Chris Stuckmann’s transition from critic to filmmaker is a memorable yet mixed effort
Mia (Camille Sullivan) is out of leads a decade after the disappearance of her sister and famed YouTube paranormal investigator Riley (Sarah Durn), last seen in the abandoned Ohio village of Shelby Oaks. In a final effort to find closure, Mia hires a true crime documentary crew to probe Riley’s disappearance – but a series of shocking events places Mia on a dark investigatory path that threatens to revive the demons of their past.
Much like Riley, writer-director Chris Stuckmann built his foundation as a prominent YouTube personality, with his earnest, meticulous approach to filmmaking’s many creative facets earning him a deserved following in the millions. His pivot from film criticism to filmmaking proper has drawn equal fascination: not only did a record-breaking Kickstarter campaign fund Stuckmann’s anticipated debut, but he also secured the backing of horror veterans Mike Flanagan and Trevor Macy during post-production. Further driving the film’s near Hereditary-level anticipation was its pre-festival acquisition by distributor NEON, already having a banner year with genre greats Longlegs, Cuckoo, and Immaculate. With so much creative clout generated before its debut, could Shelby Oaks ever live up to this kind of hype?
The answer is, of course, no–no film could. With its collection of impressive scares and assured direction, though, it’s easy to see how much promise an auteur like Chris Stuckmann holds. The quickly communicated passion of Stuckmann’s creative voice finds a slick and polished creative analog here, confidently pivoting between forms of media and storytelling to immense effect. There’s a trained eye towards subverting his audience’s expectations for a story like this, which one can’t help but feel has been honed over years of breaking down the impact of classic horror films for a wider audience. It’s helped Stuckmann cultivate his personal sense of what makes for terrifying atmosphere, and Shelby Oaks’ rusty amusement parks, crumbling prisons, and ramshackle cabins all follow in this rich horror tradition.
Respecting a general request by the film’s creatives to keep the plot and approach of Shelby Oaks under wraps, Stuckmann showcases his influences proudly, zigzagging between homages to everything from Lake Mungo to Rosemary’s Baby throughout his intriguing, grief-fueled mystery. It reminds me of Carl Theodor Dreyer’s approach when creating his stab at horror with Vampyr – creating the plot for his film by stringing a story through a list of visual motifs collected from a stack of thirty horror and mystery novels. But where Dreyer’s approach was born from an earnest attempt to understand and provoke psychological responses to horror, Shelby Oaks’ disparate yet evocative horror elements don’t quite congeal into something as emotionally or psychologically charged.
Stuckmann clearly has an idea for what elements should go where, and directs them with effective, clean pacing; however, they feel more born from a critical sense of obligation rather than an organic evolution of the story being told. As Shelby Oaks enters its final third, an admittedly set-up supernatural rug-pull is still beholden to lengthy last-minute exposition. Here, one can’t help but feel just how much Shelby Oaks doesn’t just pay open homage to classic horror films, but illustrates how much better they were at executing these elements. While Shelby Oaks is packed with great ideas, everything moves at such a brisk and cursory pace that they fail to register with a satisfactory emotional payoff.
That’s not to say that Chris Stuckmann’s formal execution is subpar – far from it. From scene to scene, Shelby Oaks is delightfully creepy, with skin-crawling cinematography by Andrew Scott Baird and patient editing by Patrick Lawrence drawing out the tension. Camille Sullivan as Mia and Sarah Durn as Riley are also excellent here, with Mia’s character’s unresolved pain and drive for closure paralleling Riley’s Laura Palmer-esque tenacity for exploring the unexplainable at the cost of her mental state; both provide a visceral emotional anchor from set piece to set piece. I can’t help but think that this central relationship helped draw a seasoned filmmaker like Mike Flanagan to support this project, echoing the similar sisterly bond in his debut film Absentia–itself a first feature that, while rough around the edges, had all the seeds of a future horror titan.
Shelby Oaks’ found footage sequences in particular are so well done, playing with perspective and visibility that make a case for Chris Stuckmann to hold his own against similar faux-doc auteurs like Koji Shiraishi or Horror in the High Desert’s Dutch Marich. Stuckmann’s ability to effectively contrast these segments against other types of narrative filmmaking is Shelby Oaks’ most notable highlight, reflecting a willingness to play fast and loose with horror conventions to try and get at something new. At the same time, I can’t help but wish Shelby Oaks had played even further into its found footage approach. The limited perspectives of its characters afford a certain amount of ambiguity; practically, it’s easier to hide any storytelling or budgetary shortcomings that exist beyond frames both literal and narrative. When you swap that out for a broader, wider scope of third-person omniscience, you can see the unrealized areas of the canvas for what they are.
While Shelby Oaks’ narrative shortcomings at times overpower its undeniable successes, Chris Stuckmann’s debut film still packs in enough promising frights to reward both his loyal fanbase and audiences new to his work–even if subsequent films are destined to eclipse this flawed first feature.
Shelby Oaks had its world premiere at Fantasia Fest 2024. It has been acquired by NEON for a theatrical release in 2025.
