Reviews
[Review] Netflix’s “I Am Not Okay With This” Gives Bloody Supernatural Twist to John Hughes Style Teen Dramedy
After directing and executive producing Netflix’s cult series The End of the F***ing World, based on the graphic novel by Charles Forsman, Jonathan Entwistle tackles another Forsman graphic novel for the popular streaming service. Toss in the producers of Stranger Things, and you have a new series that retains Forsman and Entwistle’s distinct, cynical brand of a coming-of-age story, full of darkness and surprises, in an easily digestible and binge-worthy format. This team breathes new life into a familiar story for horror fans.
Sophia Lillis (It franchise, Gretel & Hansel) stars as Sydney, a teen struggling to navigate her rocky home life, the complexities of high school, and her increasingly complicated feelings for her best friend Dina (Sofia Bryant). The typical young adult coming of age story, right out of a John Hughes movie. Except for straightaway, I Am Not Okay With This declares itself to have much sharper teeth; the opening scene of the series features Syd walking down the street at night, her dress completely soaked in blood. She looks shell shocked, and sirens blare in the distance. Her voiceover narration kicks in, “Dear Diary, go fuck yourself.”
Like most teens, Syd is confused about life. About her relationships, about how to deal with Dina’s jerk boyfriend, how to engage with her mom, what went wrong with her dad, and how to deal with the sweet advances from neighbor Stan (It franchise’s Wyatt Oleff). She’s not a shrinking wallflower, but she is a bit of a self-imposed outcast. Above all, her hand in life has left her a pessimist with a severe anger problem. A problem that manifests in telekinesis. Syd’s teen angst magnifies tenfold.
If that sounds a lot like the setup for Carrie, well, you’re not entirely wrong. There are clear parallels between Carrie White’s story and Sydney’s. But Syd is far less sheltered than her supercharged counterpart, and she has friends and family who care.
With seven short episodes ranging from 20-30 minutes long, there’s zero fat to this breezy show. Meaning that the teen drama contributes to Syd’s arch without ever overstaying its welcome, and the mysteries that follow our lead heroine are parceled out at the perfect pace. Why is she covered in blood in the opening? More importantly, how will her burgeoning powers shape her in her most formative age? There’s an even more curious development that pops up and plays a large part over the inaugural season’s finale that lays out two clear paths for Syd in the future, both of them very dark.
Lillis is more than capable of carrying the show; in lesser hands, a character like Syd could be challenging to like. She’s angry, mistrustful, awkward, and tends to lash out at those around her. Lillis gives her authenticity and an underlying brightness that keeps Syd from becoming too spiteful and dour. She handles the acerbic wit of the dialogue well, too. The biggest surprise of the show, however, goes to Oleff. His Stan, a very different Stan than the one he played in It, has his own struggles with awkwardness and less-than-ideal home life, but it can’t tamp down his infectious warmth. His affection for Syd makes his arch just as compelling as hers.
First and foremost, the quick season plays like a character study with hints of genre. A dramedy that gradually builds until a dynamic climax that leans heavily into superpowered horror. The closing moments make it abundantly clear there’s much more of Syd’s story left to tell, with the promise of something much darker and bloodier ahead. In other words, I Am Not Okay With This does a fantastic job of plummeting viewers into this engaging world that offers up just the right blend of pessimistic danger and sentimental coming of age. Still, it refuses to provide all the answers. For genre fans, it’s a tasty and satisfying appetizer to hold us over for the much bigger genre course that’s likely on the way.
I Am Not Okay With This releases on Netflix on February 26, 2020.
Movies
‘Recluse’ Review – Harrowing Haunted House Horror With Lots Of Skeletons In Its Closet [Tribeca 2026]
A haunted house story is tense, terrifying storytelling when it’s properly executed. There’s been a growing tendency in horror to blend together harrowing haunted house stories with traumatic homecomings. A family member’s illness or death triggers a return to something dark that was intentionally left behind. Recluse hits all the tropes that one expects to find in this type of horror film, yet it manages to push this story in a daring, disturbing new direction that uses sound as a superpower.
It’s a unique lens to experience a familiar story about family secrets, generational trauma, unresolved grief, and the importance of not just legacy, but preservation. It’s a hell of a directorial debut from Henry Chaisson that’s guaranteed to get under the audience’s skin as they’re dragged through this painful, toxic tale.
