At one point or another, I’d imagine all of us have dreamt of fame and fortune. When you’re a kid, innocence allows you to picture the glamor, the adoration, the fancy food and gleaming mansion with a pool. Then reality sets in. You realize that not only is there a one in a billion chance of that dream coming true…it also comes with a massive cost. To achieve that level of success, you must make certain sacrifices. And for those outside of the glitzy life? Some are willing to do anything just to be in the inner circle. Having just played at Fantasia, writer/director Alex Russell’s Lurker peeks around the corner at the toxic relationship that exists between artists and their fans.

We meet Matthew (Théodore Pellerin), a clothing store employee with a love of music. When up and coming musician Oliver (Archie Madekwe) enters the shop, the two hit it off and the rising star invites Matthew to his show that night. Before he knows it, he has become part of Oliver’s circle. Glitz. Glamour. Girls. It’s a dream come true. Until Matthew’s position is threatened, and he realizes he’ll do whatever it takes to remain in the presence of Oliver.

​Russell doesn’t take long to convince us that Matthew is the type willing to shame himself just to be around a star. In an early moment, he enters Oliver’s dressing room, where he finds the singer and his entourage all sitting with their pants down. They order Matthew to do the same, and after some palm-sweating, he does. Seemingly innocent, the action acts as an unsettling precursor for what’s to come. If he’s prepared to drop his pants just because Oliver tells him to, what else will Matthew do? The awkward embarrassment sets the tone for Lurker, representative of tense notes permeating throughout. Nearly every second of Russell’s film is designed to make the audience uncomfortable.

Pellerin enhances that discomfort in a subtle performance that shows restraint and careful calculation. As it should, because that’s the name of the game for being in Oliver’s circle. The actor portrays Matthew as a quiet observer, searching for any and every opportunity to impress his new “friend”. He might as well leave a trail of ice behind him with how cold he is. I’m not sure there’s even a single scene where Matthew raises his voice. It would be too easy to say he’s a snake. He’s more like a chameleon. He says what Oliver wants to hear. Does what Oliver wants him to do. Matthew is just a name. The man who carries it is willing to be whoever he must be to stay in the basking glow of Oliver’s fame. Russell and cinematographer Pat Scola force us into the shoes of this obsessive fan with a camera that creeps and lingers. In Lurker, we become Matthew, and that’s as unsettling as it sounds.

For as much build-up as Lurker sets down, where it ultimately goes may leave some as disappointed as a crowd that’s just learned the concert has been cancelled. That’s because the horror is less in what Matthew does, and more in what Russell’s film says about fame. See, Oliver isn’t necessarily an innocent victim here. He treats Matthew—and everyone around him—like tools. Useful until they’re not. One moment, he’s calling Matthew his best friend, the next, ditching him like he’s nothing. Russell implies a sort of necessity to Matthew for Oliver, as if to say the musician needs the pain and fear that his most obsessive fans inspire in him to create. To thrive. To feel. Perhaps that’s true of Oliver. Perhaps not. Either way, Lurker sizzles and steams for much of its run time, only to peter out in an inconsequential conclusion that carries some honestly about fame but offers little satisfaction. The outcomes of Lurker never quite match the tension that precedes them.

Questionable as Lurker’s third act is, Russell nevertheless displays an innate ability for crafting tension that plays the nerves like a violin. It’s a film that slithers under the skin like a cold worm, creeping and crawling in directions that we don’t always see coming. I can’t say I’m a fan of its shoulder shrug of an approach to the idea that fame is toxic and entails a whole lot of backstabbing. But it plays those notes effectively. Lurker drags us down into the awkward, creepy, gross nature of what some are willing to do for success, fans and artists alike. And that, my friends, is an uncomfortable place to be.

Lurker creeps into theaters on August 20th from MUBI. 

By Matt Konopka

Back in 2023, director Kurtis David Harder dropped audiences into the world of Influencer, in which a psychopathic killer known only as CW (Cassandra Naud) murders popular influencers and steals their online identities. Now, Harder, Naud and co-star Emily Tennant (Madison) have returned with Influencers—which just played at the Fantasia Film Festival—a sequel that takes a step down from the first film but is nevertheless bristling with the tension and standout performances that earned the original a like and subscribe from audiences.

A year after the events of Influencer, CW has managed to escape the island where she was left for dead and has made her way to Indonesia. Madison, meanwhile, is suspected by the world at large to have committed the murders CW is responsible for, though without evidence, the charges against her have been dropped. Still, she now leads a quiet, offline life, attempting to fade from the public eye, death threats following her wherever she goes. That all changes when Madison discovers that CW is still alive and decides to track her down, intent on ending her reign of terror for good.

​Influencers starts strong, reminding audiences that CW is someone not to be trifled with. We discover that she’s now dating a woman she met in France, Diane (Lisa Delamar). The two are celebrating their anniversary at a hotel on vacation, where they encounter influencer, Charlotte (Georgina Campbell). The pretty poster takes an immediate liking to Diane, sending CW into a fit of jealousy and igniting her murderous tendencies. This is all just the first segment, finishing on a brutal title drop that’ll have fans giddy for what’s to come. And in nearly every respect, Harder’s sequel delivers on what returning viewers want. The scenic locations are breathtaking. The soundtrack pulses with banger after banger. The atmosphere is tense. But where Influencer felt like a fresh take on poster culture, the sequel struggles to expand the foundation set down by the first film.

