There's something so engaging and dangerous about a film that manages to come off this rabid while consistently keeping control and maintaining a legitimate creative voice toward a bigger end. I think an unfamiliar, unwilling eye might minimize what makes this great down into something comparable to intentional subversion because it's easier to say that than attempt to draw a challenged throughline for your own takeaways to stand on, but in my opinion, sifting through the thematic grief collage this film layers upon itself as it unspools, what's actually flowing through Pesadilla is so much more endearing than that. There's an emotional undercurrent carrying a lot of face-value cynicism in a way that basically forces its juxtaposition upon contact; think like a less clinical, more fleshy take on what Michael Haneke does. There's nothing one-dimensional here even if it tastes that way at first and Dylan Anglin obviously understands that there's no easy answers within this kind of subject material. It's not really a horror movie, it's a sweaty, manic, levitating broken thermometer pouring out its mercury and I love it for that. This is some DIY chaos magic renaissance'd from that late 90's miracle zone of indie filmmaking where risks got taken that are definitely not safe and the film CONSTANTLY benefits from it. The soundtrack, acting and adventurousness of the shot composition pretty substantially transcends the budget at all times and I would love to see what this man could do with a million bucks.
