I am disappointed that I enjoyed Obsession (2026).
I am proud of my Letterboxd rating averages: they form a no-nonsense symmetrical bell curve that reflects the balance of scrutiny and respect real film critics maintain. I approach Internet-popular films with an extra critical eye. Giving a scathing two-stars to a film that TikTok comments claim breaks the five-star scale, and thus resisting Internet hoopla as an impervious arbiter of fine taste, is among my select joys in life.
Obsession found me absorbed, at the edge of my seat anticipating jump scares, and not reaching for a phone break during a single moment. Most importantly, weeks after I saw it in theaters, I found myself constantly thinking about the film. Watching cast interviews, binging fan theories and edits, and eyeing the dark corners of my room at night in case an uncanny version of Nikki suddenly manifests shrieking “Why don’t you love me?” For once, I was grateful for the social media trends that brought the film to me.
The film follows main character Bear (Michael Johnston) and his infatuation with one of his friends, Nikki (Inde Navarette), that eventually leads him to cast a magic wish to make Nikki fall in love with him. However, the wish comes with unforeseeable consequences as Nikki’s magical love devolves into a dangerous and fatal obsession, derailing the lives of everyone involved.
One of the most frustrating, and thus engrossing, parts of the story was that the horror was entirely avoidable. The first part of the film consists of a collection of Bear’s countless missed opportunities to tell Nikki how he felt. His fear of confrontation continues until it eventually overrides his fear that Nikki is possessed by an evil otherworldly spirit. In a vile pattern of behavior, he selfishly denies Nikki freedom and ignores the advice of all of his friends to avoid facing what he already knew was an inevitable rejection.
Obsession comments on the attempt to bypass the uncomfortable stage of getting to know someone. It is a human tendency, a broad-enough jab that audiences can feel called out on: they see in Bear their own hesitancy to confess feelings, approach someone, or communicate desires. And yet, most can also agree Bear is in over his head with cowardice and delusion. Bear believes he can skip straight to the boyfriend step since he already “loves” Nikki, and the only missing piece is making the status between them official. He believes he is the exception to the awkward stage.
Obsession makes it clear that there is no exception. Arriving on campus this fall reminded me of this exact lesson. It is a common sentiment that back-to-school conversations in the first few weeks of college are an endless stale repetition of “What’s your major?” and “What’s your resco?” But these conversations, robotic “How are you’s”, reaching out first, the excruciating act of confronting someone romantically or platonically, are necessary. There is a need to get over the early discomfort in order to find a best friend or a soulmate. One of Bear’s initial flaws is that he fails to recognize this need, or simply refuses to.
In an Internet Age where the lack of media literacy—as well as the overuse of that phrase—is rampant, I was pleasantly surprised to see online consensus that Bear is the actual villain of the film, rather than Nikki. While his spinelessness is relatable at times, his willingness to sacrifice Nikki’s safety and override her free will to remain in a technically non-consensual relationship with her is horrifying. But although Obsession is less than subtle and more than successful in conveying the true nature of Bear behind his timid exterior, the resulting fixation on Bear’s life did leave me wanting to see more of Nikki pre- and post-obsession. It feels as though she as a vehicle to display Bear’s mistakes instead of a character with her own life.
So, is Obsession the best horror film I’ve ever seen or the best release of 2026? In the nicest way possible, hardly. In addition to the limited view into Nikki’s life, the script often hands its themes to the audience to leave little room for interpretation, including in a pivotal argument at the beginning of the film between Bear and Nikki about the difference between love and romance. The vintage sets of the film, with old-fashioned diners and an overall 1980’s retro vibe, clash with its modern script and leave the viewer with an uncertain sense of the film’s aesthetic vision.
Nevertheless, with a budget of only $1 million and a relatively unknown cast and crew, the film still captured the attention of audiences worldwide. In fact, the small-scale production likely contributed to the buzz. Obsession is the first feature film played in theaters directed by Curry Barker, a YouTube comedian turned horror movie writer. Like the fresh take on toxic relationship dynamics the film offers, the fresh faces on and off camera excited viewers tired of seeing the same names on screen.
Inde Navarette’s ability to play both a woman who loses her autonomy and the alternate obsessive persona holding her captive makes her an immediate standout in the film. The overall cast’s commitment to their characters’ extreme highs and lows ironically creates believable—and simultaneously terrifying and understandable—characters. I am unsurprised that Navarette and the rest of the talent were catapulted into stardom with this film, and I am looking forward to their next roles.
I am unfortunately still too pretentious to award Obsession five stars. The film’s hyper-focus on Bear’s perspective, plot details that sometimes felt insultingly spoon-fed to viewers, and unclear visual story awarded it a four-star rating that allowed me to maintain my strict bell curve. However, I can say with confidence that the film was a satisfying horror watch that I thoroughly appreciated. I owe TikTok an apology; I now know to not always discredit Internet hype.
