There are a lot of motivations to be completely uninterested in the entry of Hush. In the first place, it’s yet another story of home intrusion, a subgenre excessively populated with substandard minor departure from the same damn story. Second, it’s from the Blumhouse stable, a generation organization that has been spreading itself awfully thin generally with pointless revamps (Martyrs) and terrible continuations (Sinister 2) undermining an once-solid brand name. Third, its somewhat unheralded debut on Netflix recommends something of a stinker.
In any case, it’s practically as though chief Mike Flanagan, who broke out with the promising yet at last unsuitable malice mirror chiller Oculus, is altogether mindful of any reservations we may have and sets himself the undertaking of demonstrating all of us totally and embarrassingly off-base. For Hush is an immensely successful film and a highly required prize for loathsomeness fans, naturally wearied of lethargic studio item.