Film Fests
Brooklyn Horror Film Fest 2025: ‘The Serpent’s Skin’ Review
I often get the sense when watching a new Alice Maio Mackay movie that I’ll be seeing it in a documentary about the director in the not-so-distant future. The Serpent’s Skin, which marks the 6th feature film of the now 21-year-old Mackay, feels like the end of the first chapter, signaling the beginning of a new, even more accomplished era of her already prolific filmmaking career.
The Serpent’s Skin Continues Mackay’s Efforts to Center Transness With Empathy and Joy
Mackay opens all her films with credits informing the audience that we’re watching “A Transgender Film” (or some variation thereof), and The Serpent’s Skin is no exception. The film stars Alexandra McVicker as Anna, an endearingly shy and awkward trans woman who leaves her abusive home to live with her sister in the big city. There, she quickly hooks up with the hot neighbor, Danny (Jordan Dulieu), before meeting and falling head over heels for tattoo artist Gen (Avalon Fast, whose film Camp also played at the festival this year).
Horror movies with trans characters (especially ones played by trans actors) are rare enough already. Mackay’s superpower is bringing these characters to life with not only empathy and dignity, but also empowerment and a healthy dose of humor. Her films are infused with small details about trans life that will be largely familiar to a queer audience, always treated in a way that ensures they will come across as entirely ordinary to any cishet viewers who have somehow found themselves here. With queerness and transness comfortably established as the norm, she then shines a spotlight on trans anxieties before creating space for trans euphoria and joy.
Queer Joy Vibrates Through Every Frame of The Serpent’s Skin
This begins with Anna interrupting a hot-and-heavy moment with Danny to nervously tell him that she’s trans. Danny’s nonchalant response and Anna’s visible relief is refreshing to watch, leading to the first of several sensual sex scenes in the film, all amplified by Alexander Taylor and Eduardo Daniel Victoria’s dreamy score and the layered editing of Vera Drew.
But the most notable element of queer empowerment in The Serpent’s Skin is in the introduction of Anna’s psychic abilities. These first emerge on screen as she runs out the would-be thief holding up the record store where she’s working, leaving him bleeding from the eyes. This attracts the attention of Gen, who reveals that she possesses similar powers. They proceed to use their abilities for (mostly) good, torching a transphobic flyer with their minds and saving a woman from an attacker, before Gen inadvertently conjures a monster through a tattoo.
Mackay and co-writer Benjamin Pahl Robinson’s script has shades of Scanners, Carrie, and other psychic-phenomena films, which makes sense: this subgenre uniquely resonates with queer folks for its portrayal of people who are othered and the wish-fulfillment aspect of their powers. Like The Craft (another clear influence) before it, The Serpent’s Skin portrays these abilities with both joy and gravitas, using them as a vehicle to explore Gen’s troubled inner world. Dressed predominantly in black, she could easily be mistaken for the devil on white-clad Anna’s shoulder. But where another film might conclude that Gen is a bad influence on the quiet Anna (the Nancy to The Craft’s good-girl Sarah), Mackay offers this couple up as two incomplete halves that make a beautiful whole.
Mackay Is Just Getting Started, and The Serpent’s Skin Suggests She’s Going Somewhere Great
It’s all very wholesome, the kind of work designed to leave a queer audience smiling, and we need more of that. From a “Fuck Trump” tattoo on a cute boy’s arm to an offhand reference to Alice Cooper’s recent transphobic remarks, The Serpent’s Skin is littered with reminders of the frightening position queer and especially trans people are in right now—but, critically, it doesn’t dwell on them.
What we’re left with is a sweet and steamy sapphic romance that feels like an episode of a ’90s monster-of-the-week show shelved for being too queer. It’s also Mackay’s most accomplished work yet in terms of pacing, atmosphere, and technical prowess, but she’s clearly working up to something even bigger and better. As she continues to grow in skill and confidence, audiences in the know are in for a treat. It’s time to get in on the ground floor with Mackay because this is only the first chapter, and the next one is going to be huge.
Haunted house stories are a staple in the horror genre. But it’s not often that a haunted house film digs its way under your skin and stays there long after the credits roll. Enter Recluse, celebrating its world premiere at the 2026 Tribeca Film Festival.
