The latest addition to the “sleep economy”‑driven horror wave, Parasomnia, lands on Shudder and AMC+ from 4 September, offering a visually striking gore‑fest that wrestles with night‑time dread. Debut director James Ross II presents a tightly framed, claustrophobic experience centred on Riley (Jasmine Mathews), a young woman haunted by a malevolent presence that breaches the boundary between slumber and waking life. While the film’s ambitious structure and black‑cast ensemble generate intrigue, its intricate plot and middling performances ultimately dilute the intended terror, leaving viewers with a sense of untapped potential.
A Labyrinth of Nightmares and Dreams
From the outset, Parasomnia thrusts audiences into a disorienting realm where reality fractures under the weight of sleep‑induced terror. On her 15th birthday, Riley finds herself paralysed in a liminal space, watching a care worker descend into violent frenzy while she remains powerless to intervene. This traumatic episode forces Riley to adopt a rigid sleep protocol as an adult, insisting that anyone sharing her home must drift off before her to stave off the encroaching evil. The film’s opening sequences establish a stark, noir‑like atmosphere, with stark lighting and confined spaces amplifying the sense of entrapment. Ross II’s direction leans heavily on visual storytelling, using tight frames and a muted colour palette to keep the audience uneasy, yet the narrative quickly becomes tangled in cause‑and‑effect loops that blur dream and reality.
Casting, Race, and Setting
The all‑black cast adds depth without making race the focal point of the story. Jasmine Mathews delivers a performance that balances vulnerability with stoic resolve, embodying Riley’s struggle to maintain control over her nocturnal assailant. Stephen Barrington, as David, provides a counterpoint of curiosity and fear, drawn back to the foster home where memories linger. RJ Brown’s Cam, Riley’s boyfriend, represents the human element that threatens to destabilise the fragile equilibrium. The setting—a dilapidated foster house steeped in past violence—acts as a character in its own right, its creaking floors and dim corridors echoing the psychological decay of its inhabitants. While the film does not explicitly foreground racial themes, the choice to centre a black protagonist in a genre traditionally dominated by white leads marks a subtle yet meaningful shift in horror storytelling.
Plot Complexity and Its Impact on Tension
The narrative’s central premise—an incubus unleashed when sleep schedules are disrupted—offers fertile ground for horror, yet Ross II’s decision to layer multiple temporal strands hampers the film’s scare factor. Riley’s perspective shifts between waking life and the nightmarish labyrinth where past victims are trapped, creating a puzzle‑like structure that rewards close attention. Early on, the audience is invited to piece together fragments of a backstory that only crystallises in a third‑act revelation. This “ingenious switchback” clarifies the mythos but also interrupts the momentum, leaving moments of suspense feeling forced rather than organic. The film’s middle section drags as the plot spirals into increasingly convoluted flashbacks, and the generic, chalk‑faced bogeyman fails to match the menace of classic horror icons like Freddy Krueger. Despite these missteps, Ross II demonstrates a deft hand with pacing and visual composition, suggesting that future projects could harness a more streamlined approach to maximise impact.
Why it Matters
Parasomnia arrives at a time when the “sleep economy” is reshaping cultural anxieties, turning the act of dreaming into both a commodity and a source of dread. By foregrounding a black heroine navigating a nightmarish world that is, in many ways, a product of modern sleep‑tracking technologies, the film taps into contemporary concerns about control, privacy, and the subconscious. While the horror elements stumble under the weight of an over‑engineered plot, the movie’s core ambition—exploring how sleep can become a gateway for trauma—resonates beyond genre conventions. For audiences and creators alike, Parasomnia serves as a reminder that the future of horror lies in weaving personal, cultural, and technological fears into compelling narratives, even when the scares themselves fall short.
