How ‘Oculus’ turns memory and grief into pure terror | The Haunted Column

Mike Flanagan’s 'Oculus' might not come with the blood and gore you'd expect from a haunted mirror movie, but what it offers is far more disturbing. This psychological horror film doesn’t just scare you, it unravels your sense of reality, and that’s what makes it such a standout.

The premise sounds familiar. An antique mirror. A traumatic family past. Siblings returning to confront an evil they believe destroyed their childhood. But 'Oculus' doesn’t follow the usual playbook. From the start, it sets itself apart by refusing to give you a clear sense of what’s real and what’s not. It weaves two timelines together—the past, when Kaylie and Tim were children witnessing their parents' breakdown, and the present, where they return as adults to confront the mirror once and for all.

Karen Gillan’s Kaylie is on a mission. She’s not here to scream and run. She’s got cameras, timers, and a well-planned setup to capture and prove that the mirror is responsible for their family’s destruction. It all feels clinical and calculated, which makes it even more jarring when things spiral. Because the mirror doesn’t just haunt, it distorts. It plays with memory, with perception, with time itself.

That’s where 'Oculus' becomes more than a ghost story. Flanagan doesn’t lean on cheap jump scares. Instead, he builds an atmosphere where nothing feels trustworthy. The characters, and the audience, are constantly second-guessing what they’re seeing. You’ll watch a character calmly eat an apple, then suddenly realize it was actually a light bulb. These moments sneak up on you, and they leave a lasting impression.

What really makes 'Oculus' special, though, is the emotional weight it carries. This isn’t just a supernatural thriller, it’s a story about trauma. About how people try to make sense of childhood pain. About how unresolved grief can twist itself into something unrecognisable. The mirror, in all its creepy stillness, becomes a symbol for everything the siblings couldn’t escape.

Flanagan’s storytelling is tight. The editing between timelines is seamless, the pacing never lags, and the performances, especially from the younger cast, are raw and honest. You believe these kids, which makes it all the more heartbreaking when you see where they end up.

'Oculus' doesn’t yell for attention. It creeps up slowly and leaves you feeling uneasy long after it’s over. It taps into a kind of fear that doesn’t fade quickly—the fear of losing your grip on what’s real.
If you’re looking for a horror film that’s clever, well-made, and emotionally grounded, this one still holds up. 'Oculus' doesn’t just scare you. It stays with you.