The first half of 615 Film’s 2025 excursion to the Chattanooga Film Festival saw a solid if self-indulgent music documentary, a unique metaphysical neo-noir with haunting parallels to our post-pandemic world, and a capital W wild shark horror-comedy that must be seen to be believed, on top of this critic’s first foray in the festival’s Red Eye series of secret screenings. The second half saw more features from some of Hollywood’s rising filmmakers, a 4K restoration of a late-90s cult classic, and a silent masterpiece fitted with a heavy metal score that only makes the experience watching it all the more terrifying. The following six films ended our experience at the festival on such a strong note, that this critic already can’t wait for what the CFF founders and programmers have in store for next year’s event. If you missed the first part of my 2025 Chattanooga Film Festival log, you can read about it HERE.
OBEX (Albert Birney, 2025) ★★★
Albert Birney caught the attention of independent film circles with his previous film Strawberry Mansion, and now after a successful premiere at Sundance, his latest film OBEX continues to grow his status as a rising name in DIY filmmaking. OBEX takes place in 1987 and stars Birney himself as Conor, a man who lives alone with his dog Sandy amongst a massive collection of VHS tapes until he begins playing OBEX, a ‘state of the art’ computer game. But one night Sandy goes missing, causing Conor’s real and digital lives to blur together when he ventures into the world of OBEX in order to rescue his best and only friend.
Like Strawberry Mansion before it, Birney’s practicality as a filmmaker is remarkable to witness in OBEX. The costume design for the game’s demonic villain Ixaroth is frighteningly realistic, while a companion Conor meets during his journey has a friendly candor to him despite having a giant electronic for a head. Birney also incorporates analog distortion effects brilliantly throughout shot compositions and portrays Conor with an endearing ambiguity; he has a realistic awkwardness due to his isolation but with just enough unease to suggest something dark underneath the surface to keep audiences guessing what’s going on with him without making him unlikable. The only drawback to this minimalist fantasy epic is its glacially slow pace both in the editing room and narrative progression; it feels like an eternity for Sandy to go missing and send Conor on his quest toward escaping his life behind a screen. And yet, the purpose behind such a decision is admirable; the aim with OBEX is to present life in online circles as melancholy and lifeless as Conor’s sadness and impending insanity throughout the first half of the film, even when his love interest’s every move comes with a humorous sparkle in the sound design. There’s a bleak side to digital life these days, and OBEX depicts that in a way that’s artful, meditative and powerful for those with patience for its special brand of minimalism.
The Pee Pee Poo Poo Man (Braden Sitter Sr., 2025) ★★1/2
Filmmaker Braden Sitter Sr. is something of an eccentric upon first glance of his bizarre comedies, evidenced by the anecdote from festival founder Chris Dortch II who informed in the intro for Sattler’s latest comedy that his paranoia about the digital age has influenced him to only screening his films in person, never to be released on streaming or video on demand. It’s hard to tell what kind of an audience would demand for a film entitled The Pee Pee Poo Poo Man, but they’d probably have more patience for this film that starts out promising but unfortunately doesn’t have enough ingenuity to sustain its meager 70-minute runtime. Loosely based on a true news story that took place in Toronto, Ontario, Canada, the film follows paranoid drug user Miguel (Rishi Rodriguez) who takes a gig pasting ads for an author’s upcoming talk until a series of interactions triggers him toward tossing an infernal mix of his own feces and urine on unsuspecting passers-by on a psychotic break of insanity.
The Pee Pee Poo Poo Man starts off promising enough with a guerilla style approach to its filmmaking that evokes a bizarre concoction of America’s Most Wanted reenactments by way of Eric Andre. Shooting select scenes in lower frame rates, extreme closeups of private conversations and madcap superimpositions of Miguel’s descent into madness all create the feeling that we’re watching something not meant for our eyes, a hilarious contrast to the on-screen rampage upon which Miguel embarks. His spree is also hilarious in its early goings through the variety of his methods, how Sitter Sr. shoots them depending on the location, as well as the horrified reactions of his victims and even scatological-themed song parodies on the film’s soundtrack. Unfortunately, the comedy wears thin when new characters are introduced who could in theory be the ones to solve the mystery behind this tormentor, only to disappear from the narrative without a trace when they get a bucket of bowel movements to the face. Hard to believe a movie would resort to doing that to its own audience when it’s run out of creativity, but The Pee Pee Poo Poo Man does just that, reducing itself to this festival’s biggest letdown.
