Fantastic Fest is a place where genre thrives, where filmmakers can take risks with form, tone, and structure. Few films in this year’s lineup embody that spirit more than Shelby Oaks, the long-anticipated feature debut of Chris Stuckmann. First announced years ago and famously funded through one of Kickstarter’s biggest film campaigns, the movie arrives with an aura of persistence and passion. That background can’t be separated from the final product: a film born out of a horror lover’s obsession, stitched together from countless influences, and shaped by the sheer will to get it made.
Shelby Oaks opens in the format of a true-crime mockumentary, the kind of thing you might stumble across on Netflix or late-night cable. It’s shot and cut with the slick efficiency of Dateline, presenting the story of a missing person with just enough tongue-in-cheek humor to feel like it’s winking at the genre, but never so much that it undermines the intrigue. From there, the film morphs into found footage, then into a more traditional horror narrative. That willingness to weave between modes of documentary, diegetic video, and polished cinematic storytelling is its most striking and original feature. It’s smartly edited, often playful, and at times feels like three horror films colliding into one.
At its core, Shelby Oaks follows a woman searching for her long-missing sister, a disappearance tied to a group of paranormal investigators from their past. What keeps the film from feeling like a stylistic experiment for its own sake is the emotional throughline between the two sisters. Camille Sullivan delivers the strongest performance in the cast, carrying the grief and heartbreak of separation with a rawness that grounds the movie’s more outlandish turns. Even as the film leans on familiar horror beats (shaky cameras, sudden deaths, and well-timed jump scares), there’s an undercurrent of tragedy that makes those scares sting.
The premise of a YouTube ghost-hunting group going missing also makes the story feel distinctly of-the-moment, a believable headline in 2025. That connection to internet celebrity culture, combined with Stuckmann’s own YouTube roots, lends the film a personal touch that makes its best moments resonate.
The influences are unmistakable. The Blair Witch Project (1999), Hell House LLC (2015), Paranormal Activity (2007), Sinister (2012), and even NEON’s recent Longlegs (2024) all echo through the film’s style and execution. To be fair, horror has always been a genre of derivation—new voices reworking old tropes—but the comparisons are especially hard to shake here. Some of the most explosive moments feel lifted from recent genre standouts, and while they’re effective, they don’t always feel fresh. The scares also grow repetitive, with one too many jump cuts into darkness.
More distracting is the film’s impulse to explain itself. The mockumentary framing and found-footage elements promise mystery, but as the story unravels, the script over-contextualizes its supernatural elements. The rules of the evil at play become muddy, the timeline stretches credibility, and the more the film tries to clarify, the less chilling it feels. Horror often thrives in ambiguity, but Shelby Oaks leans toward over-explanation, a choice that weakens its final act.
And yet, despite those shortcomings, there’s something undeniably exciting about the film. You can feel the labor of love in every frame. The hours of editing, the careful layering of formats, the deep appreciation for horror history. For all its flaws, Shelby Oaks never feels lazy or cynical. It feels like the work of someone who has studied the genre obsessively and finally seized the chance to try it himself. That passion comes through, and it makes the film’s imperfections easier to forgive.
As a debut, it’s a promising statement. Stuckmann clearly understands the rhythms of horror, and while his storytelling instincts still need sharpening, his confidence behind the camera suggests this is only the beginning. Shelby Oaks isn’t a masterpiece, but it’s enjoyable, clever in parts, frustrating in others, and never boring. More importantly, it’s a reminder that horror is still fertile ground for experimentation, and that new voices are still finding ways to rework its oldest tricks. Watching it, you can’t help but look forward to whatever Stuckmann makes next.
Review Courtesy of Jake Fittipaldi
Feature Image Credit to NEON