I write for myself alone

First of all, can I just say, it's wonderful to see a horror movie that's unapologetically a horror movie ! There's no weaseling this off into the "actually this is some other genre because I don't want to admit that horror is a wide-ranging genre with a lot of value and that I, a very intelligent person, liked it" abyss to which movies like "The Substance" and "Sinners" were condemned; this is a horror movie, full stop.

Oh, and it's actually good. Like, "one of the best horror movies of the last ten years" good. Yeah, I was not expecting that from a movie picked up by Blumhouse, infamously a studio that essentially functions as a laundering operation for inferior James Wan movie clones. Obsession uses its lighting and sound to chilling effect, keeping you guessing as to where the next scare is going to come from and ensuring that even when something is in plain sight, it remains terrifying. There are jumpscares, but they are quite fair in my opinion, and they lean so hard into brutality that you don't get to relax after the loud noise plays. You're stuck there, and you can either try and sink into your chair or nervously laugh the shock away.

All this excellent film work is anchored by an all-timer performance from Inde Navarrette, who plays the female lead, Nikki. Horror based on a loss of control or autonomy remains the only type of horror that genuinely unsettles me; it's why I hate werewolves so much, it's why possession films tend to upset me, and it's why the Evil Dead films, hilarious as they can be, are so tragic to me. Navarrette is tasked with embodying this horror as a woman placed under the influence of an identity she doesn't want, and she does a spectacular job. the way she moves, the way she contorts her face, the way she varies between "normal" and "deranged" personalities, the way she shows pain, how much all of this is hurting her just as much as it's hurting everyone around her... this is a performance that would get awards nominations if the entire world weren't so embarrassed of liking horror movies (although with Amy Madigan getting recognition for "Weapons" last year, maybe there's hope).

What I really want to discuss in this post, though, is the male lead, Bear. When put next to Navarrette's flashier work as Nikki, this character seems rather forgettable (though Michael Johnston puts in a great performance as a "nice guy" in over his head), but I believe that he is why this movie resonated so much with me. I've seen a lot of people describe this movie as mean, making up new ways to keep Bear miserable every second, and I do agree with this; hell, when I left the theatre, I was chuckling to myself about how this was even meaner than Raimi's "Drag Me to Hell," the textbook movie for shitting on your horror protagonist. But I just found that meanness delicious here for one reason: Bear is the kind of character I love to hate. I enjoyed seeing him miserable, and because of that, the movie just clicked. Not a dull moment while watching two equally reprehensible forces collide. Bear is a really well-written protagonist for the movie, and if he had been just a bit more likeable, I probably would have just had fun and gone home without a second thought in my head. Why do I dislike him so much? Well, it's because he reminds me a bit too much of myself from a few years ago. He's an Empty Slate.

The Empty Slate is an archetype that I see popping up in film a lot more often now (for the record, I don't know if this particular trope has a proper name), potentially as a result of the isolation and alienation that the pandemic brought to so many people. This character has nothing inside them; they are defined entirely by the people they interact with, their closest friends. In conversation, they function as nothing more than an in-person reply guy, a wall to hang post-its from, a wall to bounce the ball of your thoughts off of. Sounds cruel, I know, but the Empty Slate doesn't think so. They yearn for these moments because it's the only time they can absorb their friends' personalities. It is the only time they get to feel something. It is the only time they get to be a real person. To speak more familiarly, think of a friend you've known since childhood that just likes to hang out with you and do whatever you do. You don't know much else about them other than the basics, and when you ask for more, they just want to get back to having fun. You know you like them, but if someone pressed you on why you did, why you'd ever become friends with this person, could you really give a definitive answer? Think May from May (2002), or maybe James Sweeney's character from the criminally under-discussed Twinless (2025).

Bear is a textbook Empty Slate. You see it all in the intro: we learn next to nothing personal about him other than that he probably loved his cat. It's all Nikki this, Nikki that, Nikki, Nikki, Nikki. He can talk about her style with ease, he can parrot what she likes and dislikes, and he can recall all the times she was there for him, but he can't do much of the same for himself. In fact, when he's later asked about what he wants to be doing, he can barely give a half-answer about being a food critic in which his heart simply isn't invested. His whole life revolves around his supposed crush on his best friend because she is the paint on his canvas, what keeps him from remaining totally and utterly blank.

Now, I instinctively dislike these types of characters (in a good way), but I'm often able to have sympathy for them; after all, this was me a few years ago, desperately reminding my old friends of all the times we'd had in a plea to not leave me. I knew it was fruitless, and I eventually grew out of it. I still have a few of the old tricks up my sleeve, but I'm self-conscious enough not to use them. What I hate about Bear is that he's an insecure Empty Slate. The insecure Empty Slate realizes that they have nothing inside, but instead of stewing on this and working on it, they begin to lash out at the people they've been drawing from this whole time for the crime of being a real person. This person thinks that they are entitled to drink of another's soul, and seek complete and utter control of it, demanding constant attention and comfort.

You see, Bear thinks that he loves Nikki, but he's more in love with the idea of her. In his initial "confession," he talks a lot about how she's been there for him throughout his life, but he can barely speak of what parts of her as a person appeal to him. This shouldn't be that hard for him, as Nikki seems like an amazing person, being confident, driven, and kind. She knows exactly who she is, and that's exactly why Bear can't talk about her; it's often embarrassing for the Empty Slate to admit what they hope to leech off of their friends, and in Bear's case, it's self-assuredness and strength. Nikki gives Bear a sense of stability and direction in his lost little life that he doesn't think he'll ever have, and when she's around, there's no fear, no need to dwell on his own failings. She's his rock. This, incidentally, is why he dismisses his other friend, Sarah, who's probably actually interested in him romantically; you aren't going to get much stability out of a struggling artist who's gotten rejections from tons of colleges. No, Nikki's the only person who gives him the ability to feel in control of his life. His desire for her isn't so much a desire for a person he genuinely likes as it is a desire for a perpetual hug machine.

