BACKROOMS (2026)

Backrooms is a movie that could have settled for turning a familiar internet concept into a sequence of creepy empty rooms. I'm glad it tries to do more than that. Kane Parsons clearly understands what makes these spaces unsettling, but the film also gives the nightmare a surprisingly emotional side. That combination helped it stand apart from the usual found-footage experiment.

The environments are the main attraction at first. Ordinary walls, fluorescent lighting, and empty rooms become frightening because nothing about them quite behaves the way it should. I liked how the film uses scale and repetition. A hallway can seem harmless until you realize that it may continue forever, or that the room behind you might no longer lead where it did a moment ago.

The direction is particularly confident for a feature built on material that became famous online. Parsons uses long shots and unsettling compositions rather than constantly announcing where the next scare will come from. It made me watch the frame carefully. Even when there isn't anything obviously supernatural in view, there is a feeling that the space itself is threatening.

What surprised me was that the film isn't only about finding a monster in an empty building. There is sadness running through the story, and I think that gives the unsettling images some meaning. The nightmare feels connected to human fears about loss and being separated from people, not merely the fear of getting lost in a maze.

I can see why the deliberate pace might frustrate some viewers. The film wants you to spend time absorbing the atmosphere, and not every sequence delivers an immediate payoff. I thought enough of the imagery and underlying emotion worked that I was willing to follow it.

Backrooms is an unusual horror experience, and I liked its ambition. It can be frightening in ways that are difficult to describe without spoiling the story. More importantly, it takes a recognizable concept and finds something personal inside it. That made it much more interesting to me than a collection of internet-inspired scares.

Backrooms made me feel just about everything except happy. I was frightened, I was nervous, and eventually I was sad. I expected a movie with creepy empty rooms and maybe a monster hiding somewhere, but I wasn't prepared for how upsetting parts of the story would become.

The rooms themselves were awful. They look like the kinds of ordinary places you might walk through without thinking twice, except something always seems a little wrong. There are too many hallways, too much empty space, and nowhere that looks comfortable. I kept wondering how anyone could find their way out. Just thinking about being stuck somewhere like that made me anxious.

I also had trouble relaxing because the movie doesn't always tell you when something frightening is coming. Sometimes you're looking at a perfectly ordinary wall or doorway and waiting for anything to change. I was watching the background constantly. It made me fidget in my seat, even during scenes when not much seemed to be happening.

What surprised me was the emotional part of the story. I don't want to explain it because I think knowing too much would change the experience. But there was sadness here that I didn't expect, and it affected me more than some of the scary images. It felt like the film was about more than simply getting lost somewhere horrible.

I was still nervous after leaving the theater. Even walking toward the restroom made me uncomfortable because it looked dark and isolated. That's a ridiculous thing to worry about in an ordinary building, but this movie had me feeling that way. A difficult drive home afterward certainly didn't help me settle down.

I can appreciate the filmmaking and the way the atmosphere was created. It was effective enough to follow me outside the theater, which is something I usually count as a sign of strong horror. I just don't know that I'd choose to experience all that fear and sadness again. Backrooms stayed with me, and not in a lighthearted way.