Nyctophobia

Sometimes we forget that while many of us sleep peacefully at night, there are people out there who face a very different kind of night - one filled with fear, restlessness, and darkness that doesn't just come from turning off the lights. Nyctophobia isn't just a horror film, it's a reminder of this silent suffering.

Watching the film, I couldn't stop thinking - how many people are living with this every single day? The fear of the dark might sound small to some, but for those going through it, it's a daily battle. They don't just fear darkness... they fear being alone with their thoughts, the feeling that someone is watching, the panic that creeps in every night.

What makes this film stand out is how it connects horror with reality. Yes, it's scary. The scenes are intense. The fear is shown in a haunting way. But deeper than that, it's also sad - because it reflects the real struggle of so many who live with anxiety, insomnia, and depression tied to this condition.

We often talk about human rights, mental health, and diseases, but fears like these don't always get the attention they deserve. This film brings it to the surface. And it does it with care, emotion, and real storytelling.

It's more than just a movie - it's a story that stays with you, because the fear shown is not just on the screen. It exists around us, maybe even in someone close. Everyone should watch this, not just for the chills, but for the truth it holds.

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.

Nyctophobia offers a visually intense and emotionally charged look into the restless mind. Its stark black-and-white style, punctuated by sudden flashes of color, creates a dreamlike world shaped by fear and unease. While it occasionally drags with repeated imagery, the film's atmosphere and bold direction hold attention. It's less about telling a story and more about capturing a feeling-unsettling, anxious, and strangely beautiful. Though uneven at times, it leaves a lasting impression as a raw, artistic exploration of sleeplessness, anxiety, and the haunting cycle of intrusive, obsessive thoughts.

Nyctophobia looks stunning but doesn't have much narrative outside of the protagonist's struggle to break free from her nightmares and anxiety. By nature, experimental filmmaking doesn't require a narrative, but 90 minutes is quite a long time to not have a plot or character fleshed out beyond suffering from nyctophobia; casual viewers might find their attention waning after the first 30 minutes. Having said that, as an informative art piece, Nyctophobia succeeds at both representing symptoms of the disorder beyond just a fear of the dark and the general surreal nature of dreams and nightmares. The woman struggling to sleep peacefully, credited as Liz (Olivia Clari Nice), is dropped into many strange scenarios without much of a blink, rolling along with the dream "logic" even though it always roughly ends with masked figures blocking her path and even causing her harm. There's a recognizable pattern to her behavior and her dreams; there's even a sequence where she's taking a school exam, a common anxiety dream even for people without an anxiety disorder. All of this strangeness is sold through not only Nice's excellent physicality (there isn't much dialogue, so her body language takes center stage) but also through the overall look and sound of the film. The bursts of color throughout the otherwise black-and-white film are carefully measured, never feeling like too much, and the sound design is hypnotic, especially towards the end when Liz's sleep becomes more restful. While I do think it might have worked better as either a much shorter film or as the same length but with a more realized character, Nyctophobia is still a visually and aurally arresting piece for those into more arthouse films.

Nyctophobia is less a conventional horror film than a slow, surreal dive into the subconscious-a cinematic anxiety spiral wrapped in dream logic and drenched in atmosphere. Written and directed by Seayoon Jeong, the film follows Liz (Olivia Clari Nice), a young woman struggling with the titular fear of the dark. As insomnia eats away at her sanity, Liz slips into a dream world where childhood memories and nightmares blur, and nothing-especially not time or space-feels safe or linear.

What distinguishes Nyctophobia is its commitment to mood over plot. There's a confidence in how it lets its images and silences speak. Olivia Clari Nice gives a mostly wordless performance, grounded in physicality and expression. Her portrayal of Liz is both fragile and haunted, anchoring the film's more abstract elements in something deeply human.

The visual design is where Nyctophobia excels. From mannequin-filled classrooms to clown-faced authority figures, the film embraces a nightmarish surrealism that recalls Lynch or early Aronofsky, albeit with more heart and less edge. A carousel tunnel becomes a warping dream-puzzle, old televisions glitch with unsettling nostalgia, and color is used sparingly but pointedly-especially the saturated reds against grayscale backdrops. These touches give the film a lo-fi, arthouse texture that leans into the theatricality of dreams.

That said, not everything works equally well. The clown motif, while tied to childhood trauma, feels tired in the horror landscape-even if this isn't strictly a horror film. Some sequences, like the disco room or the exaggerated vintage costuming, can feel more style than substance. The symbolic layering-though rich in suggestion-never quite coalesces into a thematically deep interrogation of fear, memory, or trauma. You get a mood, a feeling, a sense-but not necessarily a revelation.

Still, Jeong's refusal to spoon-feed meaning is admirable. Nyctophobia trusts its viewers to sit with ambiguity, and while the pacing is slow and intentionally disorienting, the film remains visually engaging throughout. It's the kind of work that prioritizes sensation over narrative clarity, and for those receptive to its dreamlike rhythm, it offers something rare in indie psychological horror: an aesthetic and emotional experience over easy resolution.

In short, Nyctophobia is flawed, but fascinating. It won't be for everyone, but if you're drawn to introspective, visually expressive films that explore mental states through experimental storytelling, this one might just get under your skin. It's not just about fear of the dark-it's about understanding what that darkness contains.