*Influencer — Paradise Was Never Real (or How to Sell Smoke in 4K)*

Horror cinema has always been society’s dirtiest mirror, but rarely has it held up a reflection with such surgical precision as Influencer, that brainchild of Kurtis David Harder seemingly conceived during a mindfulness retreat for TikTok executives. It’s no coincidence this film was born in 2022—the year the algorithm devoured art and spat out a bone called content. Harder, a director who had previously flirted with psychological horror in Spiral (2019)—where, at least, there was an attempt at depth—here surrenders unconditionally to the zeitgeist: the real fear isn’t monsters under the bed anymore, but that your life won’t rack up enough views. And what better setting for this nightmare than Thailand, that backpacker paradise Instagram turned into a cardboard set, where authenticity is measured in stories and sunsets reek of Red Bull sponsorships?

But let’s not kid ourselves: Influencer isn’t a critique of platform capitalism—it’s its most shameless reflection. The film reeks of those indie productions made on the budget of a failing startup, where the crew settles for a chroma key that doesn’t look too obvious and the screenwriter prays no one asks about narrative coherence. Octane Entertainment and Superchill—names that sound like dropshipping companies—must have thought mashing up The Beach (2000) with Unfriended (2014) was a revolutionary idea, as if horror hadn’t been jerking off to the notion that technology would destroy us for decades. Spoiler: it won’t, but it’ll leave us with movies like this, where the real horror isn’t the plot twist—it’s realizing you paid to watch a moving Pinterest moodboard.

The premise is as old as the first influencer who faked tears in a video to sell you a coaching course: Madison (Cassandra Naud), a content creator with more filters than real followers, travels to Thailand to “find herself”—read: to pretend her life is as aesthetic as her feed. There, she meets Cath (Emily Tennant), a mysterious traveler who looks like she stepped out of a 90s backpacking ad, with that smile of someone who knows the world’s a stage and she’s the lead actress. What starts as a forced collab between two strangers spirals into a descent into the hell of performative living, where the line between real and brandable blurs into oblivion. Or at least, that’s what the script by Kurtis David Harder and Tesh Guttikonda tries to sell, though it feels more like a Black Mirror pitch rejected for being too on-the-nose.

The problem isn’t a lack of ideas—there are some, and they could even be interesting—but the execution. Influencer wants to be a psychological thriller with supernatural touches, but it ends up a slideshow of clichés: the white girl who “discovers” local culture like she’s the first to set foot in a Buddhist temple, the plot twist telegraphed from the first frame, and that obsession with showing the phone on-screen like it’s a character, when really, it’s the only one with coherent dialogue. Harder directs with the subtlety of a fitness influencer screaming at you to buy their protein shake: every shot seems designed to be shareable, not scary. And that’s the original sin of this film: it confuses engagement with art, as if a well-lit scene with a pretty filter could make up for the lack of real tension.

Direction: The Algorithm as Style

If Kurtis David Harder understands one thing, it’s that modern horror isn’t judged by its scares, but by its aesthetic. Influencer looks like it was shot on an iPhone 15 Pro and edited in CapCut, where every frame is designed to look like a YouTube thumbnail. The shots of Thailand are so postcard-perfect you expect to see the Booking.com logo in the corner, and the horror sequences—when they finally arrive—have the emotional depth of an Amazon unboxing. Harder tries to build atmosphere with neon lights and elongated shadows, but it ends up feeling more like an ASMR mood video than a horror film. That said, credit where it’s due: no one films a close-up of pad thai like him. Too bad the script doesn’t know what to do with all that food porn.

The pacing is another major casualty. The film moves like an infinite scroll: first with the false promise that something interesting will happen, then with the resignation of someone who’s seen this reel before, and finally with the desperation of someone who just wants it to end. The jump scares are so predictable they could be programmed in Excel, and the dialogue sounds like it was written by a hashtag generator. But the worst part isn’t the lack of originality—it’s the feeling that Influencer doesn’t actually believe in what it’s selling. It’s as if Harder and his team read a BuzzFeed article about “why psychological horror is trending” and decided to make a movie about it, without bothering to add a soul. Or a budget.

