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It's basically Picnic at Hanging Rock if Wes Craven had directed it. But while I liked the slow-burn vibe aiming for sinister atmosphere over elaborate excess that it tried for, I can't really admit to being very scared by Here Comes the Devil. It wears its influences a little too heavily on its sleeve, so the only real surprise ends up being which movie the next scene's cribbing from - once you get that, it plays out like you expect it to within each individual piece. The strongest section is probably the first half an hour, before it begins to feel like dust devil Mad Libs - there's possibility there; it makes close-knit familial bonds eerie and incestuous. But then it just spins its wheels for another hour.
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