A woman's search for her long-lost sister becomes an obsession when she realizes a demon from their childhood may have been real, not imaginary.
Chris Stuckmann’s transition from critic to creator with Shelby Oaks is a fascinating case study in whether those who analyze art can actually make it. For years, Stuckmann has dissected horror films with precision, calling out lazy tropes, praising atmosphere, and championing originality. With this debut, he steps into the director’s chair to prove he can walk the walk. The result is a film that’s rich in mood and ambition, but uneven in execution; a project that feels like it’s straining to reconcile its influences with its own identity. It’s not a failure, but it’s not quite a triumph either. What Shelby Oaks does well, it does very well. What it fumbles, it fumbles in ways that feel frustratingly familiar to anyone who’s watched a horror film and thought, “This could’ve been great if they’d just stuck the landing.”
The film opens with a compelling premise: Riley Brennan, host of a YouTube ghost-hunting show called Paranormal Paranoids, vanished in 2008 along with her crew while investigating the haunted ruins of Shelby Oaks. Initially dismissed as a publicity stunt, the mystery deepens when the mutilated bodies of her team are discovered, leaving Riley’s fate unknown. Twelve years later, her sister Mia, played by Camille Sullivan, is still searching for answers. The first act unfolds in a pseudo-documentary style, blending found footage with interviews and archival clips. It’s immersive, eerie, and effective. Stuckmann clearly understands the power of suggestion, using grainy visuals and analog horror aesthetics to evoke dread without overplaying his hand. The atmosphere is thick, the pacing deliberate, and the mystery genuinely intriguing. For a while, it feels like we’re in the hands of someone who knows exactly what kind of horror works best: the kind that whispers rather than screams.
But then the format shifts. About twenty minutes in, Shelby Oaks abandons its documentary framing and settles into a more traditional narrative structure. It’s a bold move, but one that comes at a cost. The transition is jarring; not just visually, but tonally. The found footage style thrives on ambiguity and limitation; once the film switches to a conventional format, it trades mystery for exposition. And there’s a lot of exposition. The mythology behind Riley’s disappearance (i.e. demons, satanic symbols, hellhounds, and a gloomy woman in a cabin) is rich with potential, but it’s both over-explained and underdeveloped. The film starts breadcrumbing clues with increasing frequency, but instead of deepening the mystery, it begins to dilute it. The suspense that was so carefully built in the first act starts to unravel, replaced by a grab bag of horror tropes that feel more borrowed than earned.
This is where the critic in Stuckmann seems to wrestle with the filmmaker. He’s clearly aware of the genre’s clichés, from slow-turning doorknobs, shadowy figures, and sudden jolts, and he uses them liberally. Sometimes they work, especially when paired with Andrew Scott Baird’s moody cinematography, which leans heavily into darkness and decay. The production design is gleefully grimy, with sets that look like they’ve been soaked in mildew and dread. Even when the story falters, the mood never does. But other times, the scares feel telegraphed, the character decisions baffling, and the pacing uneven. Mia, for instance, is a likeable protagonist, but her actions often defy logic. She stumbles into danger with the kind of reckless abandon that’s become a staple of horror, and while Sullivan does her best to ground the character, the script doesn’t give her enough depth to make those choices feel earned.
The film’s biggest strength is its atmosphere. Stuckmann has a knack for creating unease, and Shelby Oaks is drenched in it. The forests are sprawling and desolate, the buildings abandoned and rotting, the mist ever-present. It captures the eerie, corroded feel of autumnal Americana; the kind of setting where something terrible has happened and might happen again. This sense of place is crucial, and it’s what keeps the film compelling even when the plot starts to wobble. There’s a genuine effort to evoke dread through environment rather than just jump scares, and that effort pays off. The scares themselves are mostly of the 'jump' variety, but they’re well-timed and supported by a jittery sound mix that adds to the tension.
Still, the story struggles to hold together. The mystery of Riley’s disappearance is compelling, but as the film progresses, it becomes increasingly convoluted. The final act veers into religious folk horror, abandoning much of the cryptid/demon suburban Gothic vibe that had been so effectively built. It’s not that the ending is bad; it’s just not the same movie. What began as a slow-burn investigation into a haunting becomes a rushed climax filled with lore dumps and creatures that feel more confusing than scary. There’s a reason why we never saw the Blair Witch in The Blair Witch Project, and Shelby Oaks would’ve benefited from a similar restraint. The film suffers from explanation fatigue, trying to tie up every loose end when ambiguity might’ve been more powerful.
There are also signs of reshoots and narrative patchwork. Clues that the camera lingers on in the film are never referenced again. Characters make increasingly short-sighted decisions, and resolutions come too easily. It’s hard not to wonder how the authorities missed what Mia uncovers in a matter of days. The mythology feels like it needed more time to develop, and the emotional core, Mia’s relationship with Riley, is never fully realized. We’re told they’re close, but we don’t feel it. Their connection is cursory, and that lack of emotional weight undermines the stakes.
Despite its flaws, Shelby Oaks is a well-made film. The cinematography is strong, the sound design effective, and the performances solid. Sullivan carries the film with quiet determination, and Sarah Durn’s Riley is charismatic enough to make her absence haunting. There’s charm in the film’s ambition, even when it overreaches. It’s clear that Stuckmann poured himself into this project, and that passion is evident in every frame. He may not have nailed every beat, but he’s proven he can do more than talk about movies—he can make one. And if this is his first draft, it’s a promising start.
At the end of the day, Shelby Oaks is a mixed bag. It’s a film that begins with confidence and atmosphere, then stumbles under the weight of its own mythology. It’s not the definitive answer to whether critics can create, but it’s a compelling argument that they can try; and sometimes, that’s enough. Stuckmann has shown he understands the language of horror; now he just needs to refine his voice. The film may leave audiences scratching their heads, but it will also leave them pondering the weight of what they have seen. And in horror, that’s not a bad place to end up.
Shelby Oaks was released in NZ cinemas on October 23, 2025