![]() ![]() Are these just crazed home invaders who met on an Internet forum for like-minded conspiracy theorists? Is some higher power really speaking to them? Is it all a stand-in for Trump and his followers? The answers to these questions, in the end, don't come, and don't matter. The movie is called Knock at the Cabin (the book is called The Cabin at the End of the World), and the house, with its remote location, floor-to-ceiling bookcases, dark wood paneling. It doesn't dwell for long in the godliness of it all, thankfully, making the novel tense and muscle tightening, crackling with uncertainty. The Cabin at the End of the World succeeds in part because it trades in frights rooted (or not) in totally unprovable motivation. For the first time since I watched The Cabin in the Woods (sensing a cabin theme, here?) alone late one night in college, I was unable to sleep because I'd been scared shitless. It was later than I'd intended to stay up, my partner was asleep and begging for the light to be turned off, and my heart had walked directly out of my throat and into the middle of the busy road next to my apartment building. ![]()
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