‘Obsession’ review: A familiar but effective nightmare retooled for Gen Z

As young men flinched and gasped around me at the Los Angeles premiere of “Obsession,” I almost had to laugh. A slight head tilt, creepy smile or strange movement from star Inde Navarrette was enough to make them jump, and I had the realization that the most terrifying thing for a young man these days is an emotionally unregulated and unpredictable woman. Keep that one in your back pocket, ladies.

The young man behind “Obsession,” 26-year-old filmmaker Curry Barker, has certainly tapped into that unique fear with his splashy breakout horror film “Obsession.” It’s his second feature, arriving hot on the heels of a self-distributed film, “Milk & Serial,” an outgrowth of the sketch shorts he’d been making for YouTube with collaborator Cooper Tomlinson, who also co-stars in the new film.

Written, directed and edited by Barker, “Obsession” comes from a simple, familiar premise, executed with a dark and dread-filled flair. Barker combines the monkey’s paw and Pygmalion myths in this story about a young man who wishes that his dream girl would fall in love with him. You know what they say about love spells (don’t do them), and the way things unfold in Barker’s vision is bleak, bloody and seriously disturbing.

Our unlucky simp is Bear (Michael Johnston), one of a quartet of early-20-something friends who work at a music store and get drunk at trivia nights as often as possible. It’s clear from the start that even though Bear is crushing on Nikki (Navarrette), it’s actually Sarah (Megan Lawless) who has feelings for Bear, while Ian (Tomlinson), his best friend, weirdly undermines his efforts with Nikki any chance he gets.

Hoping to confess his feelings and win her over, Bear buys Nikki a trinket at a head shop, a One Wish Willow, which the clerk warns can’t be returned. After a disastrous conversation, Bear ends up making the wish himself, breaking the stick and wishing that Nikki would love him more than anyone else in the world.

For a brief moment, it’s a sweet, cozy scenario, even though their friends are baffled by the new connection. But needy, possessive Nikki goes on to smother Bear and what plays out is a horrifying tale of obsessive love gone wrong — sour, curdled and violent. As her behavior becomes increasingly self-destructive, Bear realizes he’s trapped in her jealous loop, with death the only way out.

The story isn’t complicated, and it’s one we know well, rendered with spooky, atmospheric aesthetics and intensely gnarly violence that provide cover for the thin premise, nagging plot holes and flimsy characterization. It’s sufficient, but the strength of the filmmaking is not the writing, but in Barker’s command of style, pace and performance. Taylor Clemons’ cinematography is excellent, all slow creeping shots and shadows permeating even the daytime scenes. An eerie, enchanting score by Rock Burwell gives the proceedings a dreamy, nightmarish quality.

But it’s the performances that elevate “Obsession” into a real sense of danger. Johnston carries the film and the emotional core, but Navarrette delivers the kind of instantly classic horror turn that will surely traumatize Gen Z for years. Her hysterical grin sets your teeth on edge; she alternates between swiftness and stillness in her uncanny movements. Johnston plays poor Bear as a quivering mess wracked with guilt that this monster — who used to be his friend — is the result of his own terrible decision-making. You wanted a girlfriend? Here’s Freaky Nikki.

The smartest choice Barker makes is the inclusion of rare moments when Nikki snaps out of it, briefly coming to or pleading with Bear in her sleep to “kill her,” reminding us that Nikki, as menacing as she is, never wanted this. The only villain here is Bear, or perhaps it’s the idea that young men believe they should simply be able to have whomever they want. If anything, “Obsession” serves as a cautionary tale — for boys. With the way they reacted in the theater, it seems like it landed.

Katie Walsh is a Tribune News Service film critic.