ENTER THE ROOM

There’s something deceptively simple about "Enter the Room," Harry Waldman’s short thriller that lures you in with the familiarity of sibling tensions before twisting the knife in ways both unexpected and deeply unsettling. What starts as an awkward yet believable domestic dispute between two estranged brothers steadily mutates into something far more disturbing—something that gnaws at the edges of reality, perception, and memory. Waldman’s greatest success here is not in the twist itself but in how he subtly disorients the audience, leaving them questioning not just what they saw, but how they felt about it. 

Brian is the kind of man whose life is carefully compartmentalized, an existence of rules, routines, and an ever-present need for control. So when his younger brother Jeremy arrives, seeking temporary refuge, Brian’s world is unceremoniously upended. The film meticulously charts the slow collapse of Brian’s carefully constructed reality—every conversation a power struggle, every interaction laced with an unease that builds almost imperceptibly until it’s too late. What’s fascinating is how the film never settles into a single rhythm. The tension isn’t just in the dialogue but in the air, the way the silence lingers between words, the way Brian’s eyes dart around his space as if searching for invisible cracks forming in his own mind. 

Mastne’s performance as Brian is particularly gripping. He doesn’t play the character as merely neurotic but as someone teetering on the precipice of something much darker. His tension is not just about control—it’s about survival. 

Holton, by contrast, brings an effortless looseness to Jeremy, a man who appears easygoing at first but whose presence is a quiet provocation, an unspoken challenge to Brian’s stability. Their chemistry is potent, each moment between them loaded with history, resentment, and something more elusive—a creeping dread that suggests the past is not as distant as Brian would like it to be. 

Visually, Waldman makes some bold choices, particularly in the way he uses space to reinforce Brian’s mental state. The apartment, sparse and impersonal, feels increasingly suffocating as the narrative progresses. Lance Eliot Adams’s cinematography is most effective when it leans into naturalism—harsh shadows creeping into corners, daylight filtering through sterile rooms—but falters slightly when it attempts more stylized lighting. The climax, bathed in oppressive red hues, is conceptually striking but lacks the polish needed to make it feel seamless, momentarily pulling the viewer out of the experience. 

Yet, even with its technical imperfections, "Enter the Room" lingers. It’s a film about what happens when the past refuses to stay buried, when guilt manifests in ways we can’t quite articulate. The final reveal doesn’t just serve as a narrative jolt—it reframes everything that came before, forcing the audience to reconsider what they’ve just witnessed. And more importantly, it forces them to sit with it. 

Waldman’s short may not be flawless, but it’s undeniably compelling. There’s an ambition here, a willingness to explore psychological horror without relying on easy tropes or shock tactics. Instead, the horror comes from within, from the quiet terror of realizing that the mind can be the most unreliable narrator of all. If "Enter the Room" is any indication of Waldman’s potential, he’s a filmmaker worth watching—one with a keen sense for the unsettling and an instinct for storytelling that lingers long after the credits roll.