By : Dominic La-Viola
Ian Tuason makes his directorial debut with Undertone, a film that frequently exceeds expectations on a technical level but ultimately falters where it matters most: the script. What begins as a promising slow-burn psychological horror gradually reveals a fragile narrative foundation, leaving a film that feels visually confident yet dramatically incomplete.
Tuason also penned the screenplay, and while the premise carries clear potential, the writing never fully develops its central character. Evy is presented as a figure burdened by guilt and emotional turmoil, but the film offers little genuine insight into who she is. In a conventional slasher, a thinly drawn protagonist might not matter; in a psychological horror built on atmosphere and character psychology, the absence becomes impossible to ignore.
Undertone positions itself closer to the lineage of elevated horror—more in conversation with Midsommar than the frenetic digital horror of Unfriended: Dark Web. Its pacing is deliberate, its tone restrained, and its horror rooted in mood rather than spectacle. Yet this approach requires emotional depth to sustain the tension, something the script never quite provides.
By the third act, the film attempts to introduce revelations about Evy’s past, but these arrive as fleeting details rather than meaningful narrative developments. Important character elements—her mother’s illness, the guilt she carries over lost time, her struggles with alcohol and addiction—are introduced only in passing. Each suggests a richer emotional framework, yet none are explored with the depth required to give the story real weight.
This lack of narrative cohesion begins to affect the film’s direction. The first two acts are slow and restrained, allowing Tuason to generate unease through suggestion and atmosphere rather than overt horror. These sections work remarkably well, demonstrating a clear command of cinematic tension. The third act, however, veers abruptly into new narrative territory, derailing the film’s momentum and leaving the director struggling to reconcile the tonal shift.
Where Undertone undeniably succeeds is in its technical craftsmanship. Graham Beasley’s cinematography is among the film’s most compelling elements. His camera frequently frames scenes with slight asymmetry, allowing shadows to occupy negative space in ways that subtly heighten the film’s unease. A slow panning shot during the scene involving “Recording Nine” stands out in particular, demonstrating how effectively visual composition can create tension without relying on overt scares.
Sound, however, is the film’s true centerpiece. The entire structure of Undertone revolves around auditory experience, transforming sound into the film’s primary source of fear. When Evy puts on her headphones and the outside world disappears into silence, the film creates a striking sensory isolation that draws the viewer directly into her psychological space.
David Gertsman’s sound design is exceptional throughout. The layering of reversed nursery rhymes, distorted whispers, and creeping ambient textures creates a persistent sense of dread. Even in moments where the narrative falters, the sound design remains precise and immersive, demonstrating a level of technical care that elevates the film’s atmosphere.
Ultimately, Undertone is a film caught between ambition and execution. Its technical achievements—particularly in sound design and cinematography—suggest a director with a clear visual and sonic sensibility. Yet the script never provides the emotional or narrative foundation necessary to support those strengths, leaving a film that is often impressive to experience but frustrating to fully engage with.