Nightbooks

There is a specific, itchy kind of loneliness that belongs to the kid who loves the "wrong" things—the one who’d rather sketch cryptids than play soccer or who knows exactly which Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark illustration is the most traumatizing. In Nightbooks, that kid is Alex, played with a wonderful, nervous energy by Winslow Fegley. When we meet him, he’s attempting to burn his "nightbooks"—journals filled with his original horror stories—because he’s tired of being the "weird kid." But fate, or perhaps a magical NYC apartment elevator, has other plans. He’s lured into a trap by a witch named Natacha, and suddenly, those creepy stories aren’t just a social liability; they are the only currency keeping him alive.

I watched this on a rainy Tuesday while my neighbor was testing a particularly shrill leaf blower outside, and honestly, the mechanical drone actually added a nice layer of industrial dread to the film’s more claustrophobic moments.

The Witch in the High-Rise

The streaming era has a habit of burying genuinely imaginative mid-budget films under a mountain of algorithm-friendly fluff, but Nightbooks manages to scream loud enough to be noticed. Much of that is thanks to Krysten Ritter, who plays the witch Natacha with a decadent, neon-gothic flair. Krysten Ritter looks like she’s having more fun than any person should legally be allowed to have while threatening children. She isn't a cackling hag in a hut; she’s a modern nightmare in haute couture, huffing magical mists to keep her power peaked.

The dynamic between Natacha and her "guests"—Alex and the practical, hardened Yasmin (Lidya Jewett)—is the engine of the film. Most "family" movies treat children like they’re made of glass, but Nightbooks treats them like they’re made of grit. Alex is forced to read a new scary story every night to appease the witch, a conceit that allows director David Yarovesky to play with "story-within-a-story" segments that vary in visual style. It’s a meta-nod to the act of creation itself: the frustration of writer's block, the fear of being "too much," and the way art helps us process the things that go bump in our own heads.

Practical Nightmares and Raimi Vibes

If the film feels like it has more "bite" than your average Disney+ fare, look no further than the producer credit for Sam Raimi. His influence is all over the creature design and the frantic, kinetic camera movements. The film features a "Shredder" monster that feels like a genuine throwback to 80s creature features—a slimy, multi-limbed thing that makes the average Goosebumps monster look like a Cabbage Patch Kid.

The production design of the apartment is a masterclass in "Gateway Horror." It’s an impossible space, a TARDIS of terror filled with a library that spans the globe and a magical greenhouse that feels like a lethal version of a botanical garden. The cinematography by Robert McLachlan leans heavily into vibrant purples, sickly greens, and deep shadows, avoiding the flat, over-lit look that plagues so many direct-to-streaming releases. It’s a tactile, textured world. When Alex finds a The Lost Boys poster in his room early on, it’s not just an Easter egg; it’s a statement of intent. This film wants to be the "scary movie" that sticks with a ten-year-old for the next two decades.

A Modern Fairy Tale in the Algorithm

Released in 2021, Nightbooks hit Netflix at a time when "home" felt a little too much like a cage for most of us. That resonance helps it land. It engages with contemporary themes of loneliness and the digital-age pressure to "fit in," but it does so through the timeless lens of the Brothers Grimm. The film doesn't rely on cheap jump scares; instead, it builds a sustained atmosphere of magical unease.

I was particularly struck by how the film handles representation and diversity without ever feeling like it’s checking boxes. Lidya Jewett’s Yasmin isn't just a sidekick; she’s the pragmatist to Alex’s dreamer, and her background as a kid who "vanished" into the witch’s clutches adds a weight to the stakes that feels very real. In an era of franchise dominance, where everything has to be a "cinematic universe," Nightbooks feels refreshingly self-contained, even if it leaves the door just a tiny bit ajar for more. Nightbooks is essentially Saw for the middle-school set, minus the severed limbs.

Ultimately, Nightbooks is a gift for the "weird kids" and the adults who used to be them. It honors the tradition of scary storytelling while utilizing modern tech to create a world that feels both fresh and ancient. It’s the kind of film that proves "family-friendly" doesn't have to mean "toothless." If you have 100 minutes to spare, let Natacha lure you in—it’s a trip to the dark side that is well worth the price of admission.