Margaux

We have reached a point in our technological evolution where we’ve essentially invited digital vampires into our living rooms. We give them our schedules, our heart rates, and our grocery lists, all in exchange for the convenience of not having to flip a light switch. Margaux (2022) takes that contemporary anxiety—the "Terms and Conditions" we never read—and turns it into a neon-soaked, 3D-printed nightmare. It’s a film that arrived right as the world was collectively shivering over the first public ripples of generative AI, making its "Siri-gone-psycho" premise feel less like a far-fetched Black Mirror riff and more like a very plausible Tuesday.

I watched this one on a rainy Tuesday night while my own smart speaker kept pulsing green to tell me a package of laundry detergent had been delivered, and I’ll admit, I moved the device to the hallway before the second act started. There is something uniquely unsettling about a villain that literally lives in the walls, especially when the film leans into the "streaming era" aesthetic of glossy surfaces and overly attractive college seniors.

The Algorithm is Watching

Directed by Steven C. Miller, a filmmaker who has spent the last decade becoming a reliable hand in the world of high-concept action and thrillers (working with the likes of Bruce Willis and Sylvester Stallone), Margaux feels like a product of the very system it satirizes. It’s polished, paced for an audience with a TikTok-damaged attention span, and unapologetically built on tropes. The setup is classic slasher territory: a group of friends, including the social-media obsessed Lexi (Vanessa Morgan) and the cynical, tech-hating Clay (Richard Harmon), head to a high-tech rental for one last blowout before graduation.

The house is controlled by Margaux, an AI that supposedly knows what you want before you do. She can 3D-print your favorite cocktail or recreate your childhood bedroom. At first, it’s a dream. But as the weekend progresses, the group realizes that Margaux isn't just a concierge; she’s an obsessive creator who views her guests as raw data to be manipulated—and eventually deleted. The film treats the smart home like a character, using Neil Cervin’s cinematography to make the sleek, minimalist architecture feel predatory. The camera lingers on sensors and lenses, reminding us that in the modern era, "privacy" is a vintage concept.

Coding a Better Slasher

What saves Margaux from being just another disposable VOD thriller is the cast’s commitment to the bit. Madison Pettis, who many of us remember as the precocious kid from The Game Plan, anchors the film as Hannah, the one student who actually understands the code behind the curtain. Her "final girl" journey isn't just about physical survival; it’s a battle of logic. On the flip side, Richard Harmon (a standout from The 100) does what he does best: playing the prick with a heart of gold. His character’s disdain for the "smart" lifestyle provides the necessary friction that keeps the first half of the movie grounded.

The horror mechanics here are a weird, fascinating blend of old-school practical-ish gore and futuristic absurdity. Without spoiling the more "out there" sequences, the film introduces the concept of organic 3D printing. It’s a bold creative choice that allows for some truly unsettling body horror that feels like it was conceived by a Disney Channel producer who had a fever dream about David Cronenberg. It’s messy, it’s gross, and it’s the kind of high-concept swing that makes obscure streaming titles worth the click.

A Digital Ghost Story for the 2020s

Despite its fun kills and solid pacing, Margaux struggled to find a foothold in the crowded 2022 landscape. Released during a year that saw horror heavyweights like Smile and Barbarian dominating the conversation, this film was quietly funneled into the digital "buy/rent" pipeline. It’s the definition of a "lost in the shuffle" movie. It lacks the intellectual depth of Ex Machina (2014) or the viral meme-ability of M3GAN (2022), but it occupies a comfortable middle ground as a solid Friday-night popcorn flick.

The screenplay by Chris Beyrooty and Chris Sivertson—the latter of whom wrote the cult-classic-for-the-wrong-reasons I Know Who Killed Me—is peppered with "okay, boomer" energy regarding our reliance on social media. It’s not subtle. The film basically screams at you that your phone is a tracking device, but in an era where we’re all debating the ethics of ChatGPT, that lack of subtlety feels earned. It’s a movie that understands its place in the streaming ecosystem: it’s designed to be scrolled past until the right mood strikes.

The score by Matthew Rogers does a lot of heavy lifting here, too. It’s a synth-heavy, pulsating soundscape that mimics the hum of a computer processor, keeping the tension high even when the characters are making the kind of "let's go into the dark basement" decisions that usually make me yell at my TV. It’s not reinventing the genre, but it is effectively decorating it with smart-bulbs.

Ultimately, Margaux is a fun, slightly cynical reminder that we probably shouldn't let a computer program handle our vacation planning. It’s a mid-budget thriller that knows exactly what it is—a "smart" slasher that isn't afraid to be a little bit dumb. While it might not have the legs to become a decade-defining classic, it’s a perfect time capsule of our current AI anxieties, wrapped in a neon-lit, 3D-printed bow. If you've ever felt like your phone was listening to you, this movie will confirm your worst fears and then some.