Aside from a chilling performance by Naud, what made Influencer so unsettling was in how it opened eyes to just how easy it could be to steal someone’s online identity. To the credit of Influencers, the film seems to understand it can’t pull off the same trick twice and instead turns its observations to the online tracking of individuals, with both Madison and CW using their social media skills to hunt each other. This leads to an engaging cyber game of cat and mouse yet doesn’t have anywhere close to the same eerie effect. Also different this time is who finds themselves in the crosshairs of CW. While Influencer involved your average beauty product queens and the sadness that exists in a life lived online, Influencers focuses on CW mixed up with a “manosphere” dude-bro named Jacob (Jonathan Whitesell), spouting his toxic “men need to become men again” bullshit. And while it’s fun to watch her manipulate this complete and utter moron to get his help in capturing Madison, it also means there’s a lot less tension in the possibility of her being discovered. The premise just isn’t as gripping this time around.

Harder’s sequel is much murkier than the original when it comes to CW and the film’s ultimate intent. Through Diane, Influencers attempts to empathize with CW in a way that, whether it’s warranted or even necessary, becomes forgotten in the hunt of the second half and has little impact. Curious as well is the left turn in the portrayal of influencers. Whereas the first film emphasized a certain loneliness in the profession that goes unseen, this sequel seems more of a furious reaction to the toxicity that has become more apparent within the industry. Between Charlotte’s rude crashing of CW’s anniversary, podcasters who humiliate Madison and a handful of Joe Rogan types, the film appears to ask if the killer is justified in her belief that influencers are destroying the next generation. Now, I don’t think the intent is to say that CW is right, but it does mean that the stakes of the situation feel far less dire when we as the audience are only waiting for these characters to get their comeuppance…especially with Madison once again disappearing for a good chunk, pushed to the side to allow more time for the film’s villain to shine.

​That said, Naud is brilliant as CW, and with the Influencer films, she makes a strong case for more roles that put her front and center. So, if you’re coming to this sequel to experience more of the magnetic chills that she brings to the screen, you won’t be disappointed. Influencers isn’t a bad follow-up by any means. It’s tense. It’s fun. It has its fair share of satisfying moments. But it comes off as a sequel unsure of where to go with this franchise, making for an entertaining yet underwhelming follow.

By Matt Konopka

​I’ve been with my wife for about fifteen years now. We’ve lived together for fourteen of those years. It’s difficult to imagine life without her. In fact, it’s downright terrifying. What would I do? Who would I be? Would I even know how to exist on my own anymore? These are fears that I imagine many of you who are in a long-term relationship have faced, anxieties that writer/director Michael Shanks taps into with his feature debut, Together, a wild body horror film that takes co-dependency to its furthest extremes.

Wannabe rockstar, Tim (Dave Franco) and sensible teacher, Millie (Alison Brie), have been together for years. But with the recent death of Tim’s parents, he has grown distant. Cold. Afraid of commitment. At this pivotal point in their relationship, Millie has taken a teaching job that will move them out of the city and into the woods, away from the dreams of being a musician that Tim still believes possible. While out on a hike at their new place, the pair find themselves in a strange cavern, where they unknowingly become infected with something that quite literally intends on bringing them closer together, body, mind and all.

​Together may remind some audiences of last year’s The Substance for the simple reason that it isn’t afraid to get really fucking weird. It’s a fearless debut from Shanks with a concept that, on its face, is bizarre, and the filmmaker leans as far as possible into the inherently strange, silly nature of it. Infected by something that has created a forceful magnetism between Tim and Millie with the intention of fusing their bodies together, viewers are subjected to one outrageous moment after another. Hair is sucked into throats like a vacuum. The couple flails wildly as they’re dragged towards each other like puppets on strings, kicking and screaming. One sex scene becomes this film’s version of a finger-trap. There is no idea too weird for Together.

Shanks’ first feature is like Brian Yuzna's Society by way of the terror of co-dependency taken to its most extreme. Having witnessed the deeply unsettling way in which his mother reacted to the death of his father, Tim’s parents have inadvertently instilled in him a deep-rooted fear of taking the next step in commitment to Millie (i.e., marriage). Through shocking imagery and a dread-choked atmosphere, Together lives in the anxieties of a long-term relationship. Anyone who has been with someone for over a decade has at one point or another asked themselves the scary questions of could I survive without this person? Am I in love or am I merely comfortable? Do they still love me? Amidst all the absurdity and the slimy effects, there’s a relatable honesty to the film that manages to (mostly) keep it feeling genuine, despite the utter madness.

