By Mo Moshaty

Damian McCarthy’s commitment to bunnies lurking at the edges of his films is unmatched. The man loves a hare.

In Hokum, that strange little signature returns, tucked away in the margins like a quiet inside joke for viewers paying attention. But the film itself is far from a joke. What could have easily been a tired setup: an angry, alcoholic writer isolating himself in a creepy location to work through his demons, turns into something far more unsettling in McCarthy’s hands: an existential nightmare wrapped in a ghost story.

Adam Scott plays Ohm Bauman, who arrives in Ireland to scatter the ashes of his parents at the once-romantic Bilberry Woods Hotel. The place is now a secluded relic, a building that seems to exhale the weight of its own past. Naturally, it’s exactly the kind of location where old wounds, and possibly something worse (good for us!), tend to linger.

Rumor has it the hotel is haunted by a witch, now trapped in the Honeymoon Suite where Ohm’s parents once stayed. The locals treat the story with a mixture of caution and resignation. Ohm, however, treats it with contempt, dismissing the story as nothing more than folklore; he mockingly refers to the supposed witch as “Hokum.” (Cue the Leonardo DiCaprio pointing meme.)

He quickly establishes himself as the hotel’s resident menace, being thoroughly unpleasant to everyone he encounters: Fiona (Florence Ordesh), the lobby attendant, Alby the bellboy (Will O’Connell), Mal (Peter Coonan), the hotel manager, Mr. Cobb (Brendan Conroy), the owner, and anyone unlucky enough to cross his path. One shining sliver of light in his stay is Jerry (David Wilmot), a crusty coot who sticks to the fringes of the grounds, snacking on mushroom-laced milk.

But Ohm didn’t come here just to spread ashes. Grumbling and drunk, he heads upstairs carrying far more than a family obligation. As the hotel prepares to close for the season, Bilberry Woods becomes the perfect stage for Ohm’s demons, both personal and possibly supernatural, to start making themselves known.

What follows is a race against time. Ohm finds himself searching for proof of the witch while also confronting the ghosts he’s spent decades trying to drown in alcohol and anger. Whether those ghosts are metaphoric or something far more literal becomes increasingly unclear.

McCarthy’s imagery here is stellar. The film delivers its share of jump scares, but the real strength lies in how effectively it taps into grief as a living, breathing force. The emotional machinery behind the horror is visceral; sometimes heartbreaking, occasionally darkly funny, and often genuinely frightening.

Because, despite the creeping dread, Hokum also has moments of surprising levity. McCarthy understands that grief isn’t tidy; it’s messy, absurd, painful, and sometimes even unintentionally funny.

Which leaves one lingering question: can Ohm escape the hotel and himself, in time?

Anyone’s guess. But if he does manage to leave Bilberry Woods behind, it’s clear he won’t be taking all of himself with him. And that might be exactly what the hotel wants.