Obnoxious online celebrities must fight for their lives while the entire world watches in Skillhouse, yet the in-universe fanfare is unbelievable. Josh Stolberg writes and directs, but disappointingly, his screenplay isn’t on par with career standouts like Piranha 3D or Saw X. The emaciated story, washed-out lighting, and grating performances are as unlikable as the self-absorbed TikTok problem child and star Bryce Hall, whose former content creator mansion “The Sway House” doubles as the titular Skill House. There are plenty of meta parallels given how Skillhouse inhabits a defunct influencer haven, but it’s a superficial, poorly told homicide party that offers nothing besides cheap thrills with no virality.

The film stars Hall—famous for endangering lives by throwing COVID-19 lockdown parties and real-life assault charges—as a “fictional” take on his unlikable online personality, Carter Swick. Poor Carter’s grieving after the heinous murder of his vapid Insta-celeb sister Lauren (Hannah Stocking), but life’s about to get worse. Carter, along with nine other prominent social media influencers, is kidnapped for a sick maniac’s clickbait Saw imitation dubbed “The Skill House.” The fame-seeking vloggers must compete for views each round, and the lowest total gets brutally eliminated. As Curtis “50 Cent” Jackson says (playing himself as the game’s host), clout isn’t just currency; it’s survival.

It’s a shame, because Stolberg has proven to be a competent plot navigator in the past. There’s also plenty of drama to mine as influencers continue to invade the horrorsphere. Skillhouse recognizes neither truth, cycling through the motions of a mid massacre broadcast to the masses. Carter’s pegged as a red herring given his sister’s death, since the Grim Reaper seems to follow his digital stench, but there’s hardly any setup to the Skill House’s competition. Stolberg tries to introduce his cast of sponsorship-hungry, niche social media celebrities after there’s spilled blood, which is a misfire. All we know is that Carter’s sibling dies horribly, he eats pizza and grows a beard, wants to regain his fame, then wham—a masked villain takes over.

Skillhouse commits the cardinal sin of giving us no reason to care about any of the contestants eliminated by the “Triller Killer’s” sick challenges. It feeds the misconception that horror cinema is only senseless blood and guts. A cast including MMA fighter-turned-OnlyFans model Paige VanZant, Sorority Row’s Leah Pipes, and some up-and-coming young talents fulfills all the YouTube stereotypes and nothing more. The camera-ready fakeness, the sexual exploitation, the tasteless depths they’ll all go for another “like”—but it’s never making a point beyond what’s been covered in similar films like Funhouse or Stream. Kudos to Stolberg for trying to give Skillhouse a mean streak, yet in doing so, there’s never any real substance, catharsis, or enjoyment behind the extreme violence on display.

What I will say is Skillhouse doesn’t skimp on gore. The hooded Triller Killer villain wears a mask reminiscent of Scream: The TV Series, but what stands out are a few character deaths, which slather on a particularly heavy coat of practical ick. Jigsaw’s influence offers victims a chance to survive, like when Amanda (Emily Mei) uses acid in an attempt to detach one hand and foot—and it’s GNARLY. There are also two particular head explosions thanks to nifty wire collars that cause an array of havoc if the Triller Killer pushes the proverbial red button. In these moments, Skillhouse feels like it’s turning a corner. If only we can look past all the low-hanging storytelling fruit and focus on the goop, the gratuity, and the glorious bloodshed.

Sadly, we cannot. Most performances are plucked off the Temu TikTok shelf, except for Neal McDonough, whose important law enforcement officer role cannot save the film from itself. The whole 50 Cent angle is a boneheaded mess, to the point where you’ll question why he’s even involved—much like 50 himself, who failed to keep Skillhouse unreleased via a lawsuit. There are parts of this movie so rigid and mechanical that scenes feel (and sometimes look) like A.I., especially shots of random “reactors” seen viewing the Skill House massacre on their phones. It’s the MadTV to Deadstream’s Saturday Night Live in terms of quality, but even that’s giving too much credit.

In a subgenre of horror films where brainless, backstabbing creators reveal the toxic relationship we’ve established with social media—and the soulless celebrities we’ve created—Skillhouse is toward the bottom of the food chain. There’s nothing to grasp beyond blind rage, even when deserved. Mayhem and bloodlust attempt to present themselves as kooky fun, but there’s a lack of backbone throughout that would fortify any structure. Yes, there’s reason; yes, there’s motive … eventually. What’s worse is how predictable said reasons and motives are once revealed. My compliments to the chefs who cooked up some truly vicious shades of reddend carnage (when not terrible CG), but beyond visual nastiness, Skillhouse is just another forgettable wannabe desperate for likes and attention.

Skillhouse is now playing in theaters from Fathom Entertainment.