Popular opinion on genre remakes tends to be that they’re soulless product, meant to capitalize on a mildly recognizable title and often hampered by studio notes. Audiences, rightfully so, often ask that if they remain a constant, filmmakers could at least be granted the space to be creative and make it their own. In an age that sees more rehashes than ever, Jim Mickle’s American interpretation of Jorge Michel Grau’s Mexican horror film, WE ARE WHAT WE ARE could be a standard going forward.

UK director Jeremy Lovering’s feature debut was developed and filmed unconventionally. He kept much of the story—its twists and turns and frights and games— from his two leads, only revealing the entirety to Allen Leech; he who plays the one playing tricks. While the average moviegoer rarely needs such back story, viewing the film with context in this case feels a tad more necessary. Although Lovering’s search for verisimilitude was not in vain, it does materialize in both grounded, raw performance and a strong sense that no one has any idea of what’s going on.

In its cryptic opening scene, Park Chan-wook sets the tone of STOKER, his English-language debut, with a monologue and the sound of the world in which the film takes place. STOKER prides itself on not being a conventional genre picture by any means, but the hypnotic rhythm in which the film unfolds will undoubtedly keep any audience transfixed.

Where V/H/S was a raw, lo-fi and frightening odyssey via POV, its sequel is—and from the very outset—bigger, weirder and even reflective of its predecessor. In the first few minutes alone, V/H/S 2 runs through almost every format previously explored, from spy camera to camcorder to iChat; and almost every perspective as well, from investigative to voyeuristic (often both at the same time) to daily doings. And while less traditionally dreadful, where it all leads is infinitely more thrilling.

With Ben Wheatley—one of the most electric and prolific new filmmakers working—and stars/writers Alice Lowe and Steve Oram crafting a chronicle of new lovers on holiday, the last thing to expect is anything resembling a traditional relationship drama. And that’s the last thing you get. But within Chris and Tina’s mad love, their pencil museum visits, their vicious murders and hysteric jaunt through the countryside is real poignancy about the peaks and valleys of intimate connection and letting go of long-held restraint.

There’s a marvelous scene about a half-hour into MAMA, which exemplifies what’s best about the film and also points up what it could use more of.

A HAUNTED HOUSE represents the kind of surprise leading to disappointment that crops up on the movie scene sometimes—the surprise being that it’s not quite as awful as you might expect, and the disappointment that it still isn’t nearly good enough to recommend.