Late Night with the Devil Review: Raising Hell on Live Television

Late Night with the Devil is a devilishly entertaining horror satire that dares to merge the spooky and the showbiz. This audacious genre mashup from Australian writer-director duo Colin and Cameron Cairnes unleashes supernatural terror amidst the bright lights and razzle-dazzle of a live 1970s television broadcast.

The year is 1977, the night is Halloween, and struggling late-night talk show host Jack Delroy is desperate for a ratings win. In his relentless pursuit of success, he invites an assortment of otherworldly guests – a self-proclaimed psychic, a professional skeptic, a parapsychologist, and most disturbingly, a young girl seemingly possessed by demonic forces. What begins as a shameless bid for viewership quickly descends into an unholy nightmare.

The Cairnes brothers merge the disparate worlds of horror and vintage TV entertainment with devilish flair. Drawing clear inspiration from blasphemous classics like The Exorcist while channeling the frenetic energy of an actual live taping, Late Night with the Devil is a startlingly fresh take on satanic shockers. With its era-specific production design and tongue-in-cheek satirical bent, it emerges as a frightfully fun love letter to the golden age of broadcast television…with a singularly sinister twist.

Delirious Descent Into Devilish Desperation

At the center of Late Night with the Devil’s descent into madness is Jack Delroy, the charismatic yet increasingly unhinged host of the flagging talk show Night Owls. Portrayed with remarkable depth by David Dastmalchian, Jack is a man driven to despair after the devastating loss of his beloved wife. In a last-ditch effort to resuscitate his fading career, he devises a Halloween special that teeters on the edge of unholiness.

For this unholy occasion, Jack assembles a motley crew of outlandish guests linked to the supernatural. There’s Christou, a self-professed psychic plagued by disturbing visions; Carmichael, an arrogant illusionist-turned-professional skeptic; and Dr. June Ross-Mitchell, a parapsychologist promoting her book on satanic cults. Most alarming of all is Lilly, Dr. Ross-Mitchell’s patient – a seemingly sweet young girl concealing a terrifying secret. According to the doctor, Lilly is possessed by a demonic entity she calls “Mr. Wriggles.”

What begins as a shameless ratings ploy quickly spirals into unrestrained pandemonium. Strange phenomena start manifesting on the set – eerie voices, levitating objects, and a crisis of belief that pits the skeptics against the true believers. Jack presses on shamelessly, desperate for the show to be a smash despite his colleagues’ increasing unease.

As the broadcast barrels towards its cataclysmic conclusion, an unholy evil is roused from its slumber. The entity’s malevolent influence casts a creeping sense of dread over the production, culminating in an explosive final act of sheer, unrestrained horror. Jack’s egomaniacal hunger for success unlocks a doorway to unspeakable terrors that even he may be powerless to contain.

Hellish Homage to Vintage Horrors

The Cairnes brothers prove to be remarkably skilled pupas, weaving together a deft homage to vintage horror classics while injecting fresh, contemporary flair. Their painstaking recreation of a 1970s television studio is nothing short of revelatory – the garish color palette, the wood-paneled sets, the painfully retro fashions…it all coalesces into a richly immersive time capsule.

Beyond the period trappings, the filmmaking itself is a masterclass in building dread through clever cinematic trickery. The Cairnes deftly intermingle different photography techniques, seamlessly cutting between sleek broadcast footage and gritty behind-the-scenes chaos captured with a provocative handheld approach. They even shift aspect ratios at key moments, visualizing the stark divide between the polished on-air persona and the escalating reality.

These stylistic flourishes are more than just gimmicks – they’re instruments fine-tuned to manipulate the audience’s sense of perspective and unease. The velvet curtain separating showmanship from spirituality grows increasingly tattered as the film hurtles towards its delirious climax. The illusion of control slowly disintegrates, reflecting Jack’s frenzied psychological downward spiral.

To bring their unholy visions to life, the Cairnes expertly blend old-school practical effects with modern visual trickery. Prosthetic creatures ooze across the screen, while supernatural forces manifest as both corporeal abominations and diabolical hallucinations slithering at the corner of the frame. It’s a masterful fusion of analog and digital wizardry that remains true to the era while never letting the seams show.

