Everything I Watched At Overlook Film Festival 2026

I first learned about Overlook Film Festival in 2024: the year that Abigail premiered in it’s closing night program. Last year, I scrolled through Instagram with deep-seeded FOMO as some of my anticipated independent films screened through the four-day weekend. Frendo the Clown, of Clown in a Cornfield, stalked the second line parade and special anniversary screenings brought generations of horror fans into one theater. I knew that, one way or another, I was catching a flight to New Orleans for the next one.

This festival wasn’t always in New Orleans, however. Wanna guess how it got it’s name? Since it’s predecessor, Stanley Film Festival, this film fest has been in connection to Stephen King’s The Shining. It ran from 2013 to 2025 at the infamous Stanley Hotel, before taking a hiatus. The same festival directors created Overlook the following year. Operations remained in Colorado for it’s first year before moving to Louisiana in 2018. While it’s previous location was fitting for it’s name, New Orleans is the perfect place for a horror film festival.

Going on a decade, this has become a horror hotspot for genre legends and fans alike. I considered it a real treat to not only attend, but to volunteer for a more hands-on experience. The incentive for doing so allows volunteers to essentially watch as many movies as shifts that they work. And though I couldn’t stay for it’s entirety, I still managed to work some flicks off of my watchlist.

When Joe Bird was acting his ass off in Talk To Me, I know this was a rising actor to watch. So did the film’s producers apparently. When it came down to casting their newest production, they tapped him to fill the role of Naim. And this movie is queer with a capital Q. Set in an isolated, religious town in Austrialia, Naim and his mother (Mia Wasikowska) are newcomers. He’s looking for friends and his mother is searching for community.

The friend that Naim makes turns out to be a boy (Stacey Clausen) who hides his queerness behind violence. Their rough housing evolves into a connection that scares the both of them. But when Naim discovers Ryan with another boy in their class, the pastor’s son, Naim acts out of selfishness: serving as the catalyst for the story. Similar to It Follows, the characters are hunted by a dark presence as punishment for their sexuality. However, this is brought on by a religious conversion ritual at the pastor’s request.

Leviticus is a coming-of-age narrative by nature. What is that transition if not scary? For these characters, they’re coming face-to-face with sex and death in a hyperbolized way. But the boys function under another layer of fear provoked by their queerness and it’s ostracism. The story performs a balancing act between tragedy, forbidden love, and dread. The isolation, reinforced by it’s cinematography, was suffocating to say the least. I can’t wait to return to this one once it hits theaters in June. I’ll remember to bring tissues this time.

In theaters June 19th

Curry Barker is of the “Youtube-to-Motion Picture” class of directors. His original scripted content, in collaboration with his production partner Cooper Tomlinson, has garnered over 500 million views over the last decade. It was their hour-long horror film Milk and Serial that attracted the attention of the horror world. I was lucky enough to be one of those early viewers, which founded my excitement for his official debut this year.

Obsession is a tale of caution about one man’s wish to escape the friend zone. Baron (Michael Johnston), referred to as Bear, has grown quite the attraction to his coworker Nikki (Inde Navarrette). She’s all smiles, laugher, and good will. He’s fascinated by her eclectic spirit by way of the “manic pixie dream girl” effect. It’s clear, though, that what he feels for Nikki is not returned. In a moment of indignity, he makes a wish on a vintage gag toy. Snapping the One Wish Willow, he says, “I wish Nikki loved me more than anything in the world.”. That she does, but her behavior becomes more disturbing and out of character.

At the film’s climax, Bear exclaims, “she’s obsessed with me,”, but it’s only a consequence of his own obsession. It’s a pretty simple premise with an outrageous execution that accentuates the madness. One could say this is just a fucked up romantic comedy, but that doesn’t discount the sick practical effects. Any modern horror fan can probably attest to the genre-bending storytelling of comedians, though.

In theaters May 15th

Once I had become aware of an upcoming queer horror movie starring Midori Francis, it was all that I could think about. You might be familiar with her from The Sex Lives of College Girls or Dash & Lily. She plays a medical student in this horror film centering her character, Hana, who’s haunted by her own body image. She meticulously scrolls through social media content promoting weight loss, body-checking, and even critiquing the “thinspo” movement. Despite her self awareness of body neutrality, Hana still desires to be skinny: the kind that Alanya (Madeleine Madden) wears well.

At first, she’s a gym crush that Hana’s gaze linger upon. Hana soon signs up for her 12-week body sculpting program as an excuse to see Alanya regularly. Meanwhile, Hana is knocking back supplements for a swifter end result. She eventually meets her weightless goal, too.Unfortunately, she’s haunted by something else now.

Hana’s mother, at one point in the plot, urges her to maintain their household alter as to keep “hungry ghosts” away. In both the literal and metaphorical way, this is the bedrock of the story. It’s a paranormal body horror that even flirts with cannibalism in a not-so-subtle foreshadow. It’s a detail that I appreciated, while also being the area of my critique. This film felt like it could’ve been two films with the themes that it’s tried to explore. Natalie Erika James’ original script constructs a story about identity and self control using the immerging landscape of GLP1s and conservative body standards. However, it lacks the refinement that would’ve really stuck the landing.

Release TBD

It’s quite a shame that Ryan Murphy never considered Chris Colfer for Scream Queens. Here lies proof of Colfer’s horror prowess. Portraying Boyd, a spoiled electronic pianist, he steps into his first leading role since the 2010s. A freak renovation accident leaves his hands severed and his guardianship in the hands of his homophobic mother (Alice Krige). It’s not the melodramatic kind of story, though.

Boyd is stuck on bedrest with a small team of medical experts enlisted for his at-home care. Behind the curtain, his mother is pulling a string of schemes. She wants an heir from her only son. The doctor on her payroll wants to make history with his latest invention. Their puppeteering isn’t lost on Boyd’s subconscious, though, which powers his new bionic hands. Sooner or later, he’s going to take back control of his life.

The one thing on my mind while watching this was, “what did those writer room discussions look like?”. I went into this one knowing very little: on that horror author Clay McCleod Chapman co-wrote the script with Director Glenn McQuiad. The film’s dialogue, alone, was sharp-edged with the relationship of Boyd and his mother at the forefront. It’s volatile if not amusing to watch play out. It reminded me of the lack of campy, anthological series in our contemporary catalogues. If you’re looking for a good time, call Grayson Manor.

Release TBD

Though my film festival experience is small, I still advocate for them as a movie fan who knows what it’s like to be disappointed by the major studios and distributors. Films spend less and less time in the box office, when they’re given the chance, because of money. Just watch how many theaters that The Odyssey takes up through it’s opening weekend. Film festivals help independent movies to establish it’s earliest audience and support. If you’re lucky enough, these festivals can bring you face to face with those responsible for what you’ve watched. Learning about their process, coming down from the high that their film inspired, is the kind of magic that Nicole Kidman talks about.