Good hello, everyone! My name is Destiny Chamberlain and I am a new Writer for According To Seth. I had the absolute best time in NOLA at The Overlook Film Festival, and I already can’t wait to go back next year. I had a blast—not just watching movies, but also exploring the city with friends. One of the highlights of the trip was going on a ghost tour during one of our last nights there. It was incredibly spooky, and we had an absolute blast.

I’m so excited for next year! I hope you enjoy my reviews below, and if you’ve seen any of these films, I’d love to connect and hear your thoughts! You can find me on Instagram here and on Tiktok here.

1. The Ugly Stepsister

The Ugly Stepsister, written and directed by Emilie Blichfeldt, was the undeniable standout of the festival for me. While I had only seen a brief clip from the trailer beforehand, nothing could have prepared me for the depth and emotional weight of the film. 

A subversive retelling of Cinderella, the story unfolds from the perspective of the so-called “ugly” stepsister. Despite its fairytale origins, the film is anything but light or whimsical. From the opening scenes, there’s a palpable sense of unease—an atmospheric dread that clings to every frame, signaling that this will not be a familiar story with a neat, magical resolution. You can feel that something is going to break, and the film lets that tension simmer masterfully.

What sets The Ugly Stepsister apart is its brutal honesty in addressing the harsh beauty standards imposed on women. The film doesn’t just hint at these pressures—it confronts them head-on, with a rawness that’s deeply affecting. It’s clear this is a film made by a woman who deeply understands and empathizes with the female experience. The result is a narrative that feels both deeply personal and universally resonant.

Visually, the film is breathtaking. Its aesthetic is rich and unsettling, with moments of body horror that are executed with precision—visceral enough to provoke discomfort, but never gratuitous. These scenes are more than just shock value; they serve the story and deepen its emotional impact.

The third act is where everything sharpens. The pacing tightens, the stakes rise, and the anxiety becomes almost unbearable—in the best way possible. Even though we all know how the traditional story of Cinderella ends, the protagonist Elvira’s path to that conclusion is filled with psychological torment, emotional vulnerability, and a disturbing realism that redefines what “happily ever after” even means.

If the opening doesn’t immediately pull you in, I can say with confidence that the final act will. The Ugly Stepsister is a bold, unsettling, and deeply human film that deserves to be seen—especially by women. It’s a powerful reminder of how storytelling can reclaim space, redefine perspective, and expose the truths that often hide beneath the surface of so-called fairytales.

2. LIFEHACK

I’m genuinely thrilled to talk about Life Hack. It’s always a relief when a film you’ve been eagerly anticipating not only meets expectations but exceeds them—and this one absolutely did. Written by Hope Kemp and Ronan Corrigan, with Corrigan also directing, Life Hack is a screenlife thriller that embraces the format in all the best ways. While screenlife storytelling isn’t for everyone, I’ve always been drawn to the immediacy and creativity it can offer, and this film is a perfect example of how effective it can be when done well.

The story follows a group of teenagers on a server who decide to orchestrate a heist, and from that point on, the tension steadily builds. Life Hack strikes a compelling balance—it’s sharp, often funny, and consistently anxiety-inducing in the best way. I never once found myself disengaged; in fact, there were several moments where I caught myself literally clenching my fists in anticipation. The unpredictability of the plot kept me fully immersed, constantly guessing what twist would come next.

What impressed me most, though, was how well the film handled character development within the constraints of the screenlife format. Every character felt distinct and layered, which added a real emotional investment to the thrills. That kind of depth is not easy to pull off in this style of filmmaking, and it was executed with surprising nuance.

If you’re in the mood for a tight, clever thriller that delivers laughs, tension, and a dash of youthful chaos, Life Hack is absolutely worth your time. It’s a film that knows exactly what it is and leans into it with confidence—and I had a blast watching it.

3. Dead Lover

I had the chance to see Dead Lover at this year’s Overlook Film Festival in New Orleans, and it’s one of those films that crawls under your skin—in the best, weirdest way. It’s horny, hilarious, deeply strange, and occasionally so unsettling that you genuinely don’t know what’s coming next. This isn’t traditional horror, and it’s definitely not for everyone—but if you’re open to something raw, theatrical, and offbeat, it’s absolutely worth letting in.

Dead Lover takes viewers on a hauntingly intimate journey through the eyes of a gravedigger, whose quest for love spirals into an obsessive attempt to preserve connection at all costs. Co-written and directed by Grace Glowicki, the film blurs the boundary between cinema and live performance, channeling the raw immediacy of theater with stunning precision.

Shot on 16mm film and staged entirely on two minimalist black box sets, Glowicki leans fully into the experimental. A cast of just four actors plays a multitude of roles, making Dead Lover feel like a personal homage to the spirit of black box theater—an ode to performance, constraint, and creative risk.

What makes the film unforgettable, though, is its tone. It’s horny, hilarious, and haunting—often all at once. There are moments so strange and squirm-inducing you’ll find yourself whispering, “What the hell am I watching?” And that’s exactly the point. Dead Lover doesn’t ask for your comfort—it demands your full, weirded-out attention. It’s a fever dream of desire and grief, layered with absurdity and longing, stitched together with a boldness that refuses to be ignored.

That said, this isn’t a film for everyone. It defies genre expectations—especially for those hoping for conventional horror—and leans hard into the experimental. But if you go in ready to embrace its craft, constraint, and singular vision, there’s a whole other level of appreciation waiting. Dead Lover isn’t just a film—it’s a theatrical hallucination. And Glowicki invites you to get lost in it.