This story is one that is so intimate, so bold, so strange, that you have to imagine the cast and crew had at least a few days where they wondered, what the hell are we doing? That’s why, even though Shanks proves himself a talented director, it’s Franco and Brie (each a producer on the film, as well), that make it work. A real-life couple themselves for the last decade-plus, the pair bring a necessary chemistry to the characters that Together would fall flat on its face without. There’s a trust to their performances that invites the audience into this troubled relationship where questions of love vs. complacency are forced out into the open, kicking and screaming. Both Brie and Franco are as raw as you’ve ever seen them, sinking fully into the flesh of their characters in daring roles that are a far cry from the comedic performances each is most associated with. Their comedy chops certainly help though, adding a few much-needed laughs of relief. It shouldn’t be a surprise considering the cast, but Together knows the concept is silly, managing to balance the humor and scares without overstepping in either direction…for the most part. The one negative here is that, though this is a film about co-dependency, the audience isn’t given much to chew on from Millie’s end, leaving her character somewhat thin compared to Tim by not exploring her own reliance on her “boy partner” much deeper than surface level frustrations.

Like Adam from May, Together is a film for those of us sickos who “like weird”. For some of you, you may even find yourself saying, “not that weird”. Though a strong debut, Shanks’ film does become a bit tangled, shall we say, towards the end, tossing in unnecessary ideas that somewhat cheapen an otherwise effective exploration of co-dependent anxieties and fears of commitment. For a film about co-dependency, I would’ve liked to have seen an equal amount of meat put on the bone of Brie’s character, but the brave performances from Franco and herself more than make up for a good chunk of the script’s inefficiencies. Weird, wild and oddly beautiful, Together is the sort of film perfect for a midnight crowd, melding unsettling body horror and awkward humor into a tale that gives new meaning to the phrase, “we complete each other”.

Together arrives in theaters on July 30th from Neon. 

By Matt Konopka

When we lose a parent, I think it’s like waking up on a strange, dark road. No idea where we are. No clue where we’re going. Lost, and alone, and afraid. That is how such a feeling is presented in writer/director Brock Bodell’s feature debut, Hellcat (which played at this year’s Fantasia Film Festival), a tense road trip horror film that doesn’t quite bite as deeply into the themes it presents as intended but still manages to find heart and healing on a lonely highway to hell.

Lena (Dakota Gorman) awakens inside a camper pulled by a truck, without any memory of how she got there. Her only connection to the outside world is the voice of Clive (Todd Terry), the man who has kidnapped her. He informs her that she has been infected with a terrible disease, and that he must get her to a specialist before she harms herself, or others. Lena isn’t sure what to believe, but with the wound on her arm growing worse and the clock ticking, she knows her only way out is to fight.

​Hellcat is the rare road trip horror film that also somehow keeps the story (mostly) contained, in this case to the trailer Lena has woken in. All she can remember is that she was camping on her own, looking to reclaim herself after the recent death of her mother. Like the best chamber horror films (Saw, Cube, you name it), there’s an immediate sense of claustrophobic terror that fills the tiny camper. Akin to the suffocating sensation that some of us experience when someone we love suddenly dies. You can’t breathe. You’re scared. Angry. You want to scream. Lash out. Tear apart the environment around you as if hoping to uncover answers that never come. All things that Lena does. All as pointless in the face of death as they always are. Clive has no answers for her. She’s as in the dark as we are, and Bodell keeps it that way for as long as possible, drawing out a mystery that infects the audience with a creeping suspense as we piece together the truth.

On its tightly wound surface, Hellcat is part thriller, part body horror, and a few other elements I won’t dare spoil here. Though the body horror comes off as rather tame—there’s very little nastiness to be found in the film outside of clear signs that Lena’s infection is crawling up her arm—Bodell succeeds at getting his claws in and gripping the viewer. Working underneath all of that though is a strong story of a woman who has plunged into an existence that no longer makes sense to her with the passing of her mother. The filmmaker accentuates this confusion by incorporating hallucinogenic imagery like blood rushing through veins, quick flashes of how Lena got her wound, memories of mom, all swirling together like an internal storm sending shocks through this woman who has lost her grasp on life. My favorite shot of the bounty of gorgeous imagery captured by cinematographer Andrew Duensing comes as Lena peers into a locked room of the trailer, the camera pulling further and further back until the viewing port is merely a speck in blackness, emphasizing her utter despair and loneliness.

Turns out, Lena isn’t the only lonely character. Shot to appear as if he is speaking to her through the mounted head of a wolf in the camper, Clive paints himself early on as a good man, an honest man, a hunter…one who has lost his family, as well. Through a heartfelt performance from Terry, we, like Lena, aren’t sure what to think of this person who has kidnapped her. Bodell explores a sort of father-daughter relationship between the two, as we learn Lena’s own father may be struggling with how to approach her after mom’s death. Details are vague and there isn’t quite enough meat on the bone to make the intended impact, but Bodell still succeeds—thanks in part to exceptional performances from Gorman and Terry—in crafting a mutual understanding between these two individuals set on a path they don’t know how to get off. In that same realm, the filmmaker also touches on concepts of misinformation and how the loneliest of us are more susceptible to it, if only to share an ideological connection with someone out there that no one else understands.

