Picture this: you’re sitting in a room that smells slightly of antiseptic and old memories, the only sound is the rhythmic, heavy breathing of someone you love who isn't really "there" anymore. To drown out the crushing weight of reality, you put on your noise-canceling headphones and dive into the world of paranormal podcasts. But what happens when the digital ghosts you're chasing start bleeding into the silence of your own hallways? This is the precisely calibrated, high-tension frequency where Ian Tuason’s undertone (2026) operates. Emerging from the indie shadows and backed by the A24 machine after a killer run at Fantasia and Sundance, this film isn't just a movie you watch; it’s a sensory assault that demands you listen—hard. In a genre often cluttered with "elevated" metaphors that go nowhere, undertone manages to be both a visceral aural nightmare and a deeply personal reflection on the trauma of caregiving.
The setup is deceptively simple, almost leaning into the "one-location" gimmickry we’ve seen a dozen times before, but it executes with such surgical precision that it feels fresh. We follow Evy (played with a haunting, frayed-nerve intensity by Nina Kiri), a professional skeptic who co-hosts The Undertone podcast with her friend Justin (voiced by Adam DiMarco). Evy’s life is currently a slow-motion car crash; she’s moved back into her childhood home in Toronto to provide palliative care for her dying, catatonic mother. Her only tether to the outside world—and her own sanity—is the weekly recording sessions she does at 3 AM to accommodate Justin’s time zone. The dynamic is classic: she’s the Scully to his Mulder, the logic-driven shield against his "I want to believe" enthusiasm. But things take a sharp, jagged turn when they receive ten mysterious audio files from a pregnant couple, Jessa and Mike, documenting what sounds like a textbook demonic possession. As Evy listens to the recordings, the "Abyzou" demon mentioned in the tapes starts manifesting in her own space, blurring the lines between a podcast investigation and a literal fight for her soul.
Let’s talk about the absolute unit that is the sound design. If you aren't watching this in a theater with a proper Dolby Atmos setup or at least wearing some high-end headphones at home, you’re essentially missing half the movie. Ian Tuason, coming from a background in VR and immersive 360-degree horror, treats sound not as a supporting element but as the primary antagonist. The film uses "found audio" in a way that makes The Blair Witch Project look like a silent movie. There’s a specific kind of dread that comes from hearing a nursery rhyme like "Baa Baa Black Sheep" played backward and discovering hidden, guttural messages like "lick the blood off." It’s a cheap trick on paper, sure, but in the context of the film’s oppressive silence, it hits like a freight train. The way the audio shifts from the "lossless" clarity of Evy’s professional mic to the distorted, grainy textures of the listener-sent files creates a dizzying "inner journey" where the audience is forced to hallucinate the horror alongside the protagonist.
"It wants to be heard."
The "outer journey" of the plot is equally heavy, mostly because it’s grounded in a reality that’s scarier than any demon. Tuason shot the film in his own childhood home—the very house where he cared for his parents before they passed. You can feel that weight in every frame. The production design is cluttered with Catholic iconography and the stagnant energy of a house that’s waiting for a death. This isn't just "elevated horror" for the sake of a high Rotten Tomatoes score (though its 74% Certified Fresh rating is well-earned); it’s an exploration of "anticipatory grief." Evy is essentially living in a ghost house before the ghost has even left the body. The horror isn't just that a demon might be under the bed; it’s that the person in the bed is a stranger she’s obligated to keep alive. This layer of psychological rot makes the supernatural elements feel earned rather than forced.
Performance-wise, Nina Kiri carries the entire film on her back. Aside from her mother (played by Michèle Duquet) and a brief appearance by a nurse, Kiri is the only person we actually see. It’s a tour de force of isolation. She manages to convey the transition from "skeptical podcaster girlboss" to "terrified woman losing her grip" without ever feeling melodramatic. Her chemistry with the disembodied voice of Adam DiMarco is surprisingly solid, providing the only warmth in an otherwise cold, sterile environment. However, the film isn't without its "plot armor" moments. There are times when Evy continues to listen to the tapes despite very obvious, very scary things happening around her, which—while necessary for the movie to continue—occasionally breaks the immersion of her "skeptic" persona. You want to yell at the screen, "Drop the headphones and run, girl!" but then we wouldn't have a 94-minute runtime, would we?
Now, let’s get into the roasting. If there’s one thing that holds undertone back from being a perfect 10/10 masterpiece like Hereditary or The Babadook, it’s the pacing in the second act and that polarizing ending. For a movie built on the tension of audio files, some of the podcasting segments feel a bit too much like a "skilful audition reel" for Tuason’s upcoming Paranormal Activity reboot. The film occasionally shies away from its own tantalizing premise, undercutting the momentum with scenes of Evy’s domestic boredom that don't always add new layers to the dread. And the ending... oh boy. It’s one of those "abrupt cut to black" finishes that leaves half the audience scratching their heads in the dark. While it fits the "nightmare logic" the film establishes, it feels a bit like the narrative ran out of steam just as the aural chaos reached its peak. It’s a 15-minute freakout followed by a sudden "thanks for watching," which might leave some viewers feeling more frustrated than frightened.
That being said, the technical execution is undeniable. The cinematography by Graham Beasley uses negative space like a weapon. The camera lingers on dark doorways and empty corners, making you squint until your eyes hurt, wondering if that shadow just moved or if it’s just your brain playing tricks. Combined with the sound design, it creates a "vibe" that is genuinely suffocating. Undertone is a film that dares you to turn up the volume, then punishes you for doing so. It’s a triumph of low-budget ingenuity ($500k turned into an $18 million box office hit for a reason) and a reminder that the scariest things aren't what we see on screen, but what we hear in the silence when the screen goes dark.
Score Breakdown
Cinematography8/10
Narrative6.5/10
Performance8/10
Sound / Score10/10
8.1
/10
Must Watch
MagicReview gives Undertone a 8.1 out of 10.
hat’s all we have for now. What did you think of that ending—was it a bold choice or just a lazy "cut to black"? And seriously, does anyone else hear weird shit in "Baa Baa Black Sheep" now?
Comments
Leave a Comment