Bagman

Folklore is the original clickbait, and for centuries, the "Bagman" has been the ultimate cautionary tale used by parents to keep their kids from wandering into the woods or staying out past dark. He isn’t flashy like a slasher villain or sophisticated like a gothic vampire; he’s a blue-collar nightmare with a rotting burlap sack and a singular, terrifying goal: abduction. In Colm McCarthy’s Bagman, this ancient myth gets a 2024 coat of paint, attempting to turn a playground threat into a feature-length panic attack.

I watched this on a rainy Tuesday night while my neighbor was apparently trying to saw through a metal pipe for three hours straight, and honestly, the rhythmic clink-clink-clink from next door ended up being a better jump-scare generator than half the stingers in the film. But that’s the hurdle for modern horror, isn't it? We live in an era of "elevated horror" where every monster is a metaphor for grief, and sometimes, a movie just needs to be about a scary guy with a bag.

The Burlap Aesthetic of Childhood Trauma

The story centers on Patrick McKee, played with a permanent look of "I really need a nap" by Sam Claflin (who you might remember as the tragic Finnick in The Hunger Games). Patrick is a man haunted by a childhood encounter with the titular beast. He escaped, but as the movie suggests, the Bagman doesn't like losing his groceries. Now an adult with a wife, Karina (Antonia Thomas, great as always in Lovesick and The Good Doctor), and a young son, Patrick finds his past literally dragging its way back into his suburban present.

Colm McCarthy, who previously gave us the surprisingly sharp The Girl with All the Gifts, knows how to build a mood. The early scenes are thick with a specific kind of dread—that feeling of being watched from the shadows of a poorly lit basement. The production design leans heavily into the "rotting" aspect of the legend. Everything feels slightly damp, slightly decayed. When the Bagman finally appears, voiced and physically inhabited by Will Davis, he’s effectively creepy, utilizing a clicking sound that feels like a spiritual successor to the croak from The Grudge.

However, the film stumbles into a common 2020s trap: it’s so preoccupied with being a "serious exploration of generational trauma" that it occasionally forgets to be a fun monster movie. "Bagman" feels like a Creepypasta that accidentally got a multi-million dollar mortgage, stuck between wanting to be a gritty psychological thriller and a popcorn-munching creature feature.

Clicking into the Genre Grooves

The mechanics of the scares are a bit of a mixed bag (pun absolutely intended). In an era where audiences are savvy to every "fake-out" mirror scare and sudden loud noise, Bagman relies a bit too heavily on the classics. We’ve seen the "kid talking to something in the corner" trope enough times that it feels like a mandatory checklist item.

What does work, however, is the sound design by Tim Williams. The signature clicking sound of the monster is genuinely unsettling, tapping into that primal fear of a predator stalking through the undergrowth. It’s the kind of auditory hook that lingers after the credits roll. It’s also worth noting the presence of William Hope, who famously played the out-of-his-depth Lieutenant Gorman in Aliens. Seeing him here as Chief Isaacs adds a nice layer of "hey, I know that guy!" for genre fans, even if his role is relatively standard.

The film’s budget of $14.5 million is used well—the CGI doesn't feel cheap, and the practical effects on the bag itself are viscerally gross. It’s a testament to modern mid-budget filmmaking that we can get a creature this well-realized without it looking like a video game character. Yet, the bag itself has more screen presence than most of the supporting cast, leaving the human characters feeling a bit like placeholders for the next scare.

The Modern Monster Problem

Releasing a film like Bagman in 2024 is a risky proposition. We are currently drowning in a sea of IP-driven horror and "legacy sequels," so a standalone folklore piece should feel like a breath of fresh air. Instead, it feels a little too familiar. It lacks the subversive wit of something like Barbarian or the sheer stylistic audacity of Malignant. It’s a "safe" horror movie, designed to perform well on streaming platforms where people want a reliable 93-minute thrill without having to overthink the lore.

Apparently, the production went through several iterations to get the look of the Bagman right, wanting to avoid he-who-shall-not-be-named (Slender Man) comparisons. They succeeded in making him look unique, but the script doesn't give him enough to do besides lurk. There’s a missed opportunity to dive deeper into the international versions of the myth—the "Peeira De Chumbo" or the "Krampus" cousins—which might have given the film a more global, timeless resonance. Instead, it stays firmly in the "scary guy in the woods" lane.

Bagman is a perfectly functional horror film that delivers exactly what it says on the tin, but it rarely dares to be more than that. Sam Claflin delivers a grounded, emotional performance that elevates the material, and the creature design is top-notch, but the familiar pacing and predictable beats prevent it from becoming a new genre staple. It’s the kind of movie that’s great for a spooky October night when you’ve already exhausted your Conjuring rewatches, but it won't be the one you're talking about at the water cooler on Monday morning. If you have a soft spot for folklore and don't mind a few recycled tropes, it’s a decent enough way to kill 90 minutes. Just make sure your neighbors aren't doing any heavy construction while you watch.