Review: Winnie the Pooh: Blood and Honey

I watched Winnie-the-Pooh: Blood and Honey on Halloween night. Lights off, full Dolby, 4K. I expected my childhood to be ruined in 90 minutes or less, since the film vowed to take the most tender, innocent icons of youth and twist them into something sadistic. It’s an irresistible concept, but Blood and Honey doesn’t ruin anything. Not because it pulls punches, but because it never commits to the hit.

 

Let’s start with the premise: Christopher Robin (Nikolai Leon) leaves for college. Pooh (Craig David Dowsett) and Piglet (Chris Cordell), abandoned and starving, go feral and kill for survival. They reject their humanity and vow to never speak again, leaning into their more primal instincts. The film opens with a storybook montage that mimics the original E.H. Shepard art style, recontextualized as dark lore. The set-up had me locked in, but from that moment forward, the movie starts letting go of the very thing that makes its concept compelling: emotional horror, existential dread, and the desecration of innocence. Instead, it pivots into a slasher so generic it might as well have come from a randomizer. If you’ve seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre, you’ve basically seen this.

 

As soon as Christopher Robin meets his old friends, he is kidnapped, tortured and forced to watch his fiancée murdered in front of him. Meanwhile, Maria (Maria Taylor Hyatt), our protagonist and a stalking survivor with PTSD, travels to the woods for a therapist-mandated retreat joined by a group of friends trying to support her recovery. They encounter a redneck red herring who directs them to the camping site, and then get picked off one by one. In the end, Christopher Robin escapes blood-soaked and traumatized, in a beat-for-beat echo of Chainsaw’s iconic truck escape.

 

The narrative parallels and predictability bleed the movie dry. There’s no suspense. You can tell who’s going to die and when. Even though the kills themselves are impressively graphic there’s no weight to them. That’s partly because the editing doesn’t build momentum. We’re not plunged into scenes or disoriented in ways that raise tension. Instead, most scenes settle into a safe, telegraphed rhythm: setup, dread beat, execution. 

 

It’s not all bad and there are moments that work. The lighting is consistently strong, especially during scenes like Christopher’s torture. The sound design does what it can with drone tones and silence used strategically, even if jump-scare stingers are overused. You can see the effort in some of the staging too: detailed pans of the kill room, clever blocking in the scene where Zoe (Danielle Roland) and Alice (Amber Doig-Thorne) escape Pooh, and slow tracking shots through abandoned areas with hooks and chains dangling like a slaughterhouse. But effort doesn’t mean execution. Costume design, for example, breaks the illusion constantly. Pooh’s mask looks like it was bought off Etsy, and from some angles, you can see the actors’ eyes under the latex. 

 

But the real problem, the thing that makes the horror ineffective, is that the rules of the monster aren’t clear. Are Pooh and Piglet fully animalistic, regressed into primal instinct? Don’t they kill to feed themselves? If so, why do they stalk, torture, and plan their kills with such human precision? Why are there supernatural features like lights flickering when they enter a room, or their eyes turning black like a possession movie? The logic is mush, and horror needs logic. If the threat has no rules, the fear has no shape. This inconsistency kills any chance of thematic depth. The film could have been about betrayal, about the gruesome, unimaginable rot that abandonment breeds. Instead, it riffs on iconography like honey jars, treehouses, and [deceased] Eeyore’s tail. The film never leans into the psychological damage these characters are supposed to represent, and it definitely never makes us feel the damage they inflict.

 

This production’s micro-budget cannot excuse narrative cowardice. The Blair Witch Project had no money. Lake Mungo had less. Creativity costs zero. Blood and Honey had a feral, bizarre concept with cultural nostalgia baked in. Instead of using it to break the genre open, it clung to its most tired conventions.

 

They said they were going to traumatize my inner child. Instead, they turned it into a straight-to-Tubi slasher with better marketing than execution. A film this wild on paper should never be this safe.