​A ticking clock mystery contained within the walls of a cheap camper, Hellcat marks an intriguing debut from Bodell that may fall short in some areas but succeeds in telling a tense tale about a woman’s reclamation of her autonomy that reaches beyond the horror and into the souls of its characters. It’s a surprisingly beautiful reminder that nothing in this world is black and white. That people are more complex than they first appear. That life and death are mysteries that don’t often come with easy answers, but that doesn’t mean we have to fear them. Whether or not you manage to figure out where the road is leading in Hellcat, this is a journey worth taking for anyone who may be looking up at the moon on a starry night, wondering where to go next.

By Matt Konopka

We have just over one week to go until another edition of one of my favorite film festivals kicks off, Fantasia 2025! Every year, genre filmmakers are gathered to Montréal from all over the world to deliver a wide-range of exciting new films, and there are quite a few this time around to get fans excited. This year's fest features everything from new films by established directors such as Ari Aster with Eddington, to sophomore features from emerging talents like Yûta Shimotsu's (Best Wishes to All) New Group. Filmmakers like The Adams Family and Alice Maio Mackay return with Mother of Flies and The Serpent's Skin, respectively. Cassandra Naud reprises her villainous role from Kurtis David Harder's Influencer in the sequel, Influencers. Daughter of George A. Romero, Tina Romero, continues her father's legacy of the undead with her feature debut, Queens of the Dead. The buzzy hit Good Boy, a ghost story from the point of view of a dog, also provides a drool-worthy treat. And that's just the tip of the iceberg for what should be another great lineup. 

Below are just five of the films I'm most excited for in this year's fest. Click here to see the full schedule/get tickets, and don't miss another excellent year of Fantasia, running from July 17th-August 3rd, 2025!

Eddington

Directed by: Ari Aster

In May of 2020, a standoff between a small-town sheriff (Joaquin Phoenix) and mayor (Pedro Pascal) sparks a powder keg as neighbor is pitted against neighbor in Eddington, New Mexico. 

Mother of Flies

Directed by: The Adams Family

When a young woman faces a deadly diagnosis, she seeks dark magic from a witch in the woods... but every cure has costs.

New Group

Directed by: Yuta Shimotsu

High school student Ai (Anna Yamada) sees her world collapse when a strange cult-like mentality gradually turns people around her into mindless followers who can transform simple gymnastics routines into a nightmarish dance of death.

Queens of the Dead

Directed by: Tina Romero
​
A zombie apocalypse breaks out in Brooklyn on the night of a giant warehouse party. Now, an eclectic group of drag queens, club kids, and frenemies must use their unique skills to fight against the undead.

The Serpent's Skin

Directed by: Alice Maio Mackay

A supernatural romance that follows Anna, a young woman who leaves her transphobic small-town, and develops a romance with a tattoo artist who she shares a supernatural connection. After accidentally unleashing a demon, they must work together to defeat the evil that’s killing their friends. 

By Matt Konopka

​At a certain point in life, most of us have had the “roommate experience”. That person who never does their dishes. Who plays loud music in the middle of the night. Or who unloads an entire can of Raid into the silverware drawer after seeing a cockroach but doesn’t bother to tell you…or wash said silverware (an actual thing that happened to me, but luckily, I found out before using the poisoned utensils). Everyone has their weird habits—yes, even you—and no matter how ordinary someone may seem, those habits tend to reveal themselves in some pretty disruptive ways once you’re living with another person. On the rare occasion, they can even be terrifying. With his energetic feature debut, Alan at Night, writer/director Jesse Swenson explores social dynamics and the terror of living with a stranger whose true colors come out once the sun sets.

Jay (Joseph Basquill), along with his best friend, Camillo (Jorge Felipe Guevara), runs Rad Apples Production, your average prank channel where the two film stunts like leaving what appears to be a used condom in the bathroom or eating an entire block of cheese. You know, real titillating, definitely not childish stuff. With Camillo having to move out and Jay one month from moving in with his girlfriend, Sam (Hadley Durkee), he puts out a call for a roommate to fill the rest of December. That call is answered by Alan (Chris Ash), a shy, Alabamian herpetologist who is about as straight arrow as they come…the opposite of Jay. What begins as awkward takes a dark turn though once Jay discovers that Alan has some strange nightly habits and decides to record the events for his channel.

​By this point, the horror genre has produced a heavy dose of Youtuber fare, perhaps most notably of late, Deadstream. All tend to operate around similar themes, often exploring the morality—or lack thereof—of “content creators” who subject others to either physical or emotional harm for clicks. Alan at Night follows the same old path, not all that interested in going much deeper than to say recording others without their knowledge is not okay. Despicable, even. The unintentional consequence of shows like Jackass that blew up in the early aughts is that every obnoxious kid with a camera now wants to be the next Johnny Knoxville. That’s all well and good—we all do dumb things when we’re young—but it crosses a line when Youtubers like Jay and Camillo exploit unwilling participants…especially in the case of hiding cameras around the apartment to film Alan. On one hand, these guys are just stupid kids, but their easy slip into exploiting Alan speaks to a much greater issue of how people lose their humanity once a camera is pointed at them. 

