Sour Minnows’ Review: A Hypnotic Horror Movie About Being Human When Nothing Feels Real

Announcing the mysterious passing of Jojo "Vacation" Monica (Phil Burgers) to the living room of two Los Angeles roommates, the surreal broadcast peppered throughout Harrison Atkins ' profoundly unsettling " Sour Minnows " is just one part of a seemingly infinite refraction.

Ricky (David Brown) and Tepper ( Chase Williamson ) aren't familiar with the work of the late performer. At least, they don't think they are. But the 45-year-old Monica was an eccentric celebrity found dead under unusual circumstances, and that's reason enough for the slacker cinephiles to cue up a movie of his they've never seen. Related Stories It May Take More Than 10 Years for Nolan's 'The Odyssey' to Impress Classicists Like Translator Emily Wilson Sundance Names Six Fellows for 2026 Trans Possibilities Intensive

But a quick torrent later , and there's confusion: "What are you doing now?"

"I'm hooking up the hard drive," Ricky says. "Don't you want to watch this movie?"

"I don't know," Tepper replies. "I literally feel like we just watched it."

That kind of sick twist on an old Abbott and Costello routine would feel more like snide commentary about the waning indie film scene — if it weren't for the literal gaps in memory already plaguing both characters. Instead, bookended by the name of the real artist for whom this feature is dedicated (more on that later), "Sour Minnows" skips past showbiz parody to reveal a compassionate reflection on what it means to start feeling more like a data point than a person.

Blurring the boundaries between human consciousness and the steady hum of digital machinery that increasingly powers everyday life, "Sour Minnows" isn't a typical watch. In fact, long before Ricky and Tepper's bizarro movie night, that same news anchor (Ryan Perez) sits in a field behind a rundown building, calmly announcing Armageddon as a pack of zombies closes in.

"This gaping cave is opening its mouth, and down its throat we will all fall," he announces plainly.

Prophesying the kind of doomsday we've already seen in countless other horror movies, the anchorman is also describing something Ricky, Tepper, and the audience have already seen in this very film. "Sour Minnows" opens with a pack of these brain-dead humanoids slurping small fish off the street, a sight Ricky and Tepper stumble on together but only one of them remembers.

"We dropped the groceries, dude," Tepper says, leaving Ricky less scared than confused.

That "permanent state of déjà vu," as Ricky's eventual love interest Aura (Suzanna Son) calls it, transforms Atkins' unique end-of-days into a fascinating reconsideration of both lo-fi cinema and personal experience as framing devices for truth. The singular indie filmmaker snaps his audience to attention by repeatedly destabilizing the structure of his own story. In turn, he prompts the viewer to ask whether or not they understand what they've just witnessed.

Have you seen this scene before? Has Ricky? What about Tepper? Is the film repeating itself? Or did you stop paying attention? If not, why not? Wait, that's… Where are we?

In the end, "Sour Minnows" doesn't restrict itself to one interpretation, and considering the mesmeric slipperiness of the tale, neither should you. The plot mostly follows Ricky, a sad stoner who trains AI for a living and sometimes "zones out" while doing it. But both he and Tepper are remarkably hard to like as modern heroes.

The kind of amateur filmmaker who asks anyone and everyone if they want to be in his short without explaining anything about it, Tepper embodies the entitlement plaguing the independent art world since well before the founding of Sundance. And though Ricky isn't quite so self-obsessed, his malaise hints at a comparable type of privilege.

Not liking these guys to begin with proves important, as Atkins quietly encourages the audience to interrogate which parts of humanity they're quickest to dismiss. Sure, Tepper may be making some crappy short film (well, two, plus a music video), but even the slightest motivation to create something looks like an urge worth protecting in a once flourishing creative landscape — suddenly reduced to an obvious racket built on cosmic anxiety and emotional rot.

As the existential force hiding at the heart of "Sour Minnows" steadily consumes the California neighborhood around it, Ricky's attempts to understand himself grow harder to mock. He's got a crush on Aura, who he wants to impress. And maybe Ricky could be a serious artist if he really committed to it. But how can you take it slow with a girl if you don't know how long you've been dating her? And what's the point of building a career if you can't remember yesterday?

Wandering through a strip mall while completing AI training modules for his job, Ricky hears a recording of another human describing the same sort of disjointed thinking. She says she shows up places without remembering how she got there, and then she says things that don't feel natural or accurate to who she knows herself to be. Later, Ricky writes "MEN'S ROOM" in his Notes app, desperately attempting to leave himself a breadcrumb — while also forcing us to ask: Is this the best a guy can do when it comes to protecting his own sanity?

It's pathetic in a funny way, but even billed as a "comedy" for its world premiere at Fantasia Festival , "Sour Minnows" is far from a feel-good film. Here, Atkins blends bold arthouse bravado with the quaint charm of home video to create tangible proof that the hallmarks of authenticity are changing before our very eyes — in real life and onscreen. Dense prose spews from the news anchor until his words threaten to mean nothing, while whatever humanity actually needs to know arrives in short, blunt bursts from minor characters you might miss at first glance.

The result is a city alarmingly overpopulated with ideas, but stripped of color and life. Monica is perhaps the cruelest example, as we're introduced to the strange, deceased art...

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