the familiar talk show format into a pressure cooker. The result is a fresh evolution, proving found footage thrives when tethered to specific cultural milieus.

Jack’s Private Hell: Grief, Fame, and Demonic Bargains

At the heart lies Jack Delroy, a man whose ambition devours his soul. Dastmalchian’s performance captures the host’s manic charm masking profound loss; his eyes betray a perpetual hauntedness, especially in monologues about Madeleine. The film posits Jack’s deal with Waveband—a nod to elite occult networks—as the catalyst for his woes, blending personal tragedy with conspiracy lore.

Themes of media exploitation resonate deeply. Jack’s quest for ratings mirrors real 1970s talk show hosts chasing tabloid gold, like the infamous Geraldo specials on Satanism. Lily’s possession becomes primetime spectacle, critiquing how tragedy fuels entertainment. Gender dynamics emerge too: June’s scientific scepticism crumbles against patriarchal occult forces, while bandleader Carmie (Ingrid Torelli) embodies sidelined femininity amid the carnage.

Class undertones simmer beneath the glamour. Jack’s Midwestern roots clash with Hollywood elitism, his radio past a reminder of authentic struggle now corrupted by fame. The demon exploits these fractures, voicing societal anxieties of the era: economic malaise, moral decay, and the fear of unseen powers pulling strings.

Possession Perfected: Practical Effects and Body Horror

The film’s effects eschew CGI for practical mastery, courtesy of Kieron Basha and team. Lily’s transformation unfolds in real-time: prosthetic appliances distend her features, practical squibs simulate wounds, and puppetry animates levitations with uncanny fluidity. A standout moment sees her vomiting spectral bile—a mixture of methylated spirits and food dye—that ignites on cue, blending visceral disgust with fiery spectacle.

These techniques draw from Tom Savini’s work on Dawn of the Dead (1978), prioritising tangible gore over digital fakery. The restraint amplifies impact: subtle at first, the horror erupts in the third act, with melting flesh achieved via silicone casts and heated wires. This commitment grounds the supernatural in the corporeal, making the terror linger.

Influence ripples outward. The film nods to The Exorcist (1973) possession mechanics but innovates by televising them, questioning voyeurism in horror consumption. Production challenges abounded: recreating 1970s sets on a modest budget demanded ingenuity, with COVID delays forcing remote VFX tweaks. Yet, the Cairnes’ vision prevailed, birthing a technical triumph.

Echoes Across the Dial: Cultural Impact and Legacy

Released amid streaming saturation, Late Night with the Devil revives interest in analog horror, inspiring viral recreations of haunted broadcasts. Its Sundance premiere drew acclaim for satirising true crime obsessions, paralleling modern podcasts like Last Podcast on the Left. Critically, it scores high on Rotten Tomatoes, praised for Dastmalchian’s tour de force.

Historically, it taps 1970s Satanic Panic, echoing Geraldo Rivera’s specials and Michelle Remembers’ hysteria. By fictionalising these, the film indicts media’s role in amplifying fears, a prescient warning for today’s algorithm-driven outrage. Sequels loom, with Jack’s fate open to interpretation, cementing its place in possession subgenre lore.

Comparisons abound: to Trilogy of Terror (1975) TV anthologies or Ghostwatch (1992), the BBC hoax that sparked real panic. Yet, the Cairnes elevate it through emotional depth, ensuring it transcends gimmickry.

Director in the Spotlight

Colin and Cameron Cairnes, the identical twin brothers behind Late Night with the Devil, hail from Melbourne, Australia, where their shared passion for horror blossomed from childhood viewings of VHS classics. Self-taught filmmakers, they cut their teeth on short films and music videos before breaking through with the mockumentary Scare Campaign (2016), a brutal satire on reality TV pranks that screened at Fantastic Fest and earned cult status for its inventive kills and social bite.

Their career trajectory reflects a penchant for subverting familiar formats. Scattershot (2017), a road-trip slasher, showcased their kinetic action-horror hybrid, while TV work like Joe vs Carole (2022) demonstrated versatility in prestige drama. Influences span The Exorcist, Italian giallo, and Australian ozploitation, fused with a keen eye for period detail. Colin often handles writing and editing, Cameron directing and producing, their synergy yielding taut, atmospheric thrillers.

Post-Late Night, they’ve inked deals for English-language projects, including a haunted house tale. Comprehensive filmography: Revenge of the Living Dead (short, 2005)—zombie homage; Occult (short, 2009)—supernatural procedural; Scare Campaign (2016)—feature debut, grossing $1.2 million AUD; Scattershot (2017)—vindictive hitchhiker saga; 100% Wolf (2020)—family animation detour; Late Night with the Devil (2023)—breakout hit, acquired by IFC Films/Shudder; upcoming Mary (2024)—biblical horror with a modern twist. Their oeuvre champions practical effects and genre subversion, positioning them as heirs to Sam Raimi and the Spierig Brothers.

Actor in the Spotlight

David Dastmalchian, the linchpin of Late Night with the Devil as doomed host Jack Delroy, was born in 1984 in Pennsylvania, USA, overcoming personal struggles with addiction to forge a prolific Hollywood career. Raised in a working-class family, he studied theatre at The Theatre School at DePaul University, debuting onstage before transitioning to film. Breakthrough came via Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight (2008) as the Joker henchman, followed by a string of villainous character roles.

Dastmalchian’s horror affinity shines in The Last Voyage of the Demeter (2023) as the ship’s tormented cook, and Ant-Man and the Wasp (2018). Awards include Fangoria Chainsaw nominations, reflecting his genre reverence. Early life hardships fuel his empathetic portrayals of flawed everymen. Notable accolades: Critics’ Choice nods for The Flash (2023).

Filmography spans blockbusters and indies: The Dark Knight (2008)—circus thug; Dune (2021) and Dune: Part Two (2024)—Piter De Vries, chillingly precise; The Suicide Squad (2021)—Polaris; Bird Box (2018)—whispering survivor; Blade Runner 2049 (2017)—mercenary; Prisoners (2013)—abductor; Jay and Silent Bob Reboot (2019)—meta cameo; The Domestics (2018)—post-apoc leader; Late Night with the Devil (2023)—career-defining lead; The Boogeyman (2023)—grieving father. With over 60 credits, Dastmalchian embodies the journeyman actor, excelling in psychological depths.

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