Alan’s odd habits begin with a snore that hardly sounds human and has cost Jay a few nights of sleep. This eventually leads to the Rad Apples team discovering that Alan’s eyes take on a strange hue while he’s dozing. Camillo decides to post their video of a slumbering Alan without his knowledge, and the two are down the moral rabbit hole. Soon, Alan displays other weird behaviors such as sleepwalking, eating jars of mayonnaise and, well, you’ll just have to see for yourself. Jay and Camillo film it all. Both Basquill and Guevara bring an infectious energy to the screen, their lighthearted humor almost making it seem as if what they’re doing is acceptable. Necessary, even. And that’s the scary part. Sure, Alan provides a good shock here and there, but more than anything, he’s a decent—albeit awkward—guy who clearly doesn’t have an easy time making friends. What is exaggerated here are just metaphorical horrors meant to represent much more common roommate habits that, while annoying, don’t justify the dehumanization of the person. What Alan is or isn’t doesn’t really matter in the end, because he’s ultimately a reflection of what Jay and Camillo have made him out to be…a guinea pig for their amusement.

Through fun animations depicting stories like Alan hunting for a certain reptile and the quirkiness of the main characters, Swenson disarms the audience by making us feel as if we are in on the joke. The same way that any content creator like Jay and Camillo exploiting someone else would. We laugh, and we’re fascinated by what Alan may or may not do next, so we go along for the ride. We accept it. We give it reason to exist. While perhaps not the intention, Alan at Night makes me think of the scores of kids who are a little off, recorded without their knowledge, embarrassing videos posted online for all to see. It’s cruel. It’s humiliating. And it points to something many of us don’t want to admit. That someone like Alan may be strange, or creepy, or off-putting, but it’s Jay and Camillo who are the true creeps for exploiting him. It’s us, the audience, who are the strange ones for giving real-life stunts like this our amused attention.

​Alan at Night is a horror comedy with a sci-fi bend that, for the most part, deals in tame scares and awkward humor, but it takes on a disturbing sense once you consider what we, the audience, are participating in. Though that’s nothing new to this sub-genre, Swenson’s debut nevertheless entertains with an effectively creepy take on an otherwise by the numbers premise.

By Matt Konopka

There are many reasons that some join a cult. Loneliness. Uncertainty. The yearning for acceptance. In some ways, it isn’t all that different from what drives us into a relationship. What is being with someone if not a search for a partner who understands us, believes in us, loves us for who we are? That’s what makes a cult dangerous; What makes a relationship dangerous. Because we want to believe so badly in a person or community that opens their arms to us, so much so that we can become blind to the red flags pinned to their clothing. With her emotionally charged sophomore feature, Abigail Before Beatrice, writer/director Cassie Keet observes the similarities between a cult and a toxic partner through that murky lens that makes the truth so difficult for some of us to see. 

​Some years after cult leader, Grayson (Shayn Herndon), is sent to prison for murder, one of his followers, Beatrice (Olivia Taylor Dudley), is attempting to get on with her life. She works from home as a telemarketer and has started to form a romance with the man who now lives in her old home after he catches her picking the strawberries that she herself planted. Try as she might, though, Beatrice can’t move on. She believes Grayson is the god he claims to be, a vessel for “the source” that will free her from her pain. And she yearns for his return. So, when fellow cult survivor, Abigail (Riley Dandy), reaches out with a perspective opposite of Beatrice, the young woman is sent into an internal clash, caught between what she believes to be true, and the truth others are pushing her to face.

When we think of cults, we think of the Manson family. Jim Jones and his poisonous Kool-Aid. We think of films like Ti West’s The Sacrament, the Satanists of Rosemary’s Baby, maybe even the doomed souls of the Dream Warriors rip-off, Bad Dreams. Groups that are recognizably cruel, sinister, or pure evil (if you believe in such a thing). But that’s only half of the picture. Because most of the time, these communities don’t appear so hostile…at least not at first glance. As we watch with the women taken in by Grayson through various flashbacks, his is a small community that seems kind. Welcoming. That makes these women feel more loved and accepted than they did in their lives outside of the commune…especially thanks to Grayson’s disarming charm. Through a slow but methodical pace, we grow to understand Beatrice and Abigail, what made them join, what made them stay…how easy it might be for the same to happen to us.

​And then Grayson’s belt shows up on the front door one morning, and the audience is made to see the horror of his so-called “source”.

Abigail Before Beatrice is most interested in the drama of a situation that tears at the audiences’ hearts with an immense sadness that rarely eases up. Still, there is a certain horror to this story of one woman’s difficulty in accepting the troubling reality that she is a victim. We watch as Abigail and others attempt to guide Beatrice into seeing Grayson for what he really is, often through tear-streaked breakdowns and shocking denials. Dudley—who horror fans may know as Motherface from Dude Bro Party Massacre III—delivers an attention-grabbing performance that should put her on everyone’s radar. She is simply astounding as Beatrice, bringing to life this shy, yearning yet delusional woman who is as warm as she is upsetting in her refusal to view her time with the cult as anything other than magical. She’s a character who elicits fear for and fear of her. How horrifying, to watch this woman take abuse from a man and believe she deserves it. How awfully honest to what so many women experience.

