Tag Archives: Horror

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FANTASIA 2026: APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: INSECTASY (2026)

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DIRECTED BY: Angus Silver

FEATURING: Tirion Healy, Emmett Roiko, Jan Roeth, Eugenie Frances, Lyndall Huber

PLOT: Sadie becomes increasingly distracted from work and social life as her sexual fixation with insects blooms.

Still from Insectasy (2026)

WHY IT MIGHT JOIN THE APOCRYPHA: Sadie’s acts of orgasmus ex insertione vaginali gryllorum stand out from most other movies, and the ongoing dream sequences lend an otherworldly oddness to her unlikely onanism.

COMMENTS: Around the age of eight, I developed my first phobia. Beetles and other large, shelled bugs fascinated me as a boy, and I even had a small collection of specimens. Down by the the pool one day, I discovered a robust beetle, its body drawn together in the shape of a large almond. I brought it upstairs and inside to our pantry, where there was a convenient window sill for drying. Late at night, I entered the pantry to assemble ingredients for a peanut-butter sandwich. Flicking on the light, I espied thin, shadowy motions out of the corner of my eye. The beetle, which I laid on its back to dry, was not dead, and its upthrust legs were bending about in a most lively manner. I went howling to my folks’ room with the shout, “MOM, PAPA! THERE’S A BIG BIG BUG!”

I share this anecdote not in the pursuit of praise for sitting through Angus Silver’s erotic dramedy, Insectasy, but to land on a point: I eventually outgrew my phobia as I grew more comfortable with the billions of creepy-crawlies which inhabit our world. Sadie, a young medical receptionist, also must undergo growth and change. [Insert chrysalis metaphor here…] Of course, she begins her journey of bug-love much further down the pipeline: Insectasy‘s opening scene has her antsy to get through her boring day at work, practically bursting by the time she returns home, opens her breadbox, removes one of its jars containing a trapped insect, and then uses the small creature to aid in a frantic bout of masturbation.

This taboo behavior recurs often, and inevitably notches-up: larger bugs, deeper utilization (if you take my meaning), and so on, whilst simultaneously Sadie becomes decreasingly able to put up with the beige-bland life she otherwise finds herself trapped in. Her friend group is a hipster-flavor of tedious, the pet shop woman is both coy and snarky, and unfortunately the hunk who works nearby turns out to be something of an idiot once she actually gathers the nerve to interact with him. At one point she laments that she feels as if, in her misguided ambition to avoid pain, she has wrapped herself in a thin curtain until reaching a point where she cannot move.

Eventually her cryptic medieval-flavored fantasies—ramparts, gowns, faeries, a dying knight, all suffused in sickly bright sepiaesque glow—aren’t enough. What is she after? Can she discover who, exactly, she is? And more importantly, can she embrace this part of her self? This could have been just another self-discovery drama. Director Angus Silver and actress Tyrion Healey (who somehow manifests her Sadie character as both smoldering and staggeringly awkward) decide otherwise. This is an erotic portrait of a young woman who finds her place in the world through finding a place for her objects of desire, both within and without.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…Silver’s film is a portrait of errant eroticism all at once in cocoon-like repression, in ecstatic emergence and in free, if undercover, flight – and it is as fascinating and repellent as any glimpse into a person’s unchecked, innermost urges.” — Anton Bitel, Projected Figures (festival screening)

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FANTASIA 2026: APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: TEENAGE SEX AND DEATH AT CAMP MIASMA (2026)

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DIRECTED BY:

FEATURING: Hannah Einbinder, Gillian Anderson

PLOT: An up-and-coming filmmaker tasked with rebooting a horror franchise arranges a meeting with the reclusive star of the original film.

Still from Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma (2026)

WHY IT MIGHT JOIN THE APOCRYPHA: My weirdar blipped plenty during the screening, but it’s difficult to get a bead on specifics. There’s a great scene sexualizing the act of eating fried chicken with dipping sauce, so I’ll drop that here for now as a placeholder.

COMMENTS: From the beginning, Kris showcases her love of candy. For a planned overnight trip to middle of nowhere, she stocks up on a grocery bag full of the stuff. As much as she loves her candy, she loves Little Death more. No, not the French euphemism for an orgasm (we’ll get to that later), but the air-vent-headed, double-tipped harpoon-toting murderer from the Camp Miasma franchise that Kris grew up adoring and has been assigned to reboot. Re-watching a lesser entry in the series during a stopover before her inspirational awakening (in manner both creative, and orgasmic), we watch her watching whilst she gorges on an impressive amount of sweet cinema snacks.