I Really Love My Husband (GG Hawkins, 2025) ★★★1/2
The Chattanooga Film Festival gave GG Hawkins’ directorial debut feature, I Really Love My Husband, the Best First Feature award, which was a welcome surprise given the event’s reputation as one that celebrates genre/horror filmmaking. That said, the dramedy’s win here was well-deserved for its humane and honest portrayal of domestic incompatibility. One year after their wedding, married couple Teresa and Drew (Madison Lanesey and Travis Quentin Young) are finally going on their honeymoon to the Mexican country of Panama, but the romance between them has hit a rough patch, as Teresa becomes especially annoyed with Drew’s desire to make everyone happy during their tropical vacation. With the intent of reinvigorating their connection, Teresa proposes to Drew that they have a threesome with the non-binary island native Paz (Arta Gee), who has welcomed them with open arms. But what he’s roped into only brings to light more revelations about himself, Drew and Teresa alike.
I Really Love My Husband was listed as a dramedy at the Chattanooga Film Festival, but whether the relationship drama or the comedic beats land may ultimately depend on the viewer. For this critic, the frustrations between the central couple were the most fascinating aspect, as Hawkins’ sharp writing has the ability to build tension through dialogue, whether it’s a thinly-veiled quip from Teresa in response, or noting the disdain on Drew’s face while his wife and Paz share a spirited conversation next to him. Meanwhile, the chemistry between Lanesey and Young is magnetic when the two actors argue with each other, and the former conveys powerful emotions with realistic nuances like an instance where she watches her wedding video on a sleepless night. The locations may do the heavy lifting as far as visual style is concerned, and it can be debated that the movie doesn’t say anything new about relationship dynamics and the fragility of romance, but there are many people in the world who need to be reminded to love themselves as much as they love the whole of their partner, and I Really Love My Husband delivers this message with quiet power and wonderfully compelling characters.
Queens of the Dead (Tina Romero, 2025) ★★★★
The closing night of the Chattanooga Film Festival’s in-person portion was the feature filmmaking debut of Tina Romero, daughter of the late and legendary George A. Romero who revolutionized the zombie horror subgenre with Night of the Living Dead in 1968 and Dawn of the Dead a decade later. Tina follows in his footsteps wonderfully with Queens of the Dead, a zombie apocalypse film set in the niche of drag culture. This follows an eclectic cast of characters with Katy O’Brian leading as Dre, owner of Club Yum in Brooklyn working irrationally hard to keep the night’s show afloat after her star Yasmin (Dominique Jackson) backs out at the last minute. Dre reaches out to her backup performer Sam (Jaquel Spivey), deals with banter between her drag talents Nico (Tomas Matos) and Ginsey (Nina West), and pushes her frumpish brother-in-law Barry (Quincy Dunn-Baker) toward fixing her venue’s plumbing despite his refusal to use the proper pronouns for the talent which surrounds him. As soon as the show begins, however, zombies surround Club Yum and threaten the lives of everyone in Dre’s crew, leaving survival of the zombie apocalypse up to whether they can settle their differences.
As one can probably gather, Queens of the Dead sets up a lot of chess pieces before this subgenre’s standard for violence takes shape in this zombie picture; there’s even a subplot involving Dre’s wife Lizzy (Riki Lindhome) taking transgender patient Jane (Eve Lindley) to rendezvous with everyone at the club in hopes of finding a sanctuary amongst the horde of dead that flooded their hospital and Margaret Cho leading a gang of vigilantes in a supporting role. It’s also worth noting that a lot of the banter amongst the cast is hilarious, a lot of the punchlines won’t land for audiences out of tune with the fast-paced flamboyance of queer conversations. But that’s part of what makes Queens of the Dead such a fascinating watch, it’s full of lingo authentic to the personality of drag culture, and Romero smartly casts the majority of her ensemble with actors on the queer spectrum, and subverts this subgenre with a heartfelt empathy toward the state of life on the LGBTQ+ spectrum today: all the queer characters here have more than likely been confronted with derision, self-hatred, ignorance, rejection and death in many, if not all, facets of their lives, and Dre spends a ton of time trying to keep everyone together as the undead start to close in on them. She also layers each character with an interesting arc to which audiences of all creeds can relate: Dre is a team leader who puts the safety of her employees over her own, Sam has to overcome anxieties that his drag persona makes him feel, and Jane just wants to be accepted in a world that constantly rejects her. Add phenomenal performances and a soundtrack that won’t stop thumping, and you have a crowd pleasing horror-comedy in Queens of the Dead that would have made George A. proud.
At Midnight I’ll Take Your Soul (Jose Monica Marins, 1964) ★★★★
The final film in the Chattanooga Film Festival’s Red Eye series of secret midnight screenings (at least, of what was available for the public) was guest programmed by rising character actor and genre film favorite actor David Dastmalchian, who provided a pre-recorded introduction for the 1964 Brazilian horror film entitled At Midnight I’ll Take Your Soul from co-writer/director Jose Monica Marins, who also stars in the film as his greatest creation: the odious, monstrous and nihilistic undertaker Coffin Joe. Provided by Arrow Video as a means of teasing an upcoming 4K box set of Coffin Joe’s cinematic evil deeds, At Midnight I’ll Take Your Soul follows Coffin Joe as he tries to achieve immortality by having a son which would continue his bloodline, aiming to do so by impregnating Terezinha (Magda Mei) already in a committed relationship with Antonio (Nivaldo De Lima), rather than Joe’s own wife Lenita (Valéria Vasquez) who can’t bear children. His obsession drives him toward heinous acts of depravity, even when the gypsy Velha Bruxa (Eucaris Moraes) warns he is putting his soul at risk with every step of his pursuit.
