Monstrous

A Technicolor Nightmare in Suburbia

There is something inherently unsettling about the 1950s aesthetic when it’s dialed up to eleven. You know the look: the turquoise Chevrolets, the stiff crinoline skirts, and the kind of sunshine that feels like it’s trying a little too hard to prove it’s not hiding a nuclear test site just over the horizon. When I sat down to watch Chris Sivertson’s Monstrous, I was immediately struck by how much it leans into this "vintage perfection" trope. It looks like a Sears catalog that’s been left out in the rain until the ink started to run.

I watched this on a Tuesday night while my neighbor was power-drilling something directly into the shared wall of my apartment, and weirdly, that rhythmic, grating vibration served as a better soundtrack for the first twenty minutes than the actual score. It put me in exactly the right state of frayed nerves to meet Laura.

Christina Ricci plays Laura, a woman who looks like she’s vibrating at a frequency only dogs can hear. She’s escaped an abusive marriage and moved her seven-year-old son, Cody (Santino Barnard), to a remote, idyllic California rental. But as anyone who has ever seen a horror movie knows, "remote and idyllic" is just cinematic shorthand for "you are definitely going to regret this lease agreement." Before the first box is even unpacked, a slimy, weed-covered entity starts crawling out of the nearby lake to pay them a visit.

The Ricci Renaissance and the CGI Problem

If you’re here for the "Ricci-ssance," you’re in the right place. Christina Ricci has always been an expert at playing characters who are hiding a jagged edge under a calm surface, and here she’s working overtime. She’s in almost every frame, and she has to sell a very specific kind of 1950s hysteria—the kind that involves drinking way too many martinis while insisting that everything is fine, just fine! Her performance is the only reason this movie doesn't float away into the ether of forgotten VOD releases. To be blunt, Ricci’s wardrobe has more personality than the actual monster.

Speaking of the monster—we need to talk about the "Fear Mechanics" here. We are living in a post-Volume, high-tech era of filmmaking, but Monstrous clearly didn't have the budget of a Disney+ Marvel series. The creature, a watery hag-beast that looks like a cross between a soggy rug and a rejected Scooby-Doo villain, is... well, it’s a bit of a letdown. In an era where we’re spoiled by seamless digital effects, the CGI here feels distracting. It lacks that tactile, gross-out factor that practical effects would have provided. When the monster shows up, the tension doesn't ramp up; it actually sags because the creature just isn't as scary as the look on Ricci’s face when she’s staring into a dark hallway.

When the Twist is the Tale

Monstrous is a classic example of a film that was marketed as one thing (a creature feature) but is actually something else entirely (a psychological grief study). This is a common trend in contemporary "elevated horror"—think The Babadook or Hereditary—where the monster is a clunky metaphor for trauma. The problem is that by 2022, audiences have become very savvy. About halfway through, I found myself thinking, "I’ve seen this play before."

The screenplay by Carol Chrest drops clues that aren't so much breadcrumbs as they are entire loaves of sourdough. There are mentions of the "past pulling you under" and weirdly specific details about the husband they’ve left behind. By the time the third act reveals its big secret, you’ve likely already guessed it. However, even if the destination is predictable, the emotional payoff is surprisingly heavy. It shifts from a mediocre horror movie into a quite touching drama about the lengths a mother will go to avoid facing a reality that is too painful to bear.

Why Did This One Sink?

With a box office return of less than $140,000, Monstrous basically vanished into the depths of streaming queues. It’s a shame, because while it’s not a masterpiece, it’s an interesting "what-if" for Chris Sivertson, who previously gave us the cult disaster I Know Who Killed Me. It feels like a film caught between two worlds: it wants the prestige of a psychological thriller but feels obligated to throw in a rubbery lake monster to keep the "horror" tag.

If you’re a fan of mid-century modern production design, you’ll find plenty to love. The house itself, with its wood paneling and massive windows, is a character in its own right, beautifully shot by cinematographer Senda Bonnet. There’s a scene involving a school dynamic with Don Baldaramos and Colleen Camp as the Langtrees that feels like it stepped right out of a David Lynch fever dream. Those moments of "suburban off-kilter" are where the movie really finds its stride.

Ultimately, Monstrous is a "one-watch" film that succeeds mostly on the strength of its lead. Christina Ricci deserves a better monster to fight, but she treats the material with a level of commitment that makes the 89-minute runtime fly by. It’s the kind of movie you find on a rainy Sunday afternoon and don't regret watching, even if you’ve forgotten most of the plot by Monday morning. It’s a flawed but sincere attempt to bridge the gap between "monster-in-the-house" thrills and the heavy, lingering weight of real-world loss.

If you decide to dive in, just go for the atmosphere and the acting. Don't expect the monster to keep you up at night—the real chills are in the way Ricci handles a telephone cord. It’s a small, quiet film that deserved a little more noise than it got upon release. Turn the lights down, ignore the questionable CGI, and let the 1950s saturation wash over you. It's a decent way to spend five minutes—or eighty-nine.