Nyctophobia

Nyctophobia is an experimental feature tackling insomnia and anxiety. It is a strange fantasy shot in stylish black and white interspersed with some splash of bright colors, a la Robert Rodriguez's Sin City.

The movie takes place over the course of a night as a woman suffering from nyctophobia (phobia of the dark) and insomnia tries to go to sleep peacefully. As so many would attest, it is not as easy as it should. She keeps getting interrupted by frightening visions in her bizarre dream. It is also implied she might be suffering from anxiety as well, exhibiting all too common hyper vigilance often associated with the disorder.

Depicted through a series of bizarre, macabre imagery, the disorder takes on symbolic presence marked by the presence of murderous clowns, somehow. They become the proxy for the monsters that haunt the mind, the villains our heroine must fight off in order to be able to sleep. The abstract imagery accurately portrays the never ending cycle of anxiety with its intrusive thoughts, scary worst case scenario in one's head. The visual is confidently conceived, well shot and atmospheric - a crucial element since the film hinges on its ambience.

The surreal approach works thanks to a stand out performance by the lead actress. She holds down the fort as the lone speaking character for the whole 90 minute duration. She's so dynamic in this role, always game for the film's many many insane sequences which count multiple dancing and action scenes. She's just as affecting in the quieter moment in the real world, capturing the desperation of sleeplessness.

On the weaker side, the film is a little bit repetitive in its bid to draw out the creepy factor. It seemingly does not realize it has made its point about two-third way through. As a result, the second half feels too indulgent and precious. Some editing here and there might be just what it needs.

All in all, boasting strong visual, impressive acting performance and a profound understanding of the disorder it portrays, the film is a work of art that largely works as a statement piece, though not really as a narrative piece.

This film will not hold your hand. It won't give you jump scares, tidy resolutions, or an easy sense of closure. Instead, it invites you into a quiet, often uncomfortable space - the kind that mirrors the disorienting experience of drifting in and out of sleep while carrying the weight of anxiety or trauma.

It's a risky approach, and for some, it may feel too abstract or slow. But to dismiss it as meaningless because it doesn't follow a conventional narrative does a disservice not only to the filmmaker - but to the idea of film as a vessel for emotional truth.

The visuals are haunting: black-and-white frames punctuated by sudden washes of color, like emotional memories bleeding into the subconscious. The pacing may be meditative, even glacial at times, but that slowness isn't empty - it's evocative. The repetition mirrors the looping thoughts of insomnia, the stagnation of emotional paralysis. These choices feel intentional, not careless.

What truly carries the film, though, is its mood. The sound design is immersive and organic, drawing you into the liminal space between dread and surrender. The long silences, the distorted lullabies, the feeling that time has stretched and bent - it's all in service of a raw, vulnerable experience that many mainstream films would never dare to explore.

Still, this is not a film for everyone. Its dreamlike structure and lack of traditional progression may alienate some viewers, and there are moments where even the emotionally invested may crave a bit more variation or narrative shape. But for those willing to meet it on its terms, it offers a strange and strangely beautiful form of catharsis.

It may not be perfect - but it's brave, deeply felt, and unlike anything else I've seen this year.

There's a lot to admire in this film, even if the whole doesn't quite come together. It's a surreal, often hypnotic descent into the hazy, fragmented experience of falling asleep - or more accurately, of fighting sleep. The filmmaker clearly has a strong grasp of visual mood and tone, and there's a level of artistic commitment here that demands respect.

Stylistically, it's striking. The black-and-white cinematography, punctuated by vivid bursts of color à la Sin City, creates a haunting contrast that pulls your eye exactly where it needs to go. It doesn't just look beautiful - it feels intentional, calculated, poetic. The selective color isn't just a gimmick; it adds emotional texture, highlighting specific moods and memories like flickers in a dream.

The sound design is also worth noting - it's immersive, atmospheric, and often carries entire scenes. In moments where the visuals slow to a crawl, the sonic environment continues doing the heavy lifting, deepening the sensory experience in a way that feels deliberate and well-crafted.

That said, the film struggles with pacing. Several scenes linger far beyond their emotional or narrative weight. Repetition is used - perhaps as a way to mirror the cyclical nature of sleeplessness - but not always effectively. Some viewers may interpret the loops and long silences as meditative, but they can also feel like endurance tests.

There's no traditional plot to latch onto, and while that's not a problem in itself, the emotional throughline could've been more defined. The film asks for a lot of patience and offers atmosphere and abstraction in return. For some, that will be enough. For others, it may feel like a missed opportunity for a tighter, more layered narrative.

Seayoon Jeong's Nyctophobia is a hauntingly beautiful descent into the subconscious, a film that doesn't just depict fear, it immerses you in it. From the moment Liz (Olivia Clari Nice) lies awake in her brightly lit room, dreading the encroaching darkness, the film invites viewers into a visceral exploration of anxiety and insomnia. Jeong masterfully blurs the lines between reality and dream, crafting a narrative that feels both intimate and universally resonant.

The film's strength lies in its evocative imagery and sound design. Scenes transition seamlessly from the mundane to the surreal: a classroom filled with bloodied mannequins, a jazz lounge performance to an indifferent audience, and labyrinthine corridors that seem to stretch endlessly. These sequences, combined with a soundscape of distorted lullabies and ambient noises, create an atmosphere that's both unsettling and mesmerizing. As noted by Film Threat, "Jeong uses imagery to visually evoke emotions and ideas, aiming to connect with the audience".

Olivia Clari Nice delivers a standout performance, conveying Liz's vulnerability and strength with minimal dialogue. Her portrayal captures the essence of someone grappling with inner demons, making her journey all the more compelling. The film's non-linear structure and experimental approach might challenge some viewers, but for those open to its rhythm, Nyctophobia offers a deeply rewarding experience.

In a cinematic landscape often dominated by formulaic horror, Nyctophobia stands out as a bold, introspective piece that dares to explore the complexities of fear and the human psyche. It's not just a film; it's an experience that lingers long after the credits roll. I wholeheartedly rate it 10/10 and urge anyone seeking a profound cinematic journey to watch it.

Nyctophobia isn't your average horror film-it's an experience. Seayoon Jeong crafts a surreal, psychological journey through the mind of a woman gripped by fear and memory. What stood out to me was how the film trusted its audience to sit with discomfort, to embrace the strange and symbolic. Olivia Clari Nice gives a deeply vulnerable performance, carrying the story with silence, movement, and sheer presence. The nightmarish visuals-particularly the mannequin classroom and the clown cops-felt like lucid dreams gone wrong. It's experimental and slow-burning, but every frame feels deliberate. If you're expecting jump scares or typical horror pacing, this might not be your film. But if you appreciate atmospheric storytelling with emotional and artistic depth, Nyctophobia will stick with you. It dares to show that darkness isn't just something to fear-it's something to understand. A must-watch for fans of introspective, arthouse horror.