Reviews
Blumhouse’s Now Streaming ‘No Me Sigas’ Is a Surprisingly Effective Found Footage Hybrid [Review]
The haunted house story is one of the oldest narrative formulas in horror, so it stands to reason that it’s also one of the hardest sub-genres to innovate in. From Indian cemeteries to cursed bloodlines, it feels like we’ve seen every possible combination of the supernatural horrors that lurk within dilapidated houses and lonely apartment complexes.
Yet, we still see the occasional brave filmmaker who’s willing to try and turn these overly familiar tropes on their collective heads by either defying audience expectations or delivering uniquely chilling retellings of tried-and-true scares. In the case of Ximena García Lecuona and Eduardo Lecuona’s No Me Sigas (Don’t Follow Me), a Blumhouse-produced haunted apartment thriller from Mexico, the creative duo opted to combine Lovecraftian lore with internet-inspired flair in order to make their debut thriller stand out.
Quietly released last month, No Me Sigas tells the story of up-and-coming influencer Carla (Carla Coronado) and her unhealthy fascination with the paranormal while living in an old apartment building with a dark past. When Carla’s videos about the increasingly freaky supernatural occurrences within her home start going viral, she soon realizes that there’s a dark side to becoming the center of attention.
On the technical side of things, No Me Sigas combines found footage scares with screenlife recordings and traditional filmmaking, with the film constantly jumping from in-world camera sources and smartphone screens to surprisingly atmospheric cinematography.
This unusual mix of styles is likely to divide audiences, as the hybrid format is something of a controversial choice among fans of found footage cinema. Personally, I’m of the opinion that the most important aspect of found footage is viewer immersion, with this immersion often becoming diluted when filmmakers add non-diegetic recordings to the mix (as the combination tends to remind audiences that they’re watching a fictional movie and not a real source of scares caught on tape). And even I have to admit that the Lecuona duo makes the most of this unorthodox blend of techniques when crafting jump-scares that feel like they were lifted straight out of an especially terrifying YouTube compilation of “Real Ghost Sightings”.
It’s really the film’s style that won me over in this regard, with the directors making the most of dilapidated urban environments and moody lighting to make the haunted apartment feel like a living, breathing space regardless of the filming style. The textures are so grimy and the rooms so lived-in that it’s often hard to tell exactly what was crafted by the art department and what was the result of a fortunately gloomy location.
The scares themselves are also pretty memorable, and I especially enjoyed the use of hidden figures in the background of pictures and videos that could only be seen when our main character messed with the image settings after the fact. While some of these scares are ultimately sabotaged by an unfortunate lack of subtlety, the “ghost” appearances are consistently frightening and always make sense within the story.
It’s also during these moments that you really understand why the Lecuonas opted to include found footage elements here in the first place, as the added grit and believability of low-fi video and POV angles add a lot to the scare-factor while also fitting with the subject matter. That being said, I still think it would have been possible (and maybe preferable) to tell this same story as a completely diegetic found footage movie, especially since the flick boasts such a strong lead with a clear motivation for filming.
In fact, Karla Coronado’s performance holds the entire movie together, with her believable take on a flawed yet fascinating influencer grounding the ghosts and goblins in something palpable. You may not always agree with Carla’s obsessive methods or the way she deals with her influencer best friend Sam (charmingly played by Julia Maqueo), but she’s compelling enough of a protagonist that it’s easy to sympathize with her deteriorating mental state even when she tells a story about killing small animals in a microwave.
While genre movies tend to get a bit heavy-handed with their depictions of online culture and characters obsessed with likes and followers, I’d argue that No Me Sigas offers a refreshingly grounded take on the paranormal side of YouTube that won’t make younger viewers groan at any blatant inaccuracies or cringeworthy dialogue.
My only real gripe with the experience is that the Lovecraftian spin on the story (which is mostly explored during the final act) could have benefited from further build-up earlier in the movie. That’s not to say that the twist is ineffective, but the story ideas presented here are so interesting that it’s a shame the film doesn’t explore them further before that gut-wrenching finale.
