Mega-return on investments and micro-spare-change budgets aside, the most remarkable thing about the found-footage camcorder horror movement pioneered by The Blair Witch Project (or Cannibal Holocaust and/or The Last Broadcast, if you're feeling nitpicky) is how few middle-of-the-road responses it generates from its viewers. The unsteady angles, off-camera thumps, and mostly unseen monsters either steal your sleep or get hooted off the screen. Last year's Paranormal Activity might be the most boiled-down example of the genre's considerable pros and cons: It's a clunky, unsympathetically populated film that nonetheless hits on an ingenious, terrifyingly primal hook. What you don't see can hurt you.

Assuming your mindset syncs up with its relentless pattern of subaudible rumblings and static shocks, the inevitable Paranormal Activity 2 works far, far better than its quick-turnaround status would have you believe: well acted, grindingly merciless, and much more aware of the nature of its bumps in the night. It's no Blair Witch 2.

Cannily functioning as both prequel and sequel to Oren Peli's original, Tod Williams's film follows a casually affluent California family who install security cams throughout their house following a series of disturbances centering around their infant son. Things get geometrically worse from there, including a kitchen scene (during the daytime, yet!) that might be the best single-take shock since Exorcist III's immortal hallway shot. Director Williams, previously responsible for the decidedly nonhorrific John Irving adaptation The Door in the Floor, makes terrific use of the opportunities that the multiple cam viewpoints afford him. He establishes a rigorously edited rhythm that steadily amps up the tension, to the point where even the possibility of something awry in the frame brings on the gooseflesh. If the first film didn't do much for you, it's unlikely that this one will win you over. For those able to roll with its slow-burn suggestiveness, however, this superior installment inspires a not-especially-pleasant, Pavlovian level of twitch response that few horror franchises can muster: Every time you see that damned time code pop up in the lower right-hand corner, get ready to fidget.