Opiniões dos críticos

Writing a truly captivating and original story all the while creating a fascinating world filled to the brim with references to the very films she celebrates, the debuting Bailey-Bond has created a well made albeit imperfect horror that should be seen by fans of horror and British film alike.

If you begin to wonder whether this is more of an exercise in style than an inquiry into why such things can and should be considered art (or not), you wouldn’t be alone. The atmosphere makes up for the occasional downshifting from creepy to meandering, at least until the last 15 minutes kick in and attempt to make up for lost time

Anchored by a transformative lead performance by Niamh Algar, Bailey-Bond’s complex film is at once an inquiry into mediated violence and an assertion of its cathartic possibilities.

A subtle (until it defiantly isn’t) British mood piece, "Censor" makes horror films, and the emotions they evoke, feel dangerous again—maybe as dangerous as they felt during that era of moral panic.

As a simple story of a moralizer being brought down by their own bloody instincts, it works; but asides about the catharsis of gore, and the inner evil of humanity not needing horror movies to be seeded, imply the script wanted something deeper.

While Enid’s investigation never goes anywhere noteworthy, “Censor” still fosters an increasingly desperate, anxiety-inducing effect. Parts of the movie were shot on film (35mm and 8mm) as well as video, and that’s part of the movie’s charm. But really, the best thing about Enid, as a symbol and a character, is that she never seems to get anywhere.

A homage of sorts to the low-budget trash of the period — and a mordantly humorous jab at its excesses — “Censor” gazes on movie history with style and commitment, but little apparent purpose beyond simulation... Plagued by dreary pacing and weak plotting, “Censor” is less a mystery than a portrait of lingering trauma and flaring delusion.

Those expecting anything nasty... should look elsewhere for their kicks, as "Censor" is in fact quite stingy when delivering the goopy goods, regardless of an intriguing premise that practically begs for such fulfillment... "Censor" is indeed nasty, but only for the tedium it inspires within audience members. Rarely has horror felt this inert.

Not since Peter Strickland’s Berberian Sound Studio has the shadowy world of genre movies looked so starkly beautiful. Censor is so much more than the sum of its parts, and yet each of its distinct elements is its own consummate achievement.

[The film] works as both a quasi-tribute to the video nasties of the 1980s and a commentary on the foolishness of blaming art for the actions of its admirers. Censor shows that paranoid delusions can target anyone––even those tasked with being the public’s moral barometer. It’s a bold point of view, and an exhilarating film.

It’s unfortunate, then, that Censor pulls back from its social interrogation just when it’s working up a head of steam... Bailey-Bond creates some legitimately frightening images in [the film's] final stretch, alongside an atmosphere of dread that threatens to overwhelm the senses, but it ultimately feels like a stylistic stunt, lacking the transgressive conviction of the very video nasties that serve as the film’s source of inspiration.

Although it’s a fitting and gleefully gory tribute to the golden age of the video nasty, "Censor" also feels like a reclamation of the genre, traditionally dominated by female nudity and suffering.