Deadstream (2022)

Deadstream is what happens when a haunted-house movie gets shot full of adrenaline and then dares you not to laugh while you’re screaming. It’s a wickedly clever riff on livestream culture, using the screenlife/found-footage setup not as a gimmick but as a pressure cooker—every comment, camera angle, and technical hiccup becomes part of the fun and the fear. Joseph Winter throws himself into the lead with the kind of committed, nervy energy that makes the comedy land and the panic feel contagious, while the practical creature effects and sharp editing keep the night escalating in inventive, crowd-pleasing ways. Fair warning: it’s gleefully nasty at times, so if you’re squeamish about gore it may be a hard pass—but if you want a Halloween-ready ride that delivers real scares with a mischievous grin, this one’s a blast.

Deadstream is clearly trying to mash up found-footage haunted-house horror with the chaos of influencer culture, and the setup is genuinely clever for anyone who likes “live chat” energy baked into the scares. The problem is the movie rarely lets a moment breathe: the lead is intentionally loud and hyperactive, which can feel less “comic panic” and more “someone yelling in your ear for 90 minutes,” and that constant volume undercuts both tension and punchlines. It also leans hard on gross-out gags and frantic momentum, so if you’re hoping the premise builds to a smarter, more satisfying payoff or deeper character work, you may find it thin. If you can tolerate a grating protagonist and you’re game for nasty, jump-scare-heavy fun, it’s a solid midnight watch; if you want atmospheric dread or sharper comedy, skip it.