Watching. That’s what Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma is about, I reckon, while delivering the dozens of trope-nods (mainly, sex -> murder, or at least death, if only a little one) necessary for a slasher dissection. The hotel movie-‘n’-candy orgy launches the long weekend with the enigmatic and aged Billy (Gillian Anderson, in a lovely Southern Gothic turn), star of the franchise’s opening installation. Kris grew up watching (young) Billy’s strange look of detachment during the film’s sex scene. We now watch Billy as she playfully parries with this talented but staggeringly insecure filmmaker before her. Kris watches Billy sketch violently during a 35mm screening of the old movie in her home. And watching both of them, it seems, is the mysterious Little Death.

(Apologies for this parenthetical paragraph—though I’m sure Kris would understand, as she’s constantly apologizing for parentheticalizing—but this review has so far turned out to be more about candy than I was anticipating. Several other elements worth noting briefly: old film merging with this new film as per the designs of Little Death in their lair beneath the lake; an absurd Zoom call with the studio that collapses into performance art; and the bloodiest sex scene I have yet seen.)

With nearly two-hours to unpack, Teenage Sex… has a great deal to chew over. On the other hand, Schoenbrun somehow turns the corner from meta-movie back into movie-movie: their film is about what we see. Schoenbrun’s tremendous love of movies channels the past, with its slasher classics; the present, with its journey of self-discovery and acceptance; and a hint at the future, through the coda in the nearby convenience store. Kris and Billy, still dolled up in the scant attire and buckets of blood from their climactic encounter, meander the aisles, Kris explaining which gummies are the best. Kris would know: of her various quests in life, few have been more exhaustive or satisfying than this one. Anchored now by more than candy, she is better equipped to chase down her greatest love: making movies.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…a wonderfully warped and weird queer spin on Friday the 13th that proves horror has, and always will be, for the shes, gays, and theys.”–Kat Hughes, The Hollywood News (festival screening)

Capsules

CAPSULE: CITY WIDE FEVER (2026)

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DIRECTED BY: Josh Heaps

FEATURING: Diletta Giuglielmi, Nancy Kimball, Hugo Alexander-Rose, Angelica Kim

PLOT: A film student discovers evidence of a forgotten Italian director and, in the course of making a documentary about him, gradually loses touch with reality.

Still from City Wide Fever (2026)

 

COMMENTS: Initial reports on City Wide Fever described it variously as a , a giallo tribute, and definitely not a giallo nor a tribute. The film’s strange tone must account for this confusion. IMDB classifies it as a horror comedy; though if there’s humor here, I suspect I’m not interpreting it as the director intended. The script attempts to walk the line between genuinely engaging with giallo tropes and simultaneously condemning them for offending contemporary sensibilities. Whether City Wide Fever is a send-up of the giallo resurgence or an honest homage (or both), it liberally takes from the genre its trademark ambiguity, stylization, and mood.

While wandering around New York City, Sam happens upon a USB drive in a gutter. She takes it home and finds a trove of files relating to Saturnino Barresi, who just happens to have directed a slew of giallo films, one of her favorite genres. Barresi apparently went missing, or stopped making films, under mysterious circumstances in the 1970s. His final film, City Wide Fever, was never completed. Though she’s never heard of him before, nor actually seen any of his movies, Sam decides to track him down and make a documentary about her search (a very film student thing to do, as the movie self-reflexively acknowledges).

Her quest takes her to the home of a creepy film professor, a creepy Times Square porn shop (where appears in a brief cameo), and a creepy Gowanus warehouse filled with mannequins (what else?), until she reaches the creepy house of a former giallo actress, before it all culminates in—her mother’s uptown apartment (?). Along the way, a masked knife-wielding killer (who else?) shows up to off Sam’s contacts and friends. Or is she just having nightmares, having succumbed to “the fever”?

The killer wears a variety of masks, many of them knit ski masks in bright colors, similar to Pussy Riot, also recalling masked serial killers from classic horror films. Red and blue lighting appears whenever Sam’s delusions and reality merge or fracture. Despite this, City Wide Fever never gets really weird. Even though Sam may be hallucinating some of the events depicted, they never stray too far from typical giallo violence, and only a few frames are outright surreal.

Perhaps it’s weirdest feature is the portrayal of Sam by two different actors, for reasons that remain unclear; this conceit could use the aid of more character development. All we know about Sam is her obsession with giallo. So, is she an American who imagines herself as Italian due to her fixation? Is she an Italian who imagines herself in the role of the amateur investigator, who is often a foreigner in Italian films? Or is this simply emblematic of the lack of narrative logic that’s repeatedly emphasized as a defining characteristic of these films (or maybe a nod to )?

