Blockhead Review (Frightfest 2025)
“If your soul isn’t up for grabs, then who cares what you write… what are you willing to risk?”
FrightFest has long been a platform for low-budget genre filmmaking, giving many successful directors their first spotlight – Ben Wheatley, Christopher Smith, and Neil Marshall to name a few. The best of these have a creative vision that manages to overcome the budget limitations and deliver something very special, creating films so compelling that audiences eventually forget the rough edges. Blockhead, the second feature from Matt Harlock (and his first narrative film following the documentary American: The Bill Hicks Story), is very much in that tradition, with a gripping story, heavy atmosphere and above all a compelling central performance from Danny Horn.
Taking its cue from the likes of Barton Fink and Stephen King’s The Dark Half, Harlock’s film follows Will Mercer (Danny Horn), a young novelist suffering from crippling writer’s block, paralysed by the pressure of following up his successful debut. Retreating to his therapist’s abandoned office unit, he finds an unlikely muse in the form of a swaggering, potentially psychotic decorator Mikey (Joe Simms). This uneasy friendship awakens something disturbing in Mercer, at first fuelling his writing, but soon dragging him into darker territory, forcing him to confront past trauma and eventually blurring the boundaries between creation and destruction.
Unlike much of this year’s FrightFest lineup, Blockhead isn’t heavy on body count or gore. There is violence, but it’s largely suggested rather than explicitly shown. The real horror comes from Mercer’s increasingly deteriorating mental state. Harlock leans more into psychological horror, conjuring an oppressive dread that mirrors the claustrophobic, suffocating sensation of creative paralysis. There are clear parallels with Barton Fink here – the stuffy, frustrated intellectual drawing inspiration from the working man, laced with condescension, and quickly finding himself out of his depth. Horn is a lot more vulnerable and likeable than John Turturro’s pompous playwright though, which makes the film much more tragic than the inferno of the Coen Brothers’ film.
There are other touchstones too – the influence of Eraserhead, Censor, and Berberian Sound Studio can be felt in the way the film depicts Mercer’s mental unravelling – memories, imagination and reality all bleeding into each other. Harlock himself has mentioned Videodrome as an influence, and specifically the idea of externalising the internal frustration of writer’s block, itself is a concept rooted in German Expressionism, this combined with the Faustian elements comes through beautifully. The film’s drab, realist aesthetic slowly yields to lurid colours and sinister imagery, as if Mercer’s psyche itself is bleeding out onto the screen.
Danny Horn (previously seen playing Ray Davies onstage in Sunny Afternoon) is honestly fantastic in the lead role. He captures every facet of Mercer’s crumbling psyche: arrogance, fragility, pretension, and insecurity, all without ever losing the audience’s sympathy. His large, expressive eyes are perfect for conveying the obsessive, haunted quality of a character teetering on the brink of a nervous breakdown, and serve to accentuate either his poignancy or menace depending on the context. His performance anchors the film, and he brings just the right amout of intensity to the role. Joe Simms provides a sharp counterpoint as Mikey – equal parts charming and menacing and possibly imaginary. Harlock doesn’t spend too much time debating whether or not he’s real, it’s largely left to the audience to decide. Simms keeps his cards close to his chest, playing it just ambiguous enough to keep us guessing until the end.
The script is lyrical and memorable, leaning heavily on verbose monologues to establish character. In the right hands, these speeches are electric, and delivered with relish – this is especially true of Mercer’s arrogant, mercurial rival, and his flamboyant editor, both of whom clearly enjoy sinking their teeth into the excoriating dialogue. Others are less successful, sometimes drifting into the realms of overlong, self-conscious student drama exercises, which sometimes undermines the simmering tension.
Still, there’s a conviction to the writing that’s hard to resist. The excerpts we hear from Mercer’s novel are convincingly literary without tipping into pretension, and even more impressively, it actually sounds pretty good! The sound design, too, is striking, amplifying the film’s oppressive mood, and even providing a couple of genuine jump scares, while Adam Stafford’s sumptuous score deliberately evokes Giallo classics, recalling Goblin and Fabio Frizzi – particularly in the dizzying finale, which echoes the hysteria of Frizzi’s The Beyond.
A compelling take on writers block with a neat Giallo styled twist, Blockhead may not be a traditional horror film – its roots lie more in psychological thriller and gothic dread than in slasher territory – but it is undoubtedly one of the most disturbing and cerebral entries at this year’s festival. Claustrophobic, unsettling, and fuelled by a powerful lead performance, it’s a compelling study of the destructive potential of inspiration, and the thin line between creation and destruction.
Yes, the rough edges remain – cheap masks, patchy supporting performances, moments of staginess – but they are forgivable when weighed against the film’s ambition and intensity. At its best, Blockhead exemplifies what FrightFest celebrates most: the ability of low-budget genre cinema to channel imagination and atmosphere into something haunting, memorable, and subversive.
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p class=”has-text-align-center”>Blockhead receives its world premiere at FrightFest on 23 August 2025 / Danny Horn, Joe Simms, Richard Glover, Michelle Moran / Dir: Matt Harlock / Blue Finch Films / Unrated
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