In the movie itself, the inciting action that sets everything in motion isn't a poor guy making a wish out of sadness; it's a loser mad that he's lost that hug machine. It's an angry and frustrated man trying to bring his spiralling life back under control with a forceful demand. When we first meet Bear, we learn that his cat has died after ingesting pills that he had locked away. In a clever bit of foreshadowing, while Bear mourns the cat itself to a degree, he seems more anguished about the fact that he was unable to keep it from getting into the pills in the first place. Right after this shake-up, he learns that Nikki, his best friend and "crush" is quitting her job and leaving town to focus on writing. This is too far for him. He tries desperately to hold her attention, telling her about his cat's death in the middle of a social event in order to make her care for him and driving her home so he can have a shot at confessing, but she is set on her path. As she talks with clarity about how she wants a bigger life and how she wants to fall in love, his insecurity balloons as he realizes that the most he can offer in response is timid little jokes about her exact wording. Even Nikki takes note of how easy it is to bounce her thoughts on writing off of him. When they reach her home, he nervously tries to flirt with her, dodging around his actual desire, and Nikki bluntly asks him to tell her if he likes her. He backs off immediately, offering a quivering affirmation of their friendship, because he has reached his breaking point. In such little time, he has been forced to confront the fact that Nikki is a rich, self-realized person with hopes and dreams of her own while his entire personhood, his obsession (nice movie title, by the way, I love when they have multiple meanings), has been skewered with certainty in like half a second. His life basically flashes before his eyes, and he realizes that he is nothing compared to her. Their relationship isn't that of a person and their rock; it's that of a canvas and the artist ready to paint it. He realizes at last that he is an Empty Slate, and he despises the very idea. He has to be the one in control. He has to show Nikki that he's more real than she'll ever be. So he pulls out his One Wish Willow, not out of sadness, but out of fury. He wishes that she would love him more than anyone else in the whole world, and when he says that, he includes Nikki Freeman in "anyone else." He wishes for her to be reduced to a shell for his continued use and abuse, a pathetic creature kept going only by a burning desire to be loved and validated. He wishes for her to become just like him.

Bear gets his wish. And this is where I think that this little horror movie bursts out of its relatively simple premise and becomes something incredible.

Modern horror movies tend to use grief and loss (typically regarding the death of a loved one) as the source of their scares, and while I can appreciate this, I've always loved the idea of horror coming from within much more. It's often said that our greatest enemies are ourselves, and I believe the principle holds true for movies as well. I'm a sucker for loser protagonists learning to better themselves through battle with representations of their deepest insecurities and issues, and when it comes to horror, I like it best when the demons come from your own soul, unleashed by the mere realization that they exist and make you different. When I got to know post-wish Nikki, I knew that I would love this movie because she is a recreation of Bear himself, dialed up to 11 and set to "murder mode." Bear can stare lovingly at her all he wants now, but at the end of the day, he's staring into the empty eyes of a creature that literally cannot exist without his presence. The new Nikki demands his attention at all times, threatening violence and self-harm if he tries to leave (mirroring Bear's own use of his cat's death to keep her attention, but a bit wilder). She hates the very idea of anyone else holding Bear's attention because that would mean that she isn't his whole world anymore (and isn't that the very same reason Bear made the wish in the first place?). When Bear asks her to act normal around him, she doesn't know what that means; like him, her existence is now hollow, and she can only offer exaggerated anger or sorrow based on perceived displeasure. This all slots in nicely with my enjoyment of watching Bear go through hell because even though he's stripped Nikki of her personhood, he's still an Empty Slate. He realizes too late that he needs the real Nikki to make him feel real, but she isn't there anymore. His manufactured relationship is all he has, and it makes him miserable. After all, who'd want to be stuck in a room with the worst part of themselves for eternity?

Don't make the mistake of feeling bad for him, though, because at the end of the day, he takes not having to deal with resentment and his own inadequacy over doing the right thing. In a tense scene, the real Nikki manages to talk to Bear for a moment, and pleads with him to kill her. He hesitates and walks off because after all the work he's put into dominating her, all that he's done to ensure his total control, she's still more of a person than he is. She still values her sense of self over him. Her whole life has been taken from her, and she's still too strong for him to handle. New Nikki might have done some crazy things, but he knows that she'll never challenge him like that, and he chooses comfort over morality. Scenes like this keep you from feeling too bad for him, and remind you what kind of movie your watching. You're never allowed to see him as needing to be saved, only as he truly is, as sad, pathetic, and weak. It makes his cruel treatment of Nikki all the more disturbing, and makes the things she does back to him all the more enjoyable (at least when they target only him, I was absolutely horrified when Nikki came for Sarah like that). At the end of scenes like these, you want there to be consequences, and the movie gladly offers them up. The first time I truly rooted for him was when he downed a whole bottle of pills to kill himself. The cherry on top though? He can't even do it himself. He's about to make himself throw up when Nikki uses a wish to draw him back to her somehow, preventing him from saving himself. It's probably not that deep, but I like to think that the real Nikki came through for one instant to wish that Bear would just stop being such a monster and actually care about her well-being for once. Wouldn't that be just hilarious? Empty Slate to the end, the boldest and most meaningful action taken in his life not even his own.