Diabolical Delroy Drives Demented Delirium

At the malevolent core of Late Night with the Devil lies a truly possessed performance by David Dastmalchian as the ill-fated Jack Delroy. Dastmalchian fully inhabits the increasingly manic mindset of a once-respected TV personality slowly losing his grip on reality. With wild eyes and a smarmy smile masking inner anguish, he charts Jack’s delirious descent from showman to conduit for the unholy.

Dastmalchian’s unhinged intensity is perfectly counterbalanced by Ian Bliss as the smugly skeptical Carmichael. Bliss’ droll, almost bored delivery razor-sharply cuts through the growing chaos, boldly challenging any notion of supernatural interference. His grounded presence amidst the escalating pandemonium makes the horrific events even more unsettling.

Equally unnerving is Laura Gordon’s turn as Dr. June Ross-Mitchell, whose exploitative parapsychological research profoundly unsettles in its reckless arrogance. Gordon’s glacial exterior cracks with telling subtlety as things spiral out of control, exposing the deeply human terror festering beneath her academic veneer.

But it’s young Ingrid Torelli as the possessed Lilly who truly chills to the bone. One moment an unassuming innocent, the next a conduit for unfathomable evil, Torelli’s seamless transformations are the stuff of nightmares. Her wild eyes and guttural growls will haunt long after the credits roll.

The entire ensemble shines in capturing the kinetic frenzy of a live television production devolving into anarchy. What begins as controlled, professional showmanship amongst the cast and crew rapidly degenerates into sheer, unbridled pandemonium. It’s a masterful actualization of humanity’s loss of control in the face of overwhelming malevolent forces.

Devilish Descent into Media Madness

Beneath its lurid otherworldly thrills, Late Night with the Devil operates as a biting satirical dissection of society’s unholy obsession with media spectacle and fame at all costs. Jack Delroy’s desperation to revive his flagging television career becomes a scathing allegory for the Faustian bargains struck by those ravenous for the spotlight’s alluring glow.

The film pulls no punches in portraying the grotesque depths to which showbiz opportunists will stoop for ratings and relevance. Jack’s eager exploitation of the occult and suffering – be it a psychic’s mental breakdown or a possessed girl’s torment – reflects the ruthless manipulation peddled by unscrupulous media purveyors. His incessant pandering to the live studio audience’s desire for bigger, better freakshow acts disturbingly mirrors how modern influencers manufacture outrage to feed our cultural appetite for viral content.

Late Night with the Devil revels in exposing this toxic feedback loop, illustrated through the “truth vs. trickery” conflict embodied by the skeptic Carmichael’s furious debunking efforts. The eternal tension between what we desire to believe and cold, hard reality is savagely lampooned, casting humanity as willing participants in our own mass delusion. We so desperately crave the illusion of mystique and the supernatural that we cast aside all rationality and consume whatever lurid fantasies are spoon-fed to us.

By fusing satanic shocks with media satire, the film compounds its indictment of the masses’ eager consumption of metaphorical snake oil from tin-pot purveyors of evil. As the nightmare escalates to apocalyptic heights, Late Night’s deranged funhouse mirror reflects our society’s grotesque willingness to be corrupted and enthralled by the nefarious and sensational – all for one short-lived sugar rush of fame and spectacle.

Deliciously Devilish Delight

Late Night with the Devil is a wickedly entertaining romp that fuses satanic scares with deliriously sharp satire. The Cairnes brothers strike a devilishly deft balance, serving up an engaging horror/dark comedy hybrid that keeps audiences both jumping from fright and howling with laughter at the skewering of media excess.

As a period horror piece, it revels in its 1970s aesthetics and tropes without ever devolving into mere pastiche. The retro charms are impeccably recreated butanchored by genuine thrills and an undercurrent of sardonic social commentary. As for the satire itself, the barbs aimed at showbiz insincerity and sensationalism hit bullseye after bullseye with merciless precision.

For horror aficionados craving unique premises and fans of pitch-black media satires like Network or satirical shockers such as Scream, Late Night with the Devil will surely enthrall. Its blend of old-school supernatural spooks and no-holds-barred lampooning of society’s hunger for lurid spectacle places it in a class of its own within the genre hellscape.

While the frenetic final act arguably sacrifices some of the nuance for sheer demented fury, the film remains an audacious creative swing that connects more often than not. A delightfully deranged dissection of humanity’s desperation for fame and our endless capacity for self-delusion, Late Night emerges as one of the most electrifying entries in the recent generation of smarter, more subversive horror filmmaking.

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