The pandemic was an interesting time for indie filmmaking, forcing creatives to think outside the metaphorical box without physically leaving their own. Of all the apartment-shot movies to come out of this strange, stagnant era, writer-director Joe Begos’ Jimmy & Stiggs is undoubtedly one of the most ambitious and visually stimulating, but its post-pandemic release may soften the sucker-punch impact it might have made.
Jimmy & Stiggs stars Begos as the eponymous Jimmy, a filmmaker whose drug- and alcohol-fueled benders have forced a wedge between him and his recently sober collaborator, Stiggs (Matt Mercer). After experiencing a terrifying extraterrestrial encounter in his apartment, Jimmy calls Stiggs for help, leading to a screaming fight about Jimmy’s substance abuse. But just as Stiggs is heading for the door, likely never to return, the aliens trap the duo inside, forcing them to fight for their friendship — and their lives.
Begos films tend to be neon-drenched, paint-splattered nightmares, and Jimmy & Stiggs is no exception. Despite shooting in his own home, which he was actively living in throughout the multi-year production, Begos does not hold back. By the midway point, every surface from floor to ceiling is dripping in fluorescent orange alien blood. It certainly helps that the filmmaker has an interesting apartment to begin with, one where you’re more likely to see a water bed and a Cannibal Holocaust poster than a beige wall, because the vast majority of the film takes place inside it. Still, the one-location setting does grow a little grating toward the end, which Begos seems aware of, finding a clever way to open it up as Jimmy & Stiggs careens toward its frenetic climax.
That climax, like the opening scene, is one of the high points of the film and a powerful showcase of what a determined filmmaker and small crew can accomplish in seemingly impossible circumstances. There’s a restless, inventive spirit on display here that any fan of indie horror will appreciate, with Begos constantly looking for ways to up the ante and keep the fights and kills interesting. The physicality of the performances — especially from Begos himself — is also commendable as bodies are thrown over desks and slammed into walls. Combined with the knowingly goofy-looking Greys and deliciously retro practical effects, there’s plenty here to love.
But even at 80 minutes, Jimmy & Stiggs struggles to maintain its propulsive energy, the plot waning and getting stuck in a repetitive rut in the second act. If the film had dropped in 2020 when none of us had anything better to do, that wouldn’t have been much of a problem, but the drawn-out production means that Jimmy & Stiggs will inevitably come out alongside and be compared to films that weren’t made under the same constraints. That makes it all the more impressive if you know the context of its creation, but that context grows more distant by the year. It doesn’t help that it’s also doomed to release after Begos’ significantly bigger budget Christmas Bloody Christmas (2022), which the director seems painfully aware of, making it look like a step back.
It’s not, but it’s also not Begos’ best — and that’s okay. If you’re looking for a goopy, profanity-laden trip to smoke a bowl to, Jimmy & Stiggs will certainly hit the spot. But it’s perhaps best enjoyed with a rowdy late-night crowd, so here’s hoping it comes to theaters in the near future.
Jimmy & Stiggs had its East Coast premiere at Brooklyn Horror Film Festival 2024.