Recluse is a gothic haunted house story where an isolated audio engineer, Joan (Sasha Frolova), returns to her family’s estate to check in on her father after he suffers a terrible accident. Joan suddenly discovers something much more sinister that paints her family’s tragedies in a very different light. Chaisson’s debut functions as a fascinating companion piece to this year’s undertone, which does a lot of the same things.
These two films make for a fascinating case of parallel thinking that tackles comparable subject matter through a similar lens, albeit in a bigger, less claustrophobic story in Recluse’s case. In fact, it’s the perfect horror film for anyone who was let down by undertone and didn’t feel like it brought enough to the table. It’s a considerably more conventional horror film, but this isn’t meant to denigrate its high quality. Recluse may hit some familiar notes, but it’s a scary, well-crafted haunted house horror story that goes for the jugular.
A gripping mystery that involves the tragic, unresolved circumstances that surround Joan’s mother teases a chilling connection to the recent horrors that have afflicted her father. Joan desperately tries to put these pieces together and give her family some sense of grander peace before she’s pulled under and becomes another victim of this festering curse that’s systematically worked its way through the Wyatt family. By doing so, Recluse digs into some deeper commentary on collective trauma, a very literal look at the “sins of the father” adage, and how one selfish decision can ripple through generations and fracture off into different dilemmas. By the end, Recluse has brilliantly flipped the powerful concept of legacy on its head by illustrating the horrors and sense of entitlement that can be born out of this idea.
A legacy is just another name for a curse under the right context.
”Listen” is a simple but powerful command from Joan’s father that she briefly obsesses over. In a way, it becomes Recluse’s grander mission statement, whether it’s in response to Joan listening to the people in her life, the signals that her body and mind are telling her, or the world’s greater whims. It’s important to reconnect with these grounding pillars, especially when it feels like control is slipping away.
Recluse excels with how audio and soundscapes can create entire universes that are full of rich details that transport individuals to these environments. There’s also a level of objectivity when it comes to audio recordings and the evergreen permanence that they’re able to provide. Joan’s career as an audio engineer makes sense for someone who wants to cling to hard evidence and proof of existence. It provides great insight into Joan without ever getting lost in contrived exposition.
Joan’s entire life is built around audio engineering, and so it makes sense that Recluse features excellent sound design that really goes above and beyond with its production elements. All of the sound design is expertly handled and turns the film into something special. These auditory elements intuitively keep the audience on edge so that they’re more susceptible to the actual scares that eventually strike. The smallest sound effect gets turned into a crushing, cacophonous assault. It’s a really effective way to build terror. Writer/Director Chaisson also handles the film’s music, which achieves a sublime, unnerving dissonance that further heightens the free-floating anxiety.
The story at the center of Recluse is slightly generic in some respects, but the film’s visual language and tone make it feel distinctly memorable. It also doesn’t hurt that the home that Joan returns to is basically an eerie art studio that’s full of contorted paintings. Recluse never struggles to generate mounting dread and terror that pump through every scene. Powerful, thoughtful cinematography consistently reinforces the film’s themes. Joan is constantly reflected in different surfaces or viewed through mirrors. She’s also often confined to tight, constricting framing that all speaks to her refracted identity during this moment of loss and her attempts to regain agency and control by making sense of something that’s seemingly unexplainable.
Recluse is full of truly disturbing visuals that make it seem like Joan is lost in a dream that turns out to be an extended nightmare. It’s a surreal journey reminiscent of invasive psychological horror like Silent Hill, with a touch of Sinister and Hereditary thrown in for good measure. There are so many individual frames that could endlessly fuel urban legends and creepypastas.
It does a great job with how it presents Joan’s fragile state of mind, where chilling flashes of the past sneak up on her and unresolved trauma manifests into unsettling imagery. There are endless shots that are obscured in darkness, or shadow is creeping in from the corners of frames like a suffocating force of nature. It’s very rare that a scene is fully lit. It leads to a very lonely, isolating atmosphere that’s easy to get lost in.
Chaisson’s debut stands out from the many other high-minded haunted house horror films without succumbing to the same pretensions that often drag down these stories. It’s a grief-stricken character study that’s full of upsetting visuals that scratch at something visceral and raw. The horror elements connect, and the answers to its grander mystery provide an appropriate and believable sense of closure. Those who are looking for an atmospheric horror film that isn’t afraid to be different while still channeling something real will appreciate Recluse.
Recluse made its world premiere at Tribeca; release info TBD.
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