Nyctophobia

I recently watched Nyctophobia with my friends, and what an experience it was. We all gathered to watch it together, not really knowing what to expect, but by the end, we were all blown away. Some of us were scared, some were frozen in silence, and others couldn't stop talking about how real everything felt. It was the kind of film that doesn't just entertain-it sticks with you.

The story follows a woman suffering from an intense fear of the dark, and the way it was shown felt incredibly real. The fear didn't come from ghosts or monsters, but from the mind-those quiet moments, the darkness, the silence, and the feeling that someone is watching. It was haunting but in the best way.

The person behind this film did an amazing job showing what fear looks and feels like. Every shot, every scene, every moment felt carefully done to make us feel what the character was going through. The acting was so strong that even without much dialogue, we could feel her fear, sadness, and anxiety.

There were times we were all sitting still, not even moving, just waiting to see what would happen next. The atmosphere was so intense, and that made the experience even more exciting.

Even though it was scary, we had so much fun watching it together. We laughed, we screamed, we talked about it long after it ended. I honestly think this is the kind of film people should watch in every gathering. It's scary, deep, and unforgettable.

If you enjoy a good scare and something that makes you think too, Nyctophobia is the perfect film. You'll want to see it again-and maybe even share it with more friends.

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 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.

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.

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.