Director: Tyler Chipman
Writers: Tyler Chipman, David Purdy
Stars: Laura Benanti, Brendan Sexton III, Mariel Molno
Synopsis: Following the loss of his father, a grieving twenty-year-old struggles to hold his family together as an unspeakable darkness plagues his older brother.
Mental health and horror have been deeply intertwined since the earliest days of cinema, forming a dark partnership that reveals the hidden corners of the human mind. Horror often acts as a reflection of our most profound fears and anxieties, turning inner turmoil into something tangible. In this realm, emotions like anxiety and depression take on monstrous forms, emerging as unseen forces that haunt us, whether as creatures hiding in the shadows or as ghostly figures stirring in the darkest corners of our consciousness.
In his feature debut, Tyler Chipman delves into the grim inheritance of mental illness, crafting a narrative that unfurls like a dark shroud around a young teen tormented by a sinister figure hiding in the shadows. The Shade envelops its audience in a bone-chilling atmosphere, a pervasive dread that seeps into every pore, infecting the very essence of being. There are no jump scares here; instead, Chipman offers a slow burn, urging viewers to confront the insidious impact of mental health struggles on the ability to forge authentic connections.
With every frame, the film compels us to peer into the abyss of our own fears, forcing a confrontation with the relentless specters of trauma and isolation. It’s a haunting exploration that prompts us to question the monsters we face not only on screen but within ourselves. In a world that often shrouds mental health in silence, The Shade serves as a grungy elegy, illuminating the profound consequences of our inner demons.
Ryan Beckman (Chris Galust) remains ensnared in the haunting echoes of his father’s suicide, a trauma that festers within him like an open wound, oozing with unresolved grief and anguish. Coexisting with his mother (Laura Benanti) and shielding his younger brother, James (Sam Duncan), from the emotional turmoil that gnaws at his insides, Ryan wears the mask of resilience while battling his own demons.
When Ryan’s older brother, Jason (Dylan McTee), returns home from college, a sinister presence begins to emerge—a crackling-boned creature lurking in the shadows of Jason’s room, an unsettling specter that seems to follow Ryan through the haze of his everyday life. This grotesque entity is no mere figment; it embodies the weight of inherited mental illness, a chilling reminder that such darkness can never truly be vanquished.
As the pale monster creeps ever closer, its oppressive aura suffocating, Ryan realizes the heavy burden that rests on his shoulders: he must shatter the generational curse that binds his family. The stakes escalate into a ticking time bomb, forcing Ryan to confront the beast within, all while racing against the clock to protect James from the harrowing fate that threatens to ensnare him as well. Will he summon the strength to break free from the cycle of despair, or will he succumb to the shadows that loom ever larger?
In The Shade, Tyler Chipman weaves a haunting narrative that draws the audience in a chilling embrace, tightening like a noose as it draws them deeper into the abyss. The character of Ryan, portrayed with raw vulnerability by Chris Galust, pulsates with life through the throes of his panic attacks. Galust’s performance is a masterclass in nuance, inviting viewers to witness the struggle of mental illness reflected in their own shadows. The interplay among Ryan, his younger brother James, and their returning older sibling Jason enriches the film with a profound sense of human compassion, illustrating the bonds that tether us even in the darkest of times.
Every actor contributes to this tapestry, with Laura Benanti delivering a standout moment as her character’s façade shatters, leaving her exposed and vulnerable in a flood of tears. The strength of the cast creates an unbreakable link that anchors the film in emotional truth.
Beneath its horror veneer, The Shade tells a deeply human story, one that feels intimately familiar, as if it were plucked from the depths of shared experiences. Anchored in themes of regret and shame, the film’s spine-tingling imagery unfolds through the atmospheric lens of cinematographer Tom Fitzgerald, whose work imbues each frame with a suffocating dread. The creature—an eerie figure lurking in shadows and crouching in the recesses of bedrooms—serves as a relentless force, clawing its way through Ryan’s existence, leaving a trail of devastation in its wake. The true horror of the film lies in this reality: that monsters exist not only in our nightmares but also in the very fabric of our lives, siphoning the vitality from those who suffer.
The Shade resonates as a psycho-drama, probing the depths of despair with a lens that captures the essence of survivor’s guilt. Yet, it falters in its attempt to deliver visceral scares that linger long after viewing. While its haunting imagery is undeniably effective, it lacks the kind of terror that seeps into the marrow of one’s bones, rendering the viewer breathless. Nonetheless, Chipman exhibits a promising grasp of the elements of soul-rattling horror that gnaw at the edges of consciousness. It may not reinvent the genre, but it undeniably sparks a vital discourse on the aftermath of suicide and the unrelenting shadows it casts on all it touches.
