Worse, the film drags. What worked as a tight 80-minute gut punch now stretches to nearly two hours. There are long sequences of characters walking, staring, or engaging in repetitive shouting matches that feel like filler. The dark humor, once sharp and unexpected, sometimes lands with a dull thud of nihilism.
However, for the casual viewer or even the nostalgic fan who hasn't revisited the series in a decade, this feels like an echo. It has the wounds, the sweat, and the bad teeth of the original, but it has lost the desperate energy that made the first film a cult phenomenon. It proves that sometimes, the bullet that stays in the chamber is better than the one you fire too late.
For fans of the series, the callbacks are a treat. Seeing Rato’s manic paranoia and China’s terrifying silence again feels like visiting a weird, dysfunctional family. The film does not betray its cult roots; it knows exactly who it is for.
The problem is that "more of the same" feels less like a victory lap and more like a hangover. The first film was shocking because of its raw, documentary-like violence and amateur energy. The fourth film lacks that shock value. The violence is still there (and graphic), but it has lost its novelty.
Director Luís Ismael continues to shoot Porto like a film noir set in a sewer. The night photography is grainy and oppressive—intentionally so. However, the sound mixing remains a persistent problem for this franchise. Dialogue is often swallowed by ambient noise or the jarring electronic score. You will spend a good portion of the film asking, "What did he say?"