Horror has long been dominated by pale young children haunted by malevolent, undead beings that only they can see. Terrified, even possessed, at least these tormented children are never alone: priests are called, psychics consulted, and the children’s shattered parents never stop trying to save their offspring.

But what happens when the person afflicted by violent, behaviour-influencing apparitions is the parent? Their children, helplessly watching an unseen darkness transforming the one person they should be able to depend on, become all the more aware of their own innate vulnerability.

In Lights Out, director David F. Sandberg uses the silhouette of a skeletal hag called Diana as a metaphor for the depression that has followed Sophie (Maria Bello) thoughout her life. Rising up again after the death of Sophie’s husband, Diana takes over the family home, appearing whenever the lights go out. Showing the ripple effects of this illness, Diana also starts terrorising Sophie’s young son and her estranged daughter, Rebecca (Teresa Palmer.)

Combining a physical manifestation of depression with a primal fear of the dark allows Lights Out to explore both psychological and atmospheric horror. Sandberg plays with Diana’s appearance effectively, using flickering red bulbs and motion-detector lights to heighten the tension of her unsettling, blinking appearances. Diana’s ability to teleport across rooms with the flip of a light switch turns the tired jump scare into an artform, although other genre clichés such as old tape recordings of therapy sessions prove less engaging.

Overshadowing its nightmarish charms, however, is Lights Out’s representation of people with depression. Despite Bello’s efforts, Sophie is a one-dimensional, self-pitying burden on everyone around her. The film’s eventual conclusion cements this stigmatising view in horrifically insensitive fashion. As a film about depression, Lights Out fumbles around in the darkness.

In cinemas August 19