Of course, films about the manipulation of cults are a dime a dozen, and Grayson’s own isn’t exactly steeped in originality. But by tying the cult to themes of abusive men and toxic relationships through two very different perspectives of reality in Beatrice and Abigail, Keet’s story stands out as one that is all too painfully relatable. Not just intentionally through the lens of an abusive relationship that most of us have either witnessed or experienced ourselves, but in a perhaps unintentional sense, as well. These days, all of us exist in separate realities thanks to an endless stream of misinformation, contradictory news sources, and politicians who, to the shock of many of us, manage to charm their voters into a cult-like following despite the rest of us seeing them for the danger they are. Abigail Before Beatrice taps into a feeling of despair and horror that many are feeling right now as we work to pull others from the lies they’re living in, often to no avail.

All of that to say that Abigail Before Beatrice achieves exceptional success in expressing the pain of a world where we live in different realities, and offers understanding to how a loved one could fall into a trap of abuse and falsehoods in a way that reaches deeper levels than many cult films do. Keet’s latest may feel like something you’ve seen before, and it stumbles a touch in the end, but it’s nevertheless a strong sophomore feature from the director full of engaging performances that reaches into a profound well of pain and manipulation that so many struggle to understand.

By Matt Konopka

(Note: While I believe it's best to go into every film blind, that is especially the case with 'Old Wounds', a twisty tale better experienced without any expectations. I haven't included anything here that I would deem a spoiler--I would never--but that being said, continue reading at your own peril)

People like to say that the past is the past, as if it’s this long dead thing that lived and breathed once but can no longer hurt us. That isn’t true though, is it? Because while time moves forward, the aches and pains of what we experience stay with us. Sure, they dull over time, becoming less sharp, less agonizing, yet like a scab over a cut, these old wounds can be torn open at any time, reveal themselves to the people we love in ways we don’t intend, and that scares the hell out of us. Director Steven Hugh Nelson’s found footage feature debut, Old Wounds, wraps audiences in the familiar anxiety of that fear, at times suffocating in the way it squeezes out tense drops of sweat, while also managing to be a warm embrace that highlights the irony that opening past scars can sometimes be the most healing of all.

Budding filmmaker Steve (Nelson) and his girlfriend, Ashley (Chelsey Grant), are on the way to her parent’s house for the weekend, where she will be introducing her boyfriend to the family. Head over heels for one another, the two share a nervous excitement of bringing Steve into the fold. When they arrive at Ashley’s childhood home in the middle of nowhere, Steve learns that mom and dad won’t arrive until the morning. No matter. More time for the two of them to spend alone. That is, until an old friend of Steve’s, Graham (Brian Villalobos), shows up in the middle of the night, uninvited and wanting to reconnect, leading to a tense triangle of secrets and old wounds sliced back open.

​Co-written by Nelson, Grant and Villalobos, there’s a natural chemistry between the three that emanates from the screen like a soft glow. Though we get the sense that Steve and Ashley have only been dating for a little while, it feels like they’ve been together for a lifetime, their inside jokes and adoring smiles flush with sincerity. Most of us would probably call the cops if a childhood friend showed up unannounced at a weekend getaway—in the middle of the night, no less—but Steve’s invitation to Graham to stay also comes off as genuine, as does the pair’s immediate fall back into their friendship, despite Graham’s exceedingly odd behavior. Both wanted to be filmmakers when they grew up, and each has a camera attached to their hands, recording anything and everything they do. The connection the cast all share in real life raises a powerful spirit of indie filmmaking that goes beyond the film itself, laying out for viewers why professionals say to make movies with your friends. The payoff of a team that knows and supports each other is up there on the screen, elevating Old Wounds to something a little more special than your average found footage horror movie.

As for the horror, Old Wounds is light on scares, instead emphasizing the tension created by secrets between the characters and Ashley’s understandable anger at Graham’s presence…a frustration that constantly puts Steve in the middle of a situation no one would envy him for. Moments like a guy who looks like sack head Jason seen in the woods during a hike and strange objects left on the porch of Ashley’s home remind the audience that a separate terror is creeping in, but these things are mostly pushed to the side as the trio contends with their own insecurities. Nelson intends to keep you guessing and make you sweat as the friction of Graham’s presence creates a static threatening to evolve into a full-blown electrical storm. From the moment he arrives at the isolated house, we begin to understand that nothing is quite as it seems, asking questions like where is Ashley’s family? What really brought Graham back into Steve’s life? And does Steve have his own secrets that he’s hiding? Bubbling enquiries that grow hotter throughout the film’s almost two-hour runtime, a gradual pace that may seem slow to some, but uses that time to develop these characters in such a way that we’re able to forgive some of their more head-scratching choices.