4. Fréwaka

Aislinn Clarke’s Fréwaka is a bold and unsettling entry into the folk horror canon—one that brims with promise but ultimately struggles under the weight of its own mythos.

As someone who reads folk horror more often than watches it, I approached this film with curiosity and anticipation. The genre, rich in cultural unease and folkloric terror, offers fertile ground for cinematic exploration. Fréwaka embraces this potential, weaving together many of the genre’s core themes: ancestral trauma, liminality, rural mysticism, and the haunting persistence of old belief systems. The atmosphere is thick, the tone appropriately foreboding, and the cinematography leans into that uncanny space where beauty and dread coexist.

And yet, while all the ingredients are present, the film doesn’t quite manage to synthesize them into a coherent whole. As the final act unfolds, instead of a crescendo of meaning or revelation, we’re left with a sense of fragmentation. The narrative raises compelling questions but seems uninterested in answering—or even fully framing—them. This isn’t ambiguity in the poetic or Lynchian sense; it feels more like a structural looseness that undermines the film’s own mythology.

The post-credit scene, to its credit, offers a brief glimmer of narrative closure—or at least a tonal pivot that acknowledges the viewer’s confusion. Still, when the credits initially rolled, I didn’t feel mystified; I felt baffled. Not pondering, but asking, “What exactly just happened?”

That said, Clarke’s direction shows immense potential, and Fréwaka is nothing if not ambitious. For those intrigued by folk horror’s thematic possibilities, it’s a worthwhile watch—just don’t expect all the pieces to fit neatly together.

5. Rosario

Rosario, written by Alan Trezza and directed by Felipe Bargas, has all the right ingredients for a compelling horror film—generational trauma, dark family secrets, and a haunting legacy—but it never quite comes together.

The story follows a woman in her twenties who, after her grandmother’s death, begins to uncover a sinister truth buried in her family’s past. It sets the stage for something unsettling and emotionally resonant, yet that promise is never fully realized. The film maintains a constant sense of anticipation—for catastrophe, for catharsis—but that breaking point never arrives. Instead of building tension, it lets it fizzle.

A side character who initially seems pivotal ends up with an arc that goes nowhere, making their presence feel unnecessary. Across the board, the performances are underwhelming, lacking the emotional depth needed to carry the film’s heavier themes. The cast simply doesn’t meet the demands of the story.

Then comes the twist—the film’s attempt at a climactic reveal. It falls flat: neither shocking nor satisfying. Rather than elevating the narrative, it only highlights how much potential was left untapped.

In the end, Rosario feels like a missed opportunity. It had the bones of a haunting, emotionally layered horror film, but what we got was a flat, forgettable experience that never found its footing.

6. The Shrouds

This was my first exposure to Cronenberg’s work, which might raise a few eyebrows. I approached the film without preconceived notions, making my disappointment feel all the more definitive. The premise is undeniably intriguing: a man, grappling with the recent loss of his wife, has developed a technology that allows people to observe their deceased loved ones in the grave. It’s a chilling, original concept, setting the stage for something potentially profound.

Initially, the narrative seems to follow a clear trajectory, but that sense of direction unravels surprisingly quickly. Rather than subverting expectations in a compelling or artful way, the film becomes increasingly disjointed. Multiple plot threads are introduced but never quite come together, leaving the experience feeling fragmented and, at times, aimless. What began as a story about grief and technology loses its narrative clarity shortly after the first act.

Regrettably, I didn’t enjoy the film as a whole, which is disappointing given how much I hoped to. That said, a friend of mine had the opposite reaction—he loved it and suggested that the film’s disorder might be intentional, possibly mirroring the emotional chaos of grief. While I respect that interpretation, it didn’t resonate with me personally.

Knowing this is considered one of Cronenberg’s most personal projects makes me hesitant to be overly critical. I genuinely wanted to connect with it, but it simply didn’t work for me. That said, this is the kind of film that defies a universal reaction. It’s polarizing by nature, and I do believe it’s worth watching if the premise intrigues you. You might find something profound in its ambiguity, or, like me, you may walk away feeling distant from it. Either way, it’s a film that invites interpretation—and perhaps that, in itself, is part of its intent.

7. Abraham’s Boys

Abraham’s Boys, directed by Natasha Kermani, had its world premiere at the Overlook Film Festival, and while details surrounding the film have been scarce, I’ll tread carefully to avoid spoilers. What I can say is that the premise had immense potential — picking up after Dracula immediately caught my attention. The opening title card, teasing the presence of vampires, sealed the deal for me. There’s nothing I love more than a well-crafted, chilling vampire story.

Unfortunately, Abraham’s Boys didn’t quite live up to the promise.

I haven’t read the source material, so I can’t comment on its faithfulness to the original, but I can speak to my own viewing experience. Regrettably, it felt underwhelming. The pacing was sluggish, and the narrative struggled to build the tension and dread I was craving. While there were fleeting moments of promise, they were few and far between. Some of the performances, though earnest, felt unrefined — occasionally jarring — which made it hard to stay immersed in the story.

It’s disappointing to write this, especially given the excitement I had going in. With so little information out there, I’ll keep this short, but my overall takeaway was one of missed opportunity. I genuinely wanted to love this film, and I hope others connect with it more than I did. But for me, it ultimately fell flat.