Abigail (2024) Review: : Ballet, Blood, and a Very Bad Kidnapping

Kidnapping a ballerina for ransom is already a questionable life choice.
Kidnapping a ballerina who happens to be a vampire? That’s a staffing issue.

Directed by Matt Bettinelli-Olpin and Tyler Gillett, the duo behind Ready or Not, Abigail gleefully mashes heist thriller and vampire carnage into one tightly wound, blood-slicked night.

It’s elegant. For about ten minutes.


The Setup: Crime, But Make It Chaotic

A group of criminals kidnaps the young daughter of a powerful underworld figure, planning to hold her overnight in a secluded mansion. The child, played with unnerving poise by Alisha Weir, is introduced as fragile and frightened.

She is neither.

Abigail

The film pivots quickly from ransom caper to survival horror, and once the twist fully lands, the tone locks into darkly comic brutality.


Ensemble Panic

Abigail

Melissa Barrera anchors the group with grounded resolve, while Dan Stevens chews scenery with smug volatility. The dynamic among the kidnappers is built on distrust from the start—so when fangs enter the equation, cohesion was never an option.

The humor is sharp and self-aware, but the violence is committed. Limbs are not treated gently.


Style: Operatic Gore

The mansion setting becomes a theatrical playground—shadowy hallways, grand staircases, and rooms staged for both elegance and slaughter. The directors balance tension with splashy, almost absurdist bloodshed.

There’s a balletic rhythm to the chaos—appropriately so.

Unlike more brooding vampire films, Abigail embraces excess. It knows the premise is deliciously ridiculous and leans in without apology.


What It’s Really About

Beneath the arterial spray lies a familiar genre undercurrent: greed meeting consequence. The kidnappers see a child as leverage. The film punishes that assumption with theatrical enthusiasm.

It’s not reinventing vampire mythology—but it is having fun with it.

And sometimes, that’s enough.


The Verdict

Abigail is slick, bloody entertainment—equal parts horror, heist, and dark comedy. It doesn’t linger philosophically, but it commits fully to its premise and delivers memorable carnage with style.

Rating: 4 out of 5 broken tutus.

A reminder that in horror, underestimating the quiet one rarely ends well.

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