Actors: Between Acting and Branding

The cast of Influencer is a painful reminder that not all actors are cut out for horror, let alone low-budget horror. Cassandra Naud does her best with Madison, a protagonist so hollow you suspect the screenwriter forgot to give her motivations beyond “I want more followers.” Naud tries to convey vulnerability, but she ends up looking like a real influencer in the middle of an awkward live, where every gesture seems calculated to rack up likes instead of empathy. Her chemistry with Emily Tennant (Cath) is as forced as a collab between two unrelated brands, and her acting in the horror scenes oscillates between over-the-top and nonexistent. It’s like watching someone try to sell you a product they don’t even believe in.

For her part, Emily Tennant has the charisma of a wellness influencer who just discovered intermittent fasting, but at least she makes her character more interesting than Naud’s. Cath is the kind of character who could work in a better-written film, but here she’s just a plot device with legs: mysterious, seductive, and harboring a secret that—spoiler—shocks no one. The rest of the cast is basically set dressing, with Rory J. Saper and Sara Canning wasted in roles that seem plucked from a Netflix extra casting call. If this film proves anything, it’s that psychological horror requires actors who can convey nuance, not influencers who know how to pose for the camera.

Technical Aspects: When Low-Budget Smells Like Low-Effort

If anything saves Influencer from total oblivion, it’s the cinematography by Robert Pistillo, which at least makes Thailand look like a real place and not a Universal Studios backlot. The exteriors have a golden light that screams instagrameable, and the interiors play with shadows and saturated colors to create an atmosphere that, in theory, should feel oppressive. In practice, though, the cinematography seems more concerned with looking pretty than serving the story. Every shot feels designed to be uploaded to Instagram with the hashtag #Cinematic, but none manage to convey the tension the script should be building. It’s as if Pistillo forgot that horror isn’t about how it looks, but how it feels.

The editing, meanwhile, is a disaster. The film alternates between slow sequences trying to be arthouse and action scenes that look like they were cut by someone who just discovered the fast-forward button. The cuts are jarring, the flashbacks unnecessary, and there are moments where you suspect footage got lost along the way. The score, composed by Andrew Dixon, is another weak point: a mix of electronic sounds and ambient beats that sound like they were downloaded from a royalty-free music library. There are no leitmotifs, no tension, just background noise to fill awkward silences.

Production design is where Influencer sinks for good. The Thai settings are pretty, sure, but also generic: temples, beaches, night markets… It all looks like travel vlog stock footage. The interiors—when they exist—are so minimalist you suspect the art department ran out of budget halfway through. And the costumes are, in a word, basic: Madison dresses like she just stepped out of a Vogue Thailand photoshoot, while Cath looks like a hippie from a flea market. There’s no coherence, no style, just clothes that look like they were pulled from a TikTok outfit check.

The Best

• Robert Pistillo’s cinematography: Manages to make Thailand look like a real place and not a cardboard set, though it’s the only visual saving grace.
• Emily Tennant as Cath: Her character is the only one with any mystery or charisma, even if the script doesn’t know what to do with her.

The premise: The idea of exploring the dark side of influencer culture* is interesting, even if the execution falls short.

• Some shots of Thailand: There are moments when the film looks like a travel documentary, and that, at least, is nice to watch.

The Worst

The script by Kurtis David Harder and Tesh Guttikonda: Predictable, cliché-ridden, and with dialogue that sounds like it was written by a content creation* algorithm. The pacing: The film moves like an infinite scroll*, with no tension or narrative coherence. The acting: Cassandra Naud and the rest of the cast seem more concerned with looking cool* than acting. The production design: Everything looks like travel stock footage*, with no personality or originality.

• The score: Background noise without soul, like it was composed with a royalty-free music generator.

The obvious low-budget: From the cheap digital effects to the generic sets, everything reeks of low-effort*.

The Verdict of Claqueta Ácida

Influencer is the kind of film born with good intentions—or at least a pitch trendy enough to secure funding—but dies in execution, drowned in its own hollow aesthetic. It’s not bad because it’s predictable, or because its budget is tight, or even because its actors aren’t up to par. It’s bad because, deep down, it has nothing to say. It’s a film about influencers made for influencers, where the real horror isn’t the supernatural threat, but the certainty that no one—least of all its creators—believes in what they’re selling. Harder and his team mistook engagement for art, and the result is a 92-minute reel no one’s going to save to their favorites. If this is the future of horror, someone remind me why I ever liked movies. 💀