The second greatest miracle of Obsession, the new fright flick from Milk & Serial director Curry Barker, is that it isn’t horrible. The story concerns nebbishy nice-guy Bear (Michael Johnston), who’s nursing one of those all-consuming, decades-long crushes which never end well. The object of said crush, coworker and childhood friend Nikki (Inde Navarrette), is, admittedly, eminently crushworthy— pretty and funny, an aspiring writer— and she seems to like him quite a bit to boot, but Bear is too locked in his own head to make a move. His friends are supportive, and offer plenty of reasonable advice: just ask her out, or at least tell her how you feel before she moves away. But then Bear happens into a magic shop and impulsively purchases a “One-Wish Willow,” a novelty knickknack which promises to grant any wish with a single snap, and… well, you can imagine which strategy the confrontation-averse Bear finds more compelling.
After blowing his umpteenth chance to confess his feelings, Bear snaps the willow and mutters, “I wish Nikki loved me more than anything else on earth.” Within moments, Nikki is back at his car window, suddenly more interested— really, really interested. Buoyed by the confidence that only a magical spell can provide, Bear finally plunges into a relationship with Nikki, and soon the two are, in the words of a mutual friend and coworker, “like, super dating.” But there’s something unsettling about Nikki’s undying devotion: she looks at him a little too intensely, and her romantic gestures often come off like a grotesque travesty of cutesy rom-com beats. As their relationship grows more extreme, Bear begins to wonder if his plan of magicking away the messy elements of romance may have created a mess more horrific— and if there’s any way the willow can be un-snapped.
As simple as this premise is, it presents Barker with a rather precarious needle to thread. If any one element of Obsession was misjudged by just a degree or two, the entire film might have toppled into incel fantasy or bitches-be-crazy frat humor. It certainly doesn’t bode well that Barker made his name in YouTube, a world which I’ve conceded is mostly none of my business but which is notorious for spreading misogyny of all flavors. Yet, somehow, Obsession is none of these things. Against all odds, Barker has crafted a demented little thriller which never leaves a bad taste in your mouth, while sacrificing none of the gleefully nasty pulpiness at its core.
A large factor of the film’s success lies in how Barker holds Bear accountable for his actions. Like any good EC Comics antihero, we relate to Bear’s initial plight: everyone has, at some point in their life, harbored a hopeless crush, and we can almost forgive him in the moment for opting for that magical shortcut. But Barker never lets us lose track of the fact that Bear’s decision is selfish and dehumanizing toward the woman he professes to love. Much of the film’s jet-black humor comes from watching the thumbscrews tighten as Bear squirms under the weight of his fuckup, compounding his situation with a series of even more disastrous choices. A lesser film would ask us to sympathize with this worm of protagonist; Obsession has us delight in throwing salt on him.
This leads us to Obsession’s greatest miracle: Inde Navarrette. The role of Nikki is a highwire act, requiring the actress to first win our hearts, then transform herself into the film’s central antagonist, while simultaneously never letting us forget that she is the victim of Bear’s selfishness. That Navarrette achieves all of this while also being hysterically funny throughout is nothing short of remarkable. Navarrette has a knack for starting a scene in typical Manic Pixie Dream Girl territory, then pushing her mannerisms just into the realm of the uncanny, before contorting herself in ways that don’t seem altogether human. Then there are flashes in which the “real” Nikki peeks through, and it hits home that she, and not Bear, is the one truly in danger. It’s one of the most fearlessly committed comic-horror performances in recent memory, at once evoking Isabelle Adjani in Possession and Patty Mullen in Frankenhooker. Unless I see three very good performances between now and December, Navarrette will be sitting comfortably on my Best Supporting Actress ballots.
I’ve spoken so far of Obsession in fairly highfalutin’ terms, so I should probably make clear: elevated horror, this is not. Rather, this is an unabashedly lurid work of pop-terror, delivering gross-out gags with the familiar Blumhouse Studios sheen. It’s rare these days to find a movie which takes such delight in tormenting its characters, and rarer still to find one that does so while still being fun to watch; Sam Raimi’s similarly EC-influenced Drag Me to Hell is the closest recent example which comes to mind, and even that doesn’t come close to the giddy sadism on display here. You’ll gasp, but you’ll also laugh— often in the same breath.
There will be those, to be sure, who will turn up their noses at the film’s stock twentysomething characters and the cruel paces Barker puts them through, as well as the fairly by-the-books pacing. But even in its cheapest moments, the damn thing just works. One third-act jump scare is plainly telegraphed well over a minute in advance, yet is so singularly effective that every single person in the packed BUFF screening leapt a foot out of their seats. It’s a proudly nasty piece of work, which makes its resistance to out-and-out misogyny all the more impressive. If you’ve been looking for a puerile, gross-out horror comedy which doesn’t make you feel like you need a shower afterwards, consider your wish granted.
Obsession
2026
dir. Curry Barker
108 min.
Opens Friday, 5/15 @ Coolidge Corner Theatre, Somerville Theatre, Kendall Square Cinema, Alamo Drafthouse Boston Seaport, and all local AMCs
