The podcasting world was born out of mystery. Beginning with early hits like Dan Carlin’s Hardcore History, Serial, and Lore, the genre exploded with similar shows dedicated to shining a fresh light on the strange occurrences lurking just beneath our everyday line of sight. But can we always trust what we hear? No matter how diligent the research or objective the source, each story has been filtered through the biases and motivations of the human voice behind the mic. Investigating for the purpose of entertainment adds another element of deception. What pieces of the story have been embellished or omitted to ensure a satisfying arc? It’s no wonder faith in the media has sunk to a shocking low.

Director Matt Vesely plays with these concepts in his feature film debut Monolith, a minimalist sci-fi thriller that pulls back the curtain of journalistic creation. Based on a harrowing script by Lucy Campbell, this mesmerizing film dares us to sit with uncomfortable truths and contemplate the lens through which we share ourselves with the rest of the world. 

Lily Sullivan plays an unnamed journalist trolling for stories to feature on her new podcast. With her reputation in tatters after a professional misstep, she spends her days sifting through dead ends while dodging angry emails and issuing public apologies. When an anonymous lead appears in her inbox, the Interviewer stumbles onto a perplexing story about black bricks covered with intricate symbols never before seen on Earth. Often appearing in connection with a traumatic event, these strange objects spark overwhelming anxiety and dread. Those who hold them report the feeling that someone is trying to send a message from an alternate reality. When the Interviewer’s first episode goes viral, she finds herself pulled into a world of devastating secrets and dangerous sound. It’s not until the mystery lands on her own doorstep that she begins to wonder if spreading this story will do more harm than good. 

Like its title foretells, Monolith is a single-location film with a sole actor appearing on screen. Sullivan serves as a conduit for the audience as she slowly collects information about these disturbing bricks. The role of a conflicted journalist feels relatively subdued compared to her blood-spattered turn in Evil Dead Rise, but Sullivan knows when to lean into the horror. Earlier scenes require her to mostly react to voices on the other end of a phone, but the shocking finale allows her to ramp up the terror in a physical performance that sends chills up the spine. As the story hurtles towards its violent conclusion, new information sheds monstrous light on the Interviewer’s past and she becomes both villain and victim of her own story. 

Vesely shows similar restraint with sparse, but elegant production design. Fearing she may have been doxxed, the Interviewer is hiding out at her parent’s estate in South Australia and the film takes place entirely on the grounds of this luxurious home. Dark blue neutrals and a decidedly overcast feel set the tone for this eerie tale, providing just the right amount of visual context without distracting from Campbell’s nerve-shattering script. Impeccable sound design allows us to focus on faceless interviews from around the world – each more terrifying than the last: a brother returns from beyond the grave, an office worker faces an overwhelming desire to jump out a high rise window, and a ghostly child haunts a family dinner table. Vesely accompanies these conversations with eerie long shots gliding down empty corridors. Combined with Sullivan’s slightly monotonous questioning, these visual vignettes allow the audience to fully immerse themselves in the unsettling tale.  

In addition to this frightening mystery, Monolith serves as a parable about journalistic integrity. Ethical questions fall to the wayside as the Interviewer barrels head-first into the story, convinced she’s on the verge of a career-defining case. But is she informing the public about an otherworldly mystery or merely spreading panic around the world? Viewing her subjects as a faceless monolith – a collection of sources rather than human beings – the Interviewer sees no problem with exploiting their stories for her own gain. It’s not until she becomes a belligerent voice on the other end of the line that she begins to understand the privilege she’s taken for granted. Campbell’s script both indicts and empathizes with this complicated character, daring us to wonder what we would do in the same situation. 

An explosive third act takes this seemingly benign story in horrific new directions. Vesely’s early restraint pays off in spades as he ratchets up the terror in a series of jaw-dropping developments. Some of the Interviewer’s reactions feel out of proportion with what we’ve seen and heard, but this only serves to amplify the growing sense of paranoia in the isolated house. We are trapped alongside the Interviewer as she realizes she can no longer distance herself from these powerful objects. Logical inconsistencies aside, we feel for our problematic heroine as she pays a steep price for her carelessness.

Monolith taps into the disturbing trend of journalistic fear-mongering while asking us to question our own complicity in spreading false information. Vesely uses gorgeous production design and a minimalist eye to breathe life into an audio medium, perfectly complimenting Campbell’s terrifying script. Sullivan ties it all together in a powerful, but nuanced performance that pulls the audience in and doesn’t let go. Part Lake Mungo, part Pontypool, Monolith is a low-fi thriller that needles its way under the skin and will likely have viewers interrogating the dark secrets in their own lives. 

Monolith is now available on VOD outlets.