Obviously limited by a low budget, the scenes shot with a cell phone actually look higher quality than the rest, which is shot on video. The documentary aspect of the narrative makes the visuals somewhat excusable. It looks exactly like the type of student film it purports to be.

Similar films from earlier in the century, like The Strange Color of Your Body’s Tears and Berberian Sound Studio, interrogated giallo’s complexities through sophisticated dissections of imagery and sound. For those interested in a very 2020s take on the giallo, City Wide Fever may do the trick, though it really can’t compare to those earlier films. As other reviewers have noted, ‘s producer credit seems to be more an endorsement of Heaps’ directorial potential than anything else. Here’s hoping Heaps gets thrown more money for his next picture, and keeps heading off the beaten path.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…a real oddity. On the surface, it’s a small DIY thriller that looks shot on the cheap, which already narrows down its appeal. But if you get on its wavelength over the course of its very brief 70 minutes (sans credits), you might even start to feel a small twinge of nostalgia. . . this movie tries to go for a surreal, artsy vibe that makes the protagonist question her own reality, though the attempt is hampered by a limited budget. “–Ernesto Zelaya Miñano, Screen Anarchy (contemporaneous)

City Wide Fever [Blu-ray]

City Wide Fever [Blu-ray]

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Capsules, It Came from the Reader-Suggested Queue

IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: ROWS (2015)

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Rows is available for rental or purchase on-demand.

DIRECTED BY: David W. Warfield

FEATURING: Hannah Schick, Lauren Lakis, Nancy Murray, Joe Basile, Kenneth Hughes

PLOT: The daughter of a prolific real estate developer must find her way out of a mysterious maze after she attempts to deliver an eviction notice to a malevolent tenant.

COMMENTS: If you’ve driven across the American Midwest and Great Plains in summertime, you’ve probably been witness to a notably dissonant image: vast fields of corn and wheat, dotted with a mix of ramshackle, rotting old farmhouses and barns teetering on the brink of collapse, contrasted with brand-new, modern houses with lush green lawns and a pair of fresh-off-the-line pickup trucks parked out front. You zip through an economic metaphor, a thruway uniting past and present, a great big landscape of disconnect. Rows knows this feeling. Rows is clearly stimulated by the perplexing feelings that this vision inspires. And Rows is still trying to figure out what comes next.

The world that Rose (get it?) stumbles into bears some of the marks of that confusion. She’s a pretty, rich girl whose only job is doing office chores for her daddy. She’s already feeling the pain of her privilege. As a result, she’s nervous long before she first sets foot inside the house of Mrs. Haviland to boot her from the premises, but her encounter with the woman (and her highly suspect cookies) is proof of how dangerous it is to leave suburbia to venture into America’s breadbasket. We know Rose is going to have to do some penance. What’s intriguing is that her punishment seems to be mental, as she finds herself in a recursive loop which drags her and her friend Greta into the inescapable maze of the cornfield, with escape leading inevitably back to the farmhouse. It’s very nearly Groundhog Day meets Drag Me to Hell.  

Writer-director Warfield puts a lot of skill on display. The film is fantastically shot, making the endless fields of corn look both alluring and ominous. (Surprisingly, the classically Midwestern settings were shot in Maryland.) He also has a knack for pacing; even when Rose’s traps and time loops feel inevitable, there’s a steady unfolding of dread that keeps the psychological horror fresh and visceral. If you aren’t particularly interested in logic or the familiar beats of storytelling, then Rows is a reasonably impressive effort. If anything, the cracks start to show when the script actively adds new elements to keep things interesting, like the addition of an outsider character posing another threat to Rose and Greta, or the out-of-left-field introduction of some malevolent spirit trying to seduce Rose’s father. Rows plays the weird card very effectively, especially once you recognize the repetition that serves as Rose’s purgatory.

When you move past the film’s gimmick, you have a production that looks good but has no real depth. The movie never invests in its characters, for example, especially Schick, the only person in the film we can be certain is real. Without that, the appeal is reduced to its lead actresses wandering through the cornfields in tight tank tops. (The performances are serviceable, although the leads seem to have matriculated at the Joey Tribbiani School of Acting.) The script never really wraps up its intriguing plot, framing the climax as Rose finally learning to look deep inside herself, but then couching it inside other Twilight Zone-ish twists. Rows has some solid tricks up its sleeve, but that only makes the stab at some sort of relevance feel not just unearned but premature. It’s a pity, because there’s genuine filmmaking talent at work, and Warfield has stumbled on to an issue and a community that could really be at home in the thriller and horror genres. There’s some interesting houses along this road, but ultimately a lot more empty fields of grain.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…events become increasingly surreal… a difficult film to synopsise without giving too much away. Partly because its story is such a strange, dreamlike one… becomes something of a chore to keep caring for an answer to its mystery once you hit the midway point. Interesting, but flawed.” Stuart Willis, Sex Gore Mutants (DVD)

(This movie was nominated for review by Jay. Suggest a weird movie of your own here.) 

