Son

There was a specific kind of "VOD fog" that settled over the movie industry back in 2021. We were a year into the pandemic, theaters were playing a game of "will-they-won’t-they" with opening dates, and digital storefronts were being flooded with indie titles that, in any other year, might have garnered a cult following. Instead, many of them just sort of... happened. I found Ivan Kavanagh’s Son while scrolling through a streaming app on a Tuesday night, mostly because I recognized Andi Matichak from the recent Halloween sequels and figured it was better than watching another sourdough starter video. My neighbor was power-washing his driveway the entire time I watched it, and honestly, the aggressive, rhythmic drone of the water against the pavement weirdly complimented the grinding tension of this movie.

The Pandemic’s Lost Nightmare

Son is a film that feels like it was born in a cold, damp basement. It’s a contemporary horror piece that leans heavily into the "trauma-horror" subgenre that has dominated the last decade, but it trades the polished, elevated aesthetic of A24 for something much more grimy and desperate. We follow Laura (Andi Matichak), a woman who escaped a cult as a teenager and has spent her adult life building a quiet, safe existence for her son, David (Luke David Blumm).

When a group of intruders—or perhaps hallucinations of them—breaks into David’s room one night, the boy contracts a mysterious, wasting illness. The doctors are baffled, but Laura knows exactly what’s happening: the past is catching up. The twist here is that David doesn't just need medicine; he needs human flesh. The film essentially treats maternal love like a terminal illness, and as Laura begins to provide for her son’s new "diet," the movie spirals into a bleak road-trip nightmare. It’s the kind of film that asks how many people you’d be willing to murder to keep your kid from having a fever, and Matichak sells that impossible choice with a frantic, wide-eyed intensity that held my attention even when the plot started to meander.

Practical Gore and Parental Panic

What struck me most about Son was the commitment to the "yuck" factor. In an era where a lot of horror relies on CGI shadows or "elevated" metaphors, Ivan Kavanagh (who also directed the hauntingly effective The Canal) isn't afraid to get blood under the fingernails. The practical effects here are genuinely upsetting. When David’s skin begins to blister and rot, it looks painful and wet in a way that makes you want to look away.

Emile Hirsch shows up as Paul, a well-meaning detective who is clearly out of his depth. Hirsch has moved into this interesting phase of his career where he plays tired, slightly rumpled men remarkably well, and his chemistry with Matichak provides a necessary tether to reality while the supernatural elements loom in the background. However, the real star is the atmosphere. Piers McGrail’s cinematography uses a palette of sickly greens and bruised purples, making every motel room and hospital hallway feel like a petri dish. It captures that specific 2020s anxiety—the feeling that the world is inherently unsafe and that our homes are just thin shells protecting us from a predatory outside world.

Why This One Slipped Through the Cracks

If you haven't heard of Son, don't feel bad. It was released by RLJE Films at a time when digital distribution was cannibalizing itself. It’s a "small" movie in terms of scope, and without a major theatrical push or a viral TikTok trend, it was destined to become a "hidden gem" for horror hounds like me who enjoy a side of nihilism with their popcorn.

It’s also a movie that dares to be deeply unpleasant. It doesn't offer the catharsis of a "Final Girl" triumph; instead, it lingers on the moral decay of its protagonist. I’ve always been a fan of horror that explores the darker side of caretaking—think The Babadook or Hereditary—and Son fits right into that lineage, even if it lacks the refined "prestige" sheen of those films. It’s a B-movie at heart, but one with a surprisingly heavy soul. It lacks a bit of narrative momentum in the second act, and some of the cult backstory feels a little "greatest hits of satanic panic," but the central performances and the unflinching ending make it a journey worth taking if you have the stomach for it.

Son is a grim, effective piece of contemporary horror that deserved more eyes than it got during the 2021 content shuffle. It’s a movie that understands that the most terrifying thing in the world isn't a ghost or a cult—it's the realization that you might become a monster to save the person you love most. It’s not exactly "fun" in the traditional sense, but for those who like their horror to leave a bit of a scar, it’s a high-quality discovery that proves Andi Matichak is one of the most capable scream queens of her generation. Just maybe don't watch it while your neighbor is power-washing; it gets a bit loud.