Looked at as purely a horror film, Old Wounds will perhaps underwhelm most fans expecting the scares and shocks that the premise teases. But the goal of the filmmakers isn’t to leave you with nightmares showing up at your door like Graham in the middle of the night. The fear here is the terror of worrying we will destroy the relationships with people we love. That we’ll screw it up somehow. That the wounds of our past make us broken and irreparable. Anyone who has ever felt like that will see themselves in these characters. You’ll recognize the anxiety, the terror, the overwhelming heartache in the (false) belief that you deserve to be alone. But you’ll also feel something else you might not expect from this found footage horror film. Understanding. Comfort. An emotional hug. Because Old Wounds isn’t just the horror of meeting a significant other’s family times eleven…at certain moments, it’s like hanging out with good friends. It’s laughter. It’s connection, and all the love, joy, fear and nervousness that comes with that.

​Every film is, in a way, more for the artists that make them than the audience, Old Wounds more so than others. This is a passion project that plays a little like a home movie that the filmmakers have invited us into to share with them. I mean that as a compliment. There’s a homeliness to this film, a certain intimacy that allows for a coziness despite the lingering tension throughout. Sure, it’s light on scares, but Nelson’s debut offers what any good horror film does…a healing experience through the fears we all share.

By Matt Konopka

Back in 2022, brothers Danny and Michael Philippou smashed onto the scene with their highly unique take on possession horror, Talk to Me. Popular Youtubers at the time, the frightening film instantly established the pair as a duo to be reckoned with. This month, they return with Bring Her Back, another exploration of grief and trauma that deals with the supernatural. But if you thought Talk to Me packed an emotional punch, just wait until you see Bring Her Back. The directors themselves have described the former as their “party” film, dubbing the latter more of a “slow burn”, an intense experience that I’d argue reaches even deeper levels of pain and sadness than their first feature…and that’s saying something.

After losing their father, Andy (Billy Barratt) and his younger sister, Piper (Sora Wong) enter the foster care system. They are soon taken in by Laura (Sally Hawkins), an eccentric counselor who also lost someone close to her, her daughter. To the surprise of the kids, Laura has another child at home named Oliver (Jonah Wren Phillips). Mute and a bit weird, there’s something off about the boy that Andy can’t quite put his finger on. It doesn’t matter though, because in three months, Andy will be old enough to become Piper’s legal guardian and they can move out on their own. Their new foster mother has other plans, though, driven by a grief that has transformed her into her most monstrous self.

​Two films in, and the Philippou brothers have begun to build a brand for themselves as filmmakers unafraid to dive into the deep well of grief through horror. That isn’t anything new, but what sets these two and their work apart from others is their honest approach. Bad things happen to good people (and vice versa). The world will kick you when you’re down, whether you deserve it or not. Horror doesn’t care about what’s taboo…it happens to kids, too. The Philippou’s tend not to indulge in tropes or force outcomes for a happy ending. They paint an unflinching picture of grief, what it does to us, the terror it enacts. Life isn’t fair, and Bring Her Back never shies away from that difficult truth.

Of course, authentic writing from Danny Philippou and co-writer Bill Hinzman only goes so far without a cast that can translate it to the screen. Luckily for the directors, their young performers and Sally Hawkins are up to the task. Struggling with visions of his father, Barratt exudes through Andy an engaging desperation to prove that he can take care of his little sister. Sora Wong—in her debut performance, no less—brings a yearning to be accepted, as a near-blind girl who can only make out shapes. They have been through a lot together, expressed through a sweet sibling chemistry that cements a reliance between each other. Laura, the type of woman who wears glittery nail polish and a purple sweater to a funeral, intends to break that trust. She is the most fascinating type of antagonist, a person who perhaps used to be good, but has been twisted into something else over the loss of her daughter. The camera refuses to look away as she does things like convince Andy that he’s wetting the bed to deepen his psychological torment, gradually escalating into more brutal tactics. The horror of Bring Her Back lies less with the supernatural and more with the all-too-real human monster that grief can turn us into.

If you’ve seen Talk to Me, then you’re aware just how willing the Philippou brothers are to cross a line or three. Once again, the filmmakers ask, what line? This is a film that deals with child abuse. With an anger towards death. With the all-consuming nature of grief, expressed through Oliver and the boy’s insatiable hunger that leads to some rather unsavory eating habits. As they did with Talk to Me, the filmmakers manage to take a concept that feels familiar and introduce fresh elements that make what’s old feel new and exciting and deeply unsettling. There are moments in the film that I know will be seared into my mind forever, occurrences so gruesome you may experience phantom pains while watching. Bring Her Back is a film that hurts.

Yet for all the horror, the hurt, the bloodshed, I cannot stress enough just how sad Bring Her Back is. It’s a film that asks you to sympathize with all forms of grief—even the monsters it creates—making for a watch that tears at the heart strings. It doesn’t pluck those things. It rips and it bites and it chews on them. Think of grief like an open wound that the filmmakers stick a knife into and twist around. It sounds unpleasant, and it is, but it’s also a profound experience that approaches tragedy in a more affecting, honest way than most of the horror films that have released in the last decade attempting to do the same.

