Obsession (2026) Left Me Creeped Out, Slightly Irritated, and Weirdly Impressed

After breaking the mysterious "One Wish Willow" to win his crush's heart, a hopeless romantic finds himself getting exactly what he asked for but soon discovers that some desires come at a dark, sinister price.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gMC8kkwbIQQ

I went into Obsession expecting one of those tidy little horror programmers where you nod, say “that was pretty solid,” and then immediately forget half of it by the time you hit the parking lot. Instead, I got a movie that slithered into my brain like a bad idea in a crystal shop. The setup is simple and nasty in the best way: Bear, played by Michael Johnston, is a hopeless romantic with the spine of a wet napkin, and after breaking a mysterious “One Wish Willow,” he gets exactly what he asked for from his crush Nikki, played by Inde Navarrette. Cooper Tomlinson is in the mix too, and the whole thing runs on that beautifully cursed engine of “well, this certainly won’t end in emotional wellness.”

What makes this movie extra delicious is the origin story behind it. Curry Barker did not exactly arrive by way of the usual polished-industry conveyor belt where everyone has a blazer, a deck, and a podcast about “story architecture.” This guy made Milk & Serial for about 800 bucks, tossed it onto YouTube, and turned that DIY chaos into the kind of buzz that led to Obsession getting scooped up by Focus for a reported $15 million-plus after TIFF, with Neon and A24 reportedly in the hunt too. That is not a career ladder. That is a career zip line over a shark tank.

The first thing I liked is that this movie has creep baked into its bones. Not sprinkled on top. Not added in post like some studio note that says, “Can we make the lamp look spooky?” No, this thing is born wrong. It has that greasy little sense of inevitability that the best horror movies carry around like a concealed weapon. Scene by scene, it keeps tightening the screws until you are sitting there thinking, “Well, this emotional weather forecast says partly cloudy with a 100% chance of yikes.”

And then there is Inde Navarrette, who basically treats the screen like it owes her money. She is not subtle, and thank heaven for that, because subtle would have killed this movie dead on the table. Her performance is wild, physical, unhinged, and sometimes so intense it practically grabs the audience by the collar. I will say this, though, because honesty is still legal in most places: there are moments where the screaming gets on your nerves a little. But that irritation oddly works in the film’s favor, because the whole point is that something is deeply off, and the movie wants you to feel trapped in that discomfort. Critics have been praising her for good reason, and even when she is testing your patience, she is doing it with purpose.

The other stealth MVP here is the music. Rock Burwell’s score is like a silent extra standing in the corner of the room, smiling just enough to make you want to leave the house and maybe change your number. It does not simply accompany the tension. It needles it. It coaxes it. It takes scenes that are already weird and nudges them into that queasy zone where your shoulders are up by your ears and you do not even notice until the credits start. That is a real skill. Plenty of horror movies use music like a sledgehammer. This one often uses it like a poison dart.

Now, for the stuff that did not totally send me into a standing ovation. The pace is occasionally slower than I wanted. Not ruinous. Not “check your watch and wonder if your car got towed” slow. More like a movie that knows it is clever and sometimes lingers in the hallway admiring its own reflection before stepping into the next room. A little trimming here and there might have made the whole thing hit even harder. Even some positive critical reaction has acknowledged that the film can be uneven, and I get why. There are stretches where the atmosphere is doing the heavy lifting and the story is taking a leisurely walk behind it.

That said, I cannot deny the movie sticks the landing in the way that matters most for this kind of story. I am not spoiling a blessed thing, because I was raised with manners and a healthy fear of furious text messages, but the ending has that rare mind-bending aftertaste. It is the kind of finish that does not just end the movie. It follows you out of the theater, gets in the passenger seat, and keeps tapping on the glass while you replay what you just saw. The best horror does not always leave you screaming. Sometimes it leaves you thinking, and honestly that can be worse. Several critics have pointed to how much more emotionally devastating the film becomes by the end, and yes, that tracks.

What I admire most about Obsession is that it feels like a filmmaker swinging hard without waiting for permission from the cool kids’ table. It is darkly funny, ugly in the right places, willing to be annoying if that annoyance serves the mood, and confident enough to trust that the audience can handle a little mess. In an era when too many movies feel focus-grouped into the texture of a hotel wall, there is something refreshing about a horror film that would rather make you squirm than flatter you. No wonder it turned into a breakout hit. The thing feels handmade, personal, and just a little cursed, which at this point is basically my love language as a horror fan.

So yes, I liked Obsession. I liked its nasty little heartbeat, its lingering unease, its willingness to make the audience sit in emotional static, and its refusal to play nice. I did not love every minute of the pacing, and I could have done with about fifteen percent less vocal-throttle mayhem in a couple spots, but I would still absolutely tell horror fans to go see it. If you like your date-night movies with dread in the wallpaper and a bad vibe humming under every line of dialogue, this one is going to treat you real well. Which, as the film politely reminds us, may not actually be a good thing.

My ranking: 7.5/10. Creepy, clever, and memorable, with enough drag in the middle and enough nerve-jangling excess to keep it shy of greatness, but more than strong enough to make me curious about whatever cursed little nightmare Curry Barker cooks up next.

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