"Death files" is a daring foray into the unsettling realm of internet urban legends, blending lo-fi aesthetics with avant-garde storytelling. Structured as an anthology, the film stitches together short, fragmented narratives directed by multiple auteurs, unified by Sergei A.'s hallucinatory post-production work - a trippy amalgamation of jarring soundscapes, distorted color grading, and disorienting edits that mirror the chaos of digital paranoia .
The film's core revolves around the myth of "deadly files" - cursed digital content rumored to drive viewers to madness or suicide. This concept draws clear inspiration from real-world internet legends, such as the infamous *Mereana Mordegard Glesgorv* video, a fictionalized "killer clip" tied to alleged real-life tragedies . Sergei A. Amplifies this premise through surreal vignettes: glitchy animations, distorted faces, and cryptic footage that evoke the voyeuristic dread of stumbling upon forbidden corners of the web. The anthology format allows for tonal whiplash - one moment, viewers confront a static shot of a man eerily mimicking Mickey Mouse's gait (a nod to the unnerving urban legend described in the search results); the next, they're plunged into abstract sequences where sound and image warp into sensory overload.
As the film's editor and sound designer, Sergey A. Imposes a cohesive vision onto the disparate segments. The color palette oscillates between neon-soaked hallucinations and grainy, desaturated visuals reminiscent of VHS-era analog horror. Sound design is the film's true protagonist: dissonant piano keys, white noise, and distorted whispers create a pervasive unease, echoing the auditory unease described in the "Mereana Mordegard Glesgorv" myth. The editing rhythm feels deliberately erratic - rapid cuts juxtaposed with prolonged static shots - mirroring the fragmented, nonlinear experience of browsing creepypasta forums.
While the film's DIY aesthetic might alienate mainstream audiences, its commitment to experimental form is commendable. The final montage, a frenetic collage of distorted faces and flickering text, feels like a digital exorcism, blurring the line between art and anxiety.
At 47 minutes, "Death Files" avoids overstaying its welcome, though its abstract nature risks obscuring its thematic depth. The lack of traditional narrative arcs may frustrate viewers seeking coherence, but as a mood piece, it succeeds in encapsulating the existential dread of internet-age folklore. Sergey A.'s work here aligns with his broader filmography - a fusion of arthouse ambiguity and DIY grit, reminiscent of his low-budget horror projects.
"Death Files" is a niche but fascinating artifact for fans of analog horror and internet mythology. Its strength lies not in storytelling but in atmosphere - a sensory assault that lingers like the afterimage of a corrupted file. For those willing to embrace its chaos, the film offers a visceral, if uneven, meditation on the dark side of digital obsession.
