The church where the titular Jakob Fedder (Larry Fessenden) preaches has a piece of art that quotes Proverbs 31:30, “Charm is deceitful and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.” It’s one of the first shots director Travis Stevens shows us in Jakob’s Wife, his followup to the feminist haunted house film Girl on the Third Floor, and it’s quickly followed by a piece of Jakob’s sermon. “Husbands, love your wife,” he preaches, that he might sanctify her. “That she might be holy and without blemish.” This idea of a patriarchal society of women staying demure to their husbands while the husband run the roost but foists adoration on their pure wives is central to the conflict in Jakob’s Wife.

In this opening scene, Jakob continues to prattle to his congregation but his words become muted as the camera focuses on Jakob’s wife Anne (Barbara Crampton), nestled in the front row with an almost vacant expression. She’s obviously heard this (and him) multiple times throughout the course of their marriage. When Anne was young, she dated Tom Low (Robert Rusler), the love of her life, but he left town around the time her mother died and she ultimately found comfort in the church and Jakob. Anne has always been the dutiful wife even though she once dreamed of visiting exotic lands. “Life happens, I guess,” she whistfully says at one point.

One day, a member of Jakob’s congregation goes missing and it sparks a hint of rebellion in Anne, as she sees the way the missing girl is talked about. At dinner with Jakob, his brother Bob (Mark Kelly) and Bob’s wife Carol (Sarah Lind), the missing girl becomes a subject of discussion. Most of the table place the blame on the missing woman, dismissing it as if she’s hooking up with a boy or left town. But Anne won’t have it and tells them, “I just don’t understand why a young girl goes missing and you’re all so quick to blame her.”

While Jakob thinks everything is good in the Fedder household, cracks are beginning to show. That night while brushing his teeth, his mouth filled with a disgusting amount of spit and foam, Anne stares at him with venom. So when Tom Low shows back up in town to do some renovations on the old town mill, she goes to meet with him. A cup of coffee at a diner leads to gentle flirting as they tour the mill where they discover two large and mysterious boxes. While sitting on one of the large boxes, Tom makes a move, Anne rebuffs him and then they discover a horrific secret inside the box. A secret that leaves Tom dead and Anne alive...with two puncture marks on her throat and a thirst for that old rebellious and carefree spirit she once had.

Vampirism has been used as a metaphor for a multitude of things, from addiction to obsession to identify and sexuality. Here, the script by Kathy Charles, Mark Steensland and Travis Stevens, uses it to explore liberation...mostly. It’s also the script that reveals Jakob’s Wife to be the kind of film a lot of critics and viewers will be mixed on, because it’s messy. It introduces a ton of intriguing themes but doesn’t interrogate them clearly.

Individual moments work really well and take the vampire mythos in intriguing directions. The vampire that’s descended upon the town is referred to as The Master (Bonnie Aarons) and their design remixes rodents, Barlow, and Count Orlok in campy and genderbending ways. Homages to Salem’s Lot continue through the town’s somewhat rural setting and the use of religious names. The vampires, meanwhile, have the sort of free-wheeling existence of the 80s vampire triptych of Near Dark, Lost Boys and Fright Night. The Master’s brand of vampirism promises freedom and liberation and that somewhat queer persona becomes an intriguing thematic device to explore the patriarchal society Anne’s tired marriage to Jakob represents.

That said, in a world of understated and strong performances, Barbara Crampton turns out a career best in her role as Anne. It’s surprisingly reserved, but specific moments showcase her talents in demure ways. The standout scene of understated acting comes in the form of an awkward dinner out with the couple that’s played as a form of almost nonverbal sparring. Anne doesn’t touch her food and Jakob spends a good portion of the meal trying to ferret out what’s going on behind her new red lipstick. When the hot, young waiter comes by, Anne winks at him. Then Jakob tries to reassert his dominance by putting the waiter in his place with a request for a to-go box for his wife. Anne then feints with an, “Actually, I’m finished.”

Meanwhile Stevens and his DP David Matthews focus on specific shots; a closeup on Jakob’s mouth as he masticates, his Adam’s Apple as he talks. Their eyes as they dart and weave during their little battle. The shots, coupled with Fessenden’s confused look, informs Jakob’s character more clearly than any scenes of dialogue or verbal conflict could. Jakob’s look verges on fear as an unfamiliar feeling comes in. A feeling that maybe the power dynamics are shifting in their relationship and the thing he’s taken for granted is turning on him. Meanwhile, Anne appraises him with a predatory look. It’s simply a fabulous, understated moment and a reminder that both Crampton and Fessenden have been in the game for awhile and know how to sell a quiet scene.

Jakob's Wife has really high highs like the dinner scene or a sequence where Anne, figuring out her newfound power, carries furniture with one hand while Concrete Blonde plays in the background. And I laughed harder than I have in a long time over a hilariously staged gag where her vampirism is discovered mid-meal prep. The score by Tara Busch, meanwhile, is begging for a vinyl release and continues the trend of horror films putting out stellar scores. But with those highs come crushing lows that fail to sink the film, particularly in the script department that definitely feels like it was written by three people with competing aims.

The throughline of a woman discovering her autonomy and sexuality at a later point in life quickly falls off the rails in the messy second act. At first, it seems as if the narrative wants to tackle a more realistic and thematically complex concept of couples deciding to stay together and figuring out what life would look like with a completely different power dynamic. Fessenden sells this dichotomy by presenting a religious patriarch who’s trying to come to terms with his wife’s newfound control of her sexuality (and occasional bloodletting), but the pieces don’t completely come together in a satisfactory way. After an exciting climax and epiphany, the thematic underpinning is somewhat undone by a denouement that derails and deflates both of their character development.

That said, the 80s vampire vibe and the uncomfortable and sometimes awkward mix of horror, comedy, camp and drama somehow coalesced into something greater than the sum of its parts. It’s not a completely successful film and a firmer focus on what it was trying to say would have helped bring all the pieces together. But it’s an enjoyable romp and a reminder that Crampton and Fessenden are some of the best actors working in independent horror today.