No Me Sigas may not completely reinvent the haunted house wheel, with the film suffering from its fair share of familiar tropes and the occasional missed narrative opportunity, but there’s enough creativity here to keep even veteran horror hounds entertained. So if you’re in the mood for an urban ghost story with plenty of atmosphere and a charismatic lead, Blumhouse’s first foray into Mexican-based productions should definitely be on your radar!
No Me Sigas is currently available to stream on Disney+ and Hulu.
Reviews
‘Her Private Hell’ Review: Nicolas Winding Refn Returns With a Hypnotic, Inscrutable Neon Fever Dream
Nicolas Winding Refn considers his first feature film in ten years, Her Private Hell, a resurrection. At the Cannes Film Festival earlier this year, the filmmaker revealed that his return was inspired, in large part, by his own mortality. His need to create art kicked into overdrive after beating death in 2023, when his heart stopped for 25 minutes.
Her Private Hell is pure art, too, bearing the filmmaker’s neon and synth signatures, as well as a deep disinterest in scrutable storytelling. Much like The Neon Demon, Refn’s latest demands you bend to its wavelength: an expressionistic vision more interested in the artistic process than the narrative.
That’s not to say that Her Private Hell lacks plot; this sci-fi horror noir features two central overlapping plots. At the forefront is actress Elle (Sophie Thatcher), who lives in the penthouse suite overlooking a hazy neon metropolis with her father, Johnny Thunders (Dougray Scott), and young stepmom Dominique (Havana Rose Liu), who happens to be Elle’s former best friend before marriage got in the way.
To say that Elle has daddy issues would be an understatement, made worse by insecurities, the arrival of a new acting ingenue (Kristine Froseth), and a vicious killer prowling the city: the Leather Man.
The secondary plot follows the enigmatic Private K (Charles Melton), an American soldier in Japan with resolute vengeance on his mind. Whereas Elle’s world exists in a space of glamour and opulence, Private K pummels his way bare-knuckled through the sweaty backstreets ruled by local crime syndicates down below.
Refn, who co-writes with Esti Giordani, manages to corral a variety of seemingly disparate genres and influences into a clinically cold and cryptic whole. The filmmaker infuses his signature style with everything from ’60s sci-fi to Golden Age Hollywood melodrama to Japanese folklore, hung on the framework of a Dario Argento-style Giallo. There’s a prominent psychosexual edge to both Elle and Private K’s separate journeys, one that dials up to zany excess when it comes to the former character.
There’s an overarching sense of mystic mythmaking to Her Private Hell, with elusive seamstresses, played by Shioli Kutsuna and Aoi Yamada, dipping in and out like folkloric, omnipotent kitsune as they seemingly preside over the increasing chaos that entails brutal knife fights, Freudian melodrama, and a supernatural killer that brutally rips his victims apart. All of it told with Refn’s detached, sterile style.
It’s less a conventional movie and more a stream of consciousness, a collection of inspirations and personal thoughts and themes. Nothing is really explained in this nonsensical fairy tale fever dream. Thatcher gives herself fully to the spoiled Elle, whose affluent privilege makes her a bundle of raw, primal emotions that erodes her sense of identity and reality. It makes her the tonal and visual opposite of the elusive Private K., and much credit goes to Refn, Melton, and Thatcher for wringing compelling performances out of such nebulous, vague characters.
As with most of Refn’s work, you’re either on his frequency or not. Her Private Hell is wholly uninterested in explanation or convention. It’s also heavily disjointed and unhurried in its eclectic, sparse amalgamation of genre inspirations. Still, it’s tough not to fall sway to the magnetic allure of its exquisite, pulse-pounding sights and sounds, complete with an incredible score by legendary composer Pino Donaggio.
While it never fully pulls you into its tangled web of artistic musings, there’s a lot to admire in a technically stunning feature this fearless in its incomprehensibility and ambition.
Her Private Hell releases in theaters on July 24.
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