The so-called “video nasty era” is ripe for exploration in horror. The term refers to a dark period in 1980s Britain, during which a selection of movies — predominantly horror and exploitation films, but not exclusively — were decried by hand-wringing conservatives as a threat to public order, and subsequently either banned outright or cut to ribbons before release. Perusing the full, 72-strong list now, one notices movies like the risible Cannibal Holocaust, which infamously included actual animal abuse, sitting uncomfortably alongside harmless slasher The Burning. This is the setting for Censor, Prano Bailey-Bond’s astonishing debut feature, which posits the idea that maybe watching too many horrible movies in a row really could drive a person mad — but not for the reason you think. 

Irish actress Niamh Algar (Calm with Horses) is Enid, a buttoned-up but kind-hearted young woman who takes her job classifying movies for public consumption a bit too seriously. Peering studiously from behind her huge, era-appropriate specs, Enid scribbles precise and very neat notes such as “eye gouging must go” and frequently argues with her more laid-back colleagues, who take the position of movie fans themselves by asking Enid to consider the bigger picture. As far as she’s concerned, however, there is no middle ground. What draws a person to this line of work, though, if not a love of cinema? For Enid, it’s her somewhat misguided duty to protect the public at all costs. 

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This rather stubborn desire originated when Enid’s sister, Nina, was abducted at the age of seven. While watching a particularly gruesome film one day, Algar’s character spots an actress who bears a striking resemblance to Nina, or rather what Nina would look like if she were still around. This sparks a bizarre quest to prove the woman in question is, in fact, Enid’s sister, which sends her spiraling down a rabbit hole involving night-time shoots in the forest, a deformed killer with an axe, a literal cabin in the woods and a producer played by the great Michael Smiley at his smarmiest (Censor exec-producer Ant Timpson cast the Northern Irish legend in his own directorial debut, Come to Daddy). Naturally, with this much depravity on show, The Smiley is bound to manifest. 

Scattered throughout Censor are fake horror movie snippets that are perfectly accurate for the featured period. Lurid, violent, demonstrably low budget, often quite campy and bearing titles like Cannibal Carnage, they’re also eminently watchable, which is always a good sign, particularly when considered a showcase for the many skills Bailey-Bond evidently has in her repertoire. This was a time of intense civil unrest, and indeed Margaret Thatcher drones on in the background of one scene to highlight the kind of person Enid is dutifully taking her cues from, even if she has a more personal reason to go after these films. When the tables are turned on her, however, the young woman is betrayed by a society she felt bound to protect. 

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Censor boasts incredibly evocative period detailing, from passengers smoking on the Tube to the creaky old-school tech and, again, Enid’s fabulous, Jeffrey Dahmer-style glasses. The drab, beige-hued and headache-inducing office in which much of the action takes place is shot as though it’s a subterranean torture chamber, the camera snaking around winding corridors and into tightly cramped spaces. During one dangerously charged sequence, the lights over Enid’s head slowly click off one by one as she prepares to go home for the night. It’s tough to imagine why anyone would ever willingly return to this awful place, except the outside world is even less welcoming, filled with judgement and confusion. The cinematography by Annika Summerson, who shot the recent Riz Ahmed-starring Mogul Mowgli, is jaw-droppingly gorgeous. Bathed in blood reds and luminous forest greens, it’s evocative of giallo movies without being derivative. In fact, the garish, OTT coverage is a celebration of what was wrongly considered troublesome at the time. 

Red light shining through a projector as a particularly bloody scene plays out onscreen is a lovely, delicate touch, while the way in which Bailey-Bond plays with aspect ratios in Censor’s final act makes a strange kind of sense rather than feeling gimmicky. Likewise, the various fantasy sequences are elegantly executed, imbued with a sense of melancholy and longing. The material being handled by Enid and her colleagues is dark, but the story of a real-life killer who eats someone’s face is deliberately silly. Bailey-Bond and co-writer Anthony Fletcher utilize the redolent framework of this specific era in British history to skewer the pearl-clutching types who made undeserving movies the subject of their ire, while also paying homage to the filming styles that were in vogue at the time, so they can explore the real impact of so-called video nasties.  

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Algar is utterly fascinating in the lead role, making Enid a simultaneously frustrating and empathetic character. Enid lives a quiet, borderline lonely life, but her desire to protect others from harm is built from a place of real pain. She clearly never got over Nina’s disappearance, and even blames herself for it, but Enid also willingly exposes herself to dangerous forces especially when she visits the home of Smiley’s oily producer. Censor isn’t a particularly violent film, but there are a couple standout gory moments which confirm Bailey-Bond is as much a fan of old-school horror as she is a staunch defender of the audience’s right to watch it. That the first-time director puts a difficult woman front and center, rather than Enid’s less intense male colleague, speaks to both her confidence as a filmmaker and how complicated of an issue this truly is. 

Censor offers no easy answers, and its villains aren’t exactly clear cut either. Bailey-Bond demonstrates an impressive control of tone and atmosphere, easily gliding over her film’s low budget origins to make a greater point about societal pressure to follow the crowd. Censor is an attention-grabbing debut whose true impact will likely only be felt with each subsequent viewing as the inner workings of the film’s darkest moments become clearer. Absolutely essential.

Joey Keogh (@JoeyLDG) is a writer from Dublin, Ireland with an unhealthy appetite for horror movies and Judge Judy. In stark contrast with every other Irish person ever, she’s straight edge. Hello to Jason Isaacs.