A Disturbing Return Home Fuels Recluse’s Story
Joan Wyatt, a young and troubled audio engineer, is called back to her childhood home following a bizarre accident in which her father, the famous artist Lawrence Wyatt, was engulfed in flames and left in critical condition. Joan has been estranged from her father for quite some time, so when his longtime housekeeper Lydia leaves a voicemail telling her that he likely doesn’t have a lot of time left, she ignores it. But then Lawrence himself calls, telling Joan that he’s been seeing her mother—who disappeared when Joan was a child—around the house.
Joan arrives to find Lydia armed with a crossbow to ward off Lawrence’s obsessive fans. Her father is bed-bound with severe burns, and is being cared for by a hired nurse around Joan’s age named Emily. Lawrence, who notoriously experimented with psychedelics and occult practices during his career, is barely coherent and keeps his face concealed underneath a crude plaster mask. He keeps asking about his “little spider.” It’s disturbing and deeply upsetting, especially since Joan already has a lifetime of trauma associated with the house. Now that she’s back, she begins to suspect that these “ghosts” aren’t metaphorical. Lawrence was not a good man… but something even more sinister may be lurking in the house.
Henry Chaisson Reinvents the Haunted House Formula
Recluse, written and directed by Henry Chaisson, is a masterfully crafted debut feature that takes familiar elements of the haunted house genre—like a remote mansion as the setting, traumatic family secrets, and supernatural mischief—and twists them into something fresh and, well, twisted.
Sasha Frolova Leads an Exceptional Ensemble Cast
Sasha Frolova stars as Joan, delivering a performance that is both believable and compelling. She’s easy to root for throughout the film, especially as she contends with her father’s unwaveringly loyal housekeeper Lydia, brilliantly played by Toby Poser. Mia Vallet’s portrayal of Emily is also noteworthy, commanding attention from her first appearance all the way to the end. Kimball Farley plays Lydia’s son and Joan’s friend Todd with the perfect balance of levity and tension. Frankie Seratch is enjoyable to watch as the opportunistic nepo baby art dealer Tom. Rounding out the cast is Xander Berkeley as Lawrence; even from behind a mask, his performance is intense and chilling. Berkeley even provided some of his own art to be used in the film.
Sound Design and Cinematography Create Unrelenting Terror
The cast is far from the film’s only strength, though. Sound design by Matthew Rollins will have you death-gripping your seat in the best way, and serves as an integral part of the story itself. Production designer Yulanda Yo-Rong Shieh and art director Ana María Kalvo absolutely nailed the set and made the Wyatt family mansion simultaneously sprawling and claustrophobic.
Finally, we have the beautiful and (appropriately) haunting cinematography by Bryce Holden, supported by the editing prowess of Nik Voytas, Josh Lobo, and Henry Chaisson. Not only did they maintain an air of unrelenting suspense throughout the entire film, but they also executed some of the most disturbing and bone-chilling jump scares I’ve seen in recent years.
Seriously: One of those jump scares made me feel physically ill. You’ll know it when you see it for yourself.
Recluse had its world premiere at Tribeca Film Festival 2026.
“I promise, no one’s leaving here smarter tonight,” laughs Frank from the stage as he kicks off Cabane à Sang for its 9th annual trash horror film festival. The programming delivers an eclectic mix of gory, comedic, and bizarre short films from around the globe to a dedicated audience of enthusiastic fans.
What Is Cabane à Sang? A Quebec-Born Underground Horror Festival
Cabane à Sang (which translated to English means “Blood shack”, a play on the Quebecois termphrase cabane à sucre / sugar shack) is a homegrown festival based in Hochelaga, a densely populated working class neighborhood on the east side of Montreal, Québec. For $18 (CA$), you can enjoy hours of meticulously curated madness. A can of local microbrew is $6, a can of soda is $2, and you are guaranteed to see some shit you’ve never seen before in your life.
“We want everyone to be able to come to the fest. Shows for $18 don’t really exist anymore,” insisted organizer Marc-Antoine in a franglais conversation between him, myself and Frank before Saturday’s “Keep It Weird” show (note: some quotes have been translated to English). Frank tells me about the festival’s early days as a road show. “It was a total fucking flop!” he laughs, but the branding was strong, so after taking a year off to regroup, the 2nd edition had people lining up early to attend, surprising even the organizers.
