I'm hesitant to give too much away here-this is one of those films best approached blind.
Julie Pacino (yes, if you're wondering, she is indeed Al Pacino's daughter) delivers a ferocious feature debut: a hallucinatory, genre-blending work that moves between the dream logic of David Lynch, the feverish intensity of Gaspar Noé, and a twisted Alice in Wonderland-style descent into the subconscious.
It flirts with Italian giallo, dips into body and pregnancy horror, and stitches it all together with mythic and symbolic undercurrents.
The narrative is divided into five chapters, a structure that lends it an oddly formal backbone despite its anarchic energy.
And this is no hyperbole: I personally witnessed at least seven audience members walk out, with several others retreating into their phones. Not because the film is extremely disturbing-though it does have its share of unsettling imagery-but because it is intoxicatingly weird.
The plot is deliberately disorienting, orbiting themes of female empowerment, free will, childhood trauma, and self-harm-an unlikely combination, perhaps, yet one that proves disturbingly potent.
The film also draws heavily on Greek mythology and biblical allegory-a tendency increasingly common in contemporary horror-making it an apt moment to revisit those mythological and scriptural touchstones.
Symbolism is omnipresent. Georgie (Anna Armstrong), the protagonist, clings to her obsession with crowns-not mere eccentricity, but a motif that gathers resonance in the later chapters.
The anemone flower-etched into the mysterious door of the hotel where much of the action unfolds-carries rich connotations: the arrival of spring, renewal, and rebirth.
Pacino unveils Georgie's trauma through a nightmarish childhood flashback, a scene that both defines the character and sets the film's haunting emotional register.
Most of the story plays out in a strange, remote motel in Idyllwild, California, named the Crown Inn-a detail that is no accident.
The saturated colour palette (dominated by pinks) and the arresting production design by Hannah Rawson and Lucie Brooks Butler are as crucial to the atmosphere as the performances themselves.
Her puzzle-box narrative plants visual cues early on that reverberate with meaning later, though she is clearly more interested in crafting striking, self-contained moments than in delivering a tidy, linear story.
Pacino peppers the film with moments of body horror and the occasional jump scare, yet it is more likely to enthrall devotees of psychological mind games than satiate gore-hounds.
The sound design is equally psychedelic, layering percussive beats and panting vocals to heighten the tension.
Madeline Brewer (best known for The Handmaid's Tale, where she played Janine) is hypnotic, nearly stealing the spotlight from Anna Armstrong-who delivers a performance every bit as commanding.
This is not an easy watch, nor is it meant to be.
But for those willing to surrender to its feverish delirium, Julie Pacino's debut offers a bold, unsettling odyssey through the strange liminal spaces between horror, myth, and dream.
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WATCHED AT LOCARNO FILM FESTIVAL 2025.
