Within the found footage subgenre exists an even more niche and untapped market. Screen life has slowly overtaken found footage; hardcore fans, like myself, ache for something different. One of the more interesting sub-subgenres of found footage is something that I don’t think has a name yet, so let’s name it here and now. How about…TV-gone-rogue! The TV-gone-rogue subgenre is small. Ghostwatch got the ball rolling for these gone rogue-like films, but there was radio silence for quite some time. It would be Chris LaMartina’s WNUF Halloween Special that really brought this idea back into the limelight. Many filmmakers have tried to make TV-gone-rogue interesting, and many have failed. That is until Simon Glassman stepped onto the scene with Buffet Infinity.

Buffet Infinity: A Chaotic Tale of Westridge

The town (city?) of Westridge is whisked into chaos when the new Buffet Infinity restaurant rolls into town. Local sandwich shop owner Jennifer Avery (Allison Bench) is the first to take the soon-to-be conglomerate to task with increasingly pointed advertisements. Suddenly, local restaurant owners/workers go missing in droves as Buffet Infinity expands into neighboring businesses. Sinkholes, missing cityfolk, quarantines, and mysterious sounds abound, leaving residents to ask one question…who really has the sauce?

On the Brooklyn Horror Film Festival schedule, the header image for Buffet Infinity shows multiple people T-posing and floating in the sky. I was immediately sold. I had no clue what I was getting into, and I didn’t want to know. The film was introduced as “one of the craziest we have this year.” (Slightly paraphrasing.) What was I about to watch? Little did I know, it was about to be an hour and forty minutes of small-town madness.

Writers Allison Bench and Elisia Snyder, and writer-director Simon Glassman, transport viewers into an upside down world of weaponized local ads; a thriving town invaded by the deep pockets of monopolized capitalism. As someone who grew up in a decently sized town, though probably not large enough to be considered a city, there was a tinge of nostalgia that accompanied Buffet Infinity. Westridge feels cozy and intimate, a town where everyone knows your name. It’s a “baked in a buttery flaky crust” town. Sure, they have their McDonald’s and Burger Kings, but the real townsfolk eat at Jennifer’s sandwich shop–local knitting circles murmur about what they think is in Jennifer’s secret sauce. Simply put, Westridge feels like a home that many people like myself grew up in. And it reminds us of a simpler time that’s long gone.

A Unique Blend of Humor and Eldritch Terror

Buffet Infinity hides its horror well. It slowly guides the viewer into a sense of unease. As easily as the creators have you laughing, they have you squirming. The absurdist joy quickly transforms into Eldritch terrors from beyond. Many filmmakers say they’re inspired by the idea of it’s-not-what-you-see that’s scary, but many times it feels performative. Bench, Glassman, and Snyder have crafted a truly special script that edges you with terror and excitement. They constantly push you to the edge of release, and then back away. It’s the Japanese water torture of exposition. And, for me, it works incredibly well.

One of the most important aspects of Buffet Infinity is the over-capitalization of our lives. While the creators tackle this idea in a tongue-in-cheek manner, their message is highly effective. For the most part. This constant tete-a-tete between Buffet Infinity and the locals is highly amusing, but brings a larger conversation to the forefront. The town I grew up in is a shadow of what it once was. And I know many feel the same about the towns they grew up in. I can already hear the moans of people who dislike this film: “Brandon, it’s not that deep.” And I would highly disagree. Buffett Infinity feels like a reflective protest film–a loud and proud middle finger at what we should have said when the Super Walmart put mom and pops out of business.

Sorry, this review has gone off the rails. Let’s reel it back in a bit.

Why Buffet Infinity Redefines Found Footage

Buffett Infinity is a riotous romp, a hilarious horror that goes from zero to 100 pretty damn fast. Each commercial slowly builds on its last and uniquely tells its story. This film sets a new precedent for the TV-gone-rogue subgenre. Not to directly compare, but a film like WNUF Halloween Special (a film I love) uses its commercials as a coda; it’s a separation of what you saw/heard and prepares you for the next movement. Buffett Infinity uses its commercial to create the story. Instead of watching news pieces, then irrelevant commercials, then back to news pieces, Buffett Infinity breaks the mold. Hell, it creates the mold.

As someone who has been dying to see a Welcome to Nightvale film, Buffett Infinity is the closest thing I could ask for. It is full of killer performances (looking at you, Ahmed Ahmed), is well-crafted, and sets a new precedent on an underutilized side of found footage. Buffett Infinity is a full-course meal. I highly suspect that Buffett Infinity will gather the unwavering support that Hundreds of Beavers gathered and will go on to be considered an instant classic of the 2020s.

Lucid is a fantastical punk story of a woman on the verge of many things. Mia (Caitlin Acken Taylor) is on the verge of owning her artistry, of a breakdown and a breakthrough, and of remembering things long forgotten. More importantly, she is on the verge of stepping into that magical era where she has no more fucks to give. The film is as raw as its lead character and is a brassy examination of art, patriarchy, trauma, and identity.

The film follows Mia, an art student in danger of being expelled from her school’s art program. She is suffering from a severe case of creative blockage and turns to a magical, candy-coated drug to free herself. However, what should be a fun drug-fueled adventure unlocks dark parts of her subconscious that lead to questions about her youth that she does not have answers for. The quest to unclog her artistry soon turns into a scary journey of self-discovery as she learns what secrets she has been hiding even from herself. To make matters worse, she is forced to deal with her unhealed mother issues.

It’s Messy

Lucid is an odd bird that has many likable parts that never truly work together. It’s messy and imperfect, and seems to love being at that intersection. The movie even makes that one of the threads it pulls at. As Mia is lamenting to her grams that she might be a shitty artist, the matriarch drops some pearls of wisdom. She tells her grandkid, “Women are hardwired to say and make pretty things to make everybody feel good. How about making something ugly for a change? Ugly and honest.”

While this film is visually pretty, utilizing 35mm and 16mm film to further stand out from the crowd, the script is tough to look at in a variety of ways. This is due to Lucid being more of an experimental arthouse project with a narrative, rather than a narrative with those descriptors layered on top. The movie gets lost in the woods instead of sticking to the path. It would rather smell the flowers and marvel in its own splendor than complete a simple journey. There is no shortage of cool moments to look at and scenes that will make recovering art kids feel seen. However, all of these interesting parts never truly coalesce. This disjointed feeling makes for a bumpy ride. Although, it gives viewers a glimpse of what Mia must feel like as she keeps collecting metaphorical fragments herself.

A Gift Wrapped Trainwreck

After Mia’s male professor calls her and her latest piece, “a gift wrapped trainwreck,” she claps back with another central point of the film. During her moment, Mia exclaims, “You don’t understand this because this isn’t for you. I’m not making it for you. I’m not making it for old men. I am sick of the goddamn patriarchy cockblocking every move I make that is remotely interesting.”

Lucid is a Vibe

Writer-directors Ramsey Fendall and Deanna Milligan might enjoy lingering moments and side quests. However, they also never fully let their audience forget that Lucid is foremost about a frustrated artist. While Mia’s frustrations are both internal and external, she has to confront them all to become the bad bitch she needs to be, to make the art come screaming out of her. The film is about owning your shit, working through it, and stepping into your full power. It’s hard to be mad at a movie that gets that, even if it doesn’t fully earn its one hour and forty-nine minute runtime. The movie is a vibe that might not be for everyone, but it knows what it’s about and gets there eventually.