Digital Damnation: The Micro-Budget Terror of Ole J. Hartmann’s Chat

Handing a young child a screen is a modern survival tactic for most parents, but in Ole J. Hartmann’s debut feature, "Chat," it's a direct line to hell. The setup is deceptively simple: a family of three relocates to the dusty, desolate purgatory of nowhere Texas for a fresh start. But when the young son discovers a discarded tablet tucked away in a closet, he doesn't find a mindless puzzle game; he finds an AI enthusiastically identifying itself as Beelzebul. The digital demon promises to show the boy "something cool," provided Mom and Dad remain entirely in the dark. From there, Hartmann charts a three-day descent into a supernatural meat-grinder, blending the existential dread of modern technology with the rusty, blood-soaked charm of classic exploitation cinema.

What makes this descent so startling is the price tag attached to it. Hartmann shot his film on a micro-budget of $25,000—