Photo Courtesy of Cabane à Sang
How Cabane à Sang Adapted During COVID and Found a Permanent Home
The pandemic forced the team to adapt again (Quebecers faced some of the harshest COVID restrictions in North America), and they ended up live streaming a jerry-rigged MTV-style projection screen to show the films while audiences participated in the chat. After moving around to a few locations and struggling with a host of technical difficulties, they landed at Productions Jeun’Est, an old church that’s since been turned into an event space. “This year is really next level,” says Marc-Antoine. “We need to highlight the tech crew here, who are just hallucinant (incredible),” as well as the venue, he continued, who’ve “really welcomed us and helped us out.”
This year’s edition features 5 evenings of madness spread out over two weekends. The first weekend hosted the events SCIF’HIGH (promising the “best and worst” of science fiction), RE-Animation (exploring a “wide range of animation styles”), and their signature event, Keep It Weird (a mix of “proudly off-putting short films”). The second weekend will feature Mixed Meats (an “unhinged mix of every corner of horror”) and their infamous 200$ or less film competition – the Party Pooper Spectacular (this year, the theme is Pizza Horror). A $20 virtual pass to the whole fest is available online for those with the misfortune of missing the in person experience.
Why Filmmakers and Fans Take This “Trash” Horror Festival Seriously
Despite the goofy themes, the team of ten-ish organizers take their roles seriously, and are thrilled to have landed in a venue that can give the films the respect they deserve. “Our setup is a bit punk, but I just think about the filmmakers,” insists Marc Antoine. “They put in so much work, it’s normal that we do them justice with a good screening.” Frank echoes this sentiment. “Some stuff [we get] is not necessarily gory or cheap or whatever. They’re just, like, oddities, and they deserve to be seen, you know? And tonight we’re going to see some of them!”
People are already showing up when I arrive an hour early to Saturday’s show (unheard of in a city like Montreal, where showing up 45 min after doors open is the norm). The vibes stay immaculate, thanks to the team’s guiding motto: Don’t be an asshole. “Like legit, this is our only fucking rule here,” laughs Frank, and it applies to everyone, including the filmmakers. “I think we all love this project because it allows us to showcase stuff that we personally like and that we don’t see anywhere else,” says Marc-Antoine.
‘Dom’s Spaghetti’ Courtesy of Cabane à Sang
Weird, Gross, and Brilliant: Inside Cabane à Sang’s Most Bizarre Short Films
True to their words, the evening’s programming features some truly mind bending films, grouped together under ‘themes’ like ‘films that feature bread’ or ‘films that start with the letter D’. For every serious film about war or depression, there are five that are totally absurd. (Frank assures me that they’ve got “plenty of movies with dicks and poop and stuff like that!”) There’s the lesbian eldritch love story inspired by The Thing (The Fling), and there’s a meat-witch orgy movie (Plant Mom). One film is simply about a haunted bidet (Bidet), another features every cinematic iteration of Vin Diesel (Dom’s Spaghetti). Then there’s the mixed media movie Dog Shit, described perfectly as “parfum de caca, marteau dans les couilles” (I’ll leave you all to translate that one yourselves).
As the evening wraps up, Frank reminds the audience to return the following week, before yelling “Shout out bébé Jésus!” to enthusiastic applause, given that we are all sitting in a church. “Over the years, people have come from all over, from Abitibi, from the US,” Marc-Antoine tells me. “Ya, they fly in!!” adds Frank, “we don’t have the money to fucking pay for their flights!” Marc-Antoine continues, saying, “that shows that this really connects with people, locally, yes, but people all over are moved by what we’re doing. We’re going up against some big machines, some big productions, but we’re able to connect with people all the same.”
Cabane à Sang Proves That Micro-Budget Horror is More Important Than Ever
“People are fed up also, and I don’t want to get into the whole fucking AI thing,” Frank adds, “but I think a lot of people are irritated about it. We’re sitting in a great position right now.” When talking about the upcoming film competition on May 9th, I learned that they’ve got 22 unique micro budget works lined up, with an additional slate of films that will soon be on their streaming site, Caban à Sang TV. “AI cannot fucking make this shit up,” Frank says. “This is honest, this is real.”
