Ian Tuason’s mesmerizing minimalist debut is possibly the scariest film of the year
To cope with the emotional strain of caring for her terminally ill mother, Evy finds solace in recording late-night episodes of her paranormal investigation podcast, The Undertone, alongside her remote co-host, Justin (Kris Holden-Ried). Evy plays the skeptical Scully to Justin’s endlessly curious Mulder— and for their latest episode, Justin introduces ten anonymously submitted audio files chronicling the increasingly unsettling bedtime conversations of a young couple, Mike (Jeff Yung) and Jessa (Keana Lyn Bastidas). But as the pair listens deeper, it becomes clear that these recordings carry a sinister force…one that begins to take hold in Evy’s home and psyche.
In recent years, a branch of horror and suspense films has pushed the genre further by stripping away senses to tap into a more primal sense of fear. Instead of relying on what’s already been seen or heard, standout films have heightened tension through sensory deprivation, including the disorienting chaos of The Outwaters, the gradual sensual erasure of Disappear Completely, the otherworldly UFO stories of The Vast of Night, the radio-journalism-driven Monolith, and the gripping immediacy of The Guilty’s emergency call center. Now, horror author Ian Tuason’s debut feature, The Undertone, confidently stakes its claim amongst this ambitious canon. Not only does it live up to the bold sensory limitations of its predecessors — it weaponizes our instinct to pair sound and image, delivering a slow-burning, sound-driven nightmare that is as immersive as it is diabolically terrifying.
As implied by the film’s title, The Undertone is a film you listen to as much as you watch. In fact, listening is the crucial aspect of The Undertone, as we join lead Evy–nearly the film’s sole character–in aurally scouring these audio files for any sign of paranormal phenomena. Over the film’s brisk runtime, sound designer David Gertsman conjures a soundscape as vivid and textured as anything captured by cinematographer Graham Beasley, with the two working in tandem to craft an astonishingly immersive horror experience. Beasley and Gertsman create a unique, intimate connection between the muffled backmasking of Mike and Jessa’s audio files and the familiar, lived-in objects of Evy’s childhood home. Deprived of independent visuals or context for the recordings, the audience is naturally compelled to fuse sound and image, projecting the creeping dread of the anonymous voices onto Evy’s surroundings. Even if there’s nothing there, Tuason and his crew make us feel like anything can be waiting in the darkness.
And sometimes, there is. Tuason understands the power we’ve lent to those seemingly innocuous objects, and the bottomless tension in what might be lurking just beyond our line of sight. Creepy details thrive at the edges of Beasley’s frame, exploiting what’s visible to us but not to Evy or her sleeping mother. These fleeting payoffs give release to The Undertone’s sonic pressure — only to swap it for seat-squirming visual terror. It’s this clever interplay between what’s heard and what’s seen that makes The Undertone so deeply unsettling. Tuason doesn’t just tap into our fear of the dark: he amplifies the dread already living in the silence. The Undertone grabs hold of primal fears within us and refuses to let go. I cannot stress enough how essential it is to see The Undertone in a theater with the best sound system you can find; I can only imagine a Dolby Atmos screening would likely be a nerve-shattering, borderline lethal experience.
Equally essential to The Undertone’s impact is Nina Kiri’s phenomenal performance. Though she has moments of interaction with the sleeping presence of Michèle Duquet, the disembodied voice of Holden-Ried’s Justin, and the occasional call-in guest, this is undeniably Kiri’s film from start to finish. With each new audio file, she chips away at the emotional barriers Evy has built, both as a hardened paranormal skeptic and as a daughter estranged by distance and grief. Every act of listening doesn’t just challenge Evy’s beliefs; it quietly interrogates her need for that disbelief in the first place. As such, each audio clip isn’t just a source of bone-chilling tension—it’s another opportunity for Kiri to showcase her remarkable range, operating almost entirely from a kitchen table, with only a microphone and laptop as her scene partners.
By the time The Undertone extinguishes its slow, slow burn with a one-take tidal wave of panic-inducing payoffs, it’s already cemented itself as a dread-drenched modern classic. Working with the bare essentials of horror, it crafts something wholly original and unnervingly compelling, a chilling reminder of why the faintest bump in the dark can still send shivers straight down our spine.
Fueled by Nina Kiri’s riveting performance and an impeccable command of sound and silence, The Undertone creeps under your skin, lingers in your headphones, and dares you to listen just a little closer…even when every instinct screams at you not to.
The Undertone had its World Premiere at the 2025 Fantasia International Film Festival. It is currently seeking distribution.