Despite their thematic similarities, do not go into the Philippou’s latest expecting Talk to Me. The filmmakers are right when they describe the latter as having more of a party energy compared to the former’s much grimmer take on a similar subject. This isn’t for the faint of heart, and it certainly isn’t for anyone expecting a “fun” horror film. Bring Her Back isn’t just the feel bad film of the year. It’s the feel bad film of this decade. When it comes to telling authentic, grief-ridden horror stories, the Philippou brothers are one (two?) of a kind.

Bring Her Back arrives in theaters May 30th from A24. 

By Matt Konopka

It has been over a decade since Final Destination V burst into theaters like a ruptured blood bubble. To say fans of the franchise have been waiting for what feels like forever for Death’s triumphant return would be an understatement. With the sixth film, Final Destination: Bloodlines, arriving this week, that wait is finally over. Rejoice, FD lovers, because it was worth it. The latest installment from directors Zach Lipovsky and Adam B. Stein (the team behind 2018’s Freaks) is everything a Final Destination film should be. It’s gory. It’s shocking. And most importantly, it’s fun, with a few new twists on Death’s game that offer up some exciting opportunities for the future.

College student Stefani (Kaitlyn Santa Juana) has seen her grades plummet as the result of a recurring nightmare that is destroying her life. In it, she is transported back decades in time to witness the death of her (still living) grandmother, Iris (Brec Bassinger) and hundreds of others during a bizarre catastrophe of the opening night at a towering restaurant. Unsure of what it all means, she returns home to track down her reclusive relative, igniting a long-gestating plan by Death to take the lives of her family and finish what it started on that night so long ago.

​As you can imagine, things are a little different this time around. The deadly “event” takes place in the past, not the present. Death is after a family, not a random collection of survivors. Those are just a couple of the new twists that writers Guy Busick (Ready or Not, Abigail) and Lori Evans Taylor (Cellar Door) inject into the franchise to give it new life. It’s risky to change what has been a successful formula. Just ask Friday the 13th: A New Beginning (a film I like, for the record). But in this case, it works. That’s because six films in, Final Destination understands its fans well. Their wants. Their expectations. And the filmmakers use that knowledge to subvert what’s expected in ways that feel fresh and exciting rather than disappointing. Just when you think you’re having a premonition of what comes next, Bloodlines cackles in your face like that screaming skull on the poster. This sequel is full of surprises.

Part of Bloodlines’ formula re-invention comes in the guise of the family element. Estranged from her mother, Darlene (Rya Kihlstedt) and on her way to abandoning the rest of her family just like mom did, Stefani finds herself in a desperate predicament of trying to reform the relationships that she’s let deteriorate while at the same time pushing her brother and cousins away by becoming overprotective. Rather than explore survivor’s guilt as previous entries have done, Lipovsky and Stein’s film instead peers into a family torn apart by generational trauma passed down by their grandmother. There’s even a bit of Halloween’s (2018) Laurie Strode in her, with Grandma Iris (Gabrielle Rose) holed up in a fortified home, wary of Death’s every move (only in this case, the filmmakers recognize the absurdity of that and play up the humor to great effect). It’s an element that creates an emotional anchor and raises the stakes a notch above what we’re used to with these films. These aren’t strangers who barely know each other. They’re a family fighting to save one another from a grief that has plagued them for decades. That bond in the face of Death and a theme around the cost of living in fear assure Bloodlines has moments that hit like a logging truck.

At this point, you know what you’re getting with a Final Destination film. Bloodlines neither exceeds nor disappoints on that front. It delivers on the elaborate and surprising Rube Goldberg setups that Death sits in his office all day planning, a bottle of whiskey by his side and a pile of discarded plans filling the wastebasket. Bodies are prone to splattering like blood bombs. The characters all make cartoonishly stupid decisions. And you’ll likely leave with a new phobia or two. This sixth entry knows exactly what it is and leans all the way into the playful tone we’ve come to expect with these movies. Only Bloodlines is perhaps more mischievous than ever in how it toys with the audience, spewing plenty of self-referential humor without becoming eye-rolling. In that sense, it is the most “for the fans” of the bunch in the best way possible.

Of course, I must mention the late, great Tony Todd, who does make one last appearance in Bloodlines as the iconic harbinger, William Bludworth. Unlike other franchises that pull favorite characters back in for a cheap stunt, Todd’s cameo here is a warm tribute to the character, the fans and the actor himself. During my screening, the filmmakers informed us that Todd’s final words on screen are what he wanted to say to the fans, and let me tell you, it will leave a tear or two in your eyes. It’s a fond farewell to one of the most beloved actors the genre has ever seen, making this sequel a special entry for that alone.

With Bloodlines, Lipovsky and Stein express a deep love and adoration for the Final Destination films, delivering all the key elements that make the franchise tick, while offering up a few new tricks that’ll keep seasoned fans on their toes. I can’t say where it’ll ultimately rank in the franchise—The Final Destination is still bottom tier—but if you enjoy these movies, then you’re going to have a bloody good time with this wildly entertaining dance with Death.

Final Destination arrives in theaters on May 16th. 

By Matt Konopka