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CAPSULE: HOUSE OF DREAMS (1963)

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“The house stood alone,
a mere ghost in the midst of the modern, uncaring world.
Within her skeletal fibers secrets remained secluded forever.
The only one who might have revealed them
was now lying in a world where neither time nor flesh existed.”

– quote from Lee Hansen’s novel in House of Dreams

DIRECTED BY: Robert Berry

FEATURING: Pauline Elliott, Robert Berry, Charlene Bradley, Lance Bird

PLOT: An author writing about a haunted house begins having eerily prophetic nightmares.

COMMENTS: A low-budget horror film made by college students, House of Dreams is, understandably, an amateur effort. It’s also rather impressive for what it manages to accomplish with limited resources and a novice crew. It contains way too many uninteresting scenes of marital bickering, broken up by far too few dream sequences. Reverse the proportion of dream to reality and it would be a satisfyingly weird little chiller along the lines of Carnival of Souls (to which it’s often compared). House of Dreams doesn’t quite succeed in sustaining a spooky atmosphere but, in its best moments, it conjures surreal dreamscapes worthy of ‘s Blood of a Poet.

Lee Hansen (Berry) suffers from writer’s block. As he struggles to complete his latest novel, he begins experiencing disturbing dreams. If that wasn’t bad enough, his wife Elaine, a recovering alcoholic wrestling with her own demons, accuses him of neglecting her. She wants to take a vacation to rekindle their romance but he insists on finishing his book first. What seems like a responsible adult decision backfires on him as the subject of Lee’s book, the “old Winninger place,” takes over his unconscious mind.

Filmed on location in an actual rural Indiana “haunted” house owned by the director’s mother, House of Dreams makes good use of a genuinely creepy setting. Each of Lee’s nightmares begins with him driving to the dilapidated house and slowly approaching it from the front walkway. He reluctantly enters the front door which, of course, opens on its own to welcome him. What happens next varies from dream to dream but, amid the usual ghostly tropes, some startlingly original images appear, each nightmare concluding with a frightening final scene.

Creative use of interior architecture and unusual camera angles add to the mood of unease. With a few simple props and generous use of chiaroscuro lighting, Berry and his cinematographer show how less can be more when it comes to crafting suspenseful horror. The minimalist soundtrack, an original score, also takes a less-is-more approach.1 Occasional metronomic tappings add tension to the scenes of everyday life, and menacing electronic organ strains accompany the dream sequences. A scene in which Elaine suddenly appears in Lee’s study, wearing a ghostly white dress, feels all the more unsettling for taking place in complete silence.

As tragedies begin to befall Lee’s family members, he realizes his dreams foreshadow things to come. Unfortunately, the family drama element of the plot isn’t very compelling. The student actors aren’t quite up to the task, and unnecessarily long conversations are a major weakness in the script. Pauline Elliot isn’t bad as Lee’s wife,  and Berry does his best in the lead (a role intended for a professional actor who ended up declining the part). As director, actor, writer, and editor, Berry demonstrates a solid grounding in the fundamentals of storytelling. Footage of the Winninger place, including shots of the dramatic staircase and the overgrown well, periodically intercuts the domestic moments, illustrating the house’s growing hold over Lee and his relatives. White roses, briefly glimpsed in the opening act, recur throughout, a symbol whose full significance isn’t revealed until the very end.

Eventually, Lee decides to investigate the Winninger house in real life—or is he already trapped inside the nightmare? His penultimate foray plays out like all the other dream sequences. Lee drives to the house, he hesitates on the walkway, and the front door hangs open, taunting him to enter. Will Lee escape the house’s strange power or has he already become its final victim? Fans of low-budget ’60s horror will find House of Dreams worth a visit.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…an arduous regional horror, shot for peanuts in Decker, Indiana by a group of film students in 1963. Like the long-lost sibling of Herk Harvey’s altogether more interesting Carnival of Souls (1962) this throws any established notions of narrative and logic to the wind but, unlike Harvey’s enduring diamond in the rough, fails to engage the hapless audience.”–Kevin Lyons, The EOFFTV Review 

1An alternate score written in 2019 received Berry’s approval, and the latest Blu-ray release from Vinegar Syndrome/Bleeding Skull includes both.

House of Dreams [Blu-ray]

House of Dreams [Blu-ray]

  • Region Free Blu-ray

List Price : 36.97 $

Offer: 27.99 $

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