As effective as it is, The Djinn won’t conjure up nearly as many eyeballs as Spiral, but those who watch it won’t be disappointed — although they might never look at I Dream of Jeannie the same way ever again.
With their debut, Charbonier and Powell proved a rare grasp of childhood horror, and keeping the perspective of youth among adult sins. The Djinn is even more reliant on that ability, and on their extraordinary relationship with the returning Dewey.
This isn’t anybody’s idea of a new horror classic. But The Djinn takes a basic story and delivers the basic jolts and frights we expect from it. No more, no less.
I wonder if the budget was perhaps too small to overcome since every moment The Djinn appears ready to transcend, it tragically deflates. Or perhaps its conceit deserved short film status instead. Going beyond twenty minutes simply isn’t viable.