As one can probably gather, Coffin Joe isn’t the most likable protagonist to grace the horror genre. In fact, the varying degrees of assault that he commits are absolutely deplorable enough to deter some horror connoisseurs from wanting to dive deeper into his cinematic legacy. But in his introduction, Dastmalchian described Marins and vicariously his creation as a horror host blended with an early Tobe Hooper predecessor mixed with a more tasteful John Waters, and passionately noted that Marins cared more about making audiences feel uncomfortable while watching his stories unfold than conforming to religious, cultural or cinematic norms. It can be argued that Marins found it necessary to be transgressive in a time of horror, as Brazil was descending into a harrowing military dictatorship. His willingness to work with Magda Mei on the script suggests Marins wanted to make a film about his government’s relentless pursuit for control, but that bleakness is juxtaposed with his infectious passion for all avenues of the horror genre, from his classical Hollywood filmmaking aesthetic (long takes, slow dolly-ins, moody shadows, wipe and vertical flip transitions) to a pseudo-horror host beginning; when Velha Bruxa lingers right into the camera warning the audience to go home because we don’t have the courage to watch what’s in store. But those who take the plunge into the ominous world of Coffin will be amazed at the Shakespearean power of Marins’ performance in his soliloquies to spirits in which he doesn’t believe, admire the novelty of all the practical effects he employs, and come away with a much-needed catharsis. At Midnight I’ll Take Your Soul is a fascinating Twilight Zone-esque parable about the consequences of evil, spiritual dismissal and false pride.
Faust (F.W. Murnau, 1926) ★★★★★
This critic must admit this review in particular can’t speak to the live experience of watching Faust at the Chattanooga Film Festival, not only because the screening of F.W. Murnau’s fantasy-horror epic coincided with the one for OBEX, but also took place in a warehouse which made that particular showcase ‘feel like we were really in Hell’, to quote one attendant. That somehow felt appropriate given the nature of this silent film’s story and subject matter: in Faust, a plague spreads across the human world after the demon called Mephisto (Emil Jannings) opens the gates of hell, believing the earth to be his. An Archangel (Werner Fuetterer) confronts him, and counters with the ideal that the earth belongs to mankind, believing they are inherently good and on a pure search for truth, using the inquisitive prophet and alchemist Faust (Gösta Ekman) as evidence when he delivers a lecture to his peers. Mephisto argues against this, citing Faust’s scientific efforts to unnaturally morph base metal into gold. From there, a bet between the two is made: the world belongs to Mephisto if he can corrupt Faust’s soul beyond any recognition. Upon this, the demon does what he can to send the man on a downward spiral toward sin, sending Faust on an internal journey toward saving himself and the entire world.
What makes this iteration of Faust special is the original music provided by heavy metal trio The Silent Light, from whom this critic acquired a copy of the film with their score. Eerie sounds of nature and long, ethereal synths build with a foreboding sound from one scene until incendiary heavy metal guitars shred with terrifying monstrousness as soon as Mephisto takes shape in the mortal world for the first time, while hypnotic and layered synths replicate the sound of demonic breathing as if something cosmic threatens the life of Faust’s love interest Gretchen (Camilla Horn). These musicians also take the viewer by the hand on Faust’s journey with beautiful melodies, like when guitars repetitively strum during Mephisto’s kidnapping of a neighboring country’s royalty, gradually building to include the drums and more guitars as his master plan comes to fruition.
All of this trio’s aural efforts go on to complement Murnau’s breathtaking visuals, which still hold up in the near-century since its release for their ability to conjure terror, from how giant in stature Mephisto is when he looms over the city emitting black smoke from all orifices of his body, to the amazing practical effects like a magic carpet ride, metaphysical rings that float up and around the titular protagonist from underground when he summons a demon, and Mephisto’s power to turn people into their younger selves. All of this should have been impossible to pull off in the silent era, but Murnau’s genius brings them all to life with novelty and simplicity along with giant sets, moody shadows and haunting mise-en-scene. To watch Faust with this score is to ultimately ask us philosophical questions about humanity’s complexity: are the decisions we make motivated by a genuine love for our trades, or do we just want to experience ceaseless pleasure while we’re alive? And how do we keep to our passion without falling into sins of lust or greed? How do we go on and persevere when our peers, our environment and our leaders are all creating Hell on earth? The answers will vary from person to person, but what’s undeniable is that Murnau’s masterpiece and The Silent Light’s music altogether combine to make us realize the frightening but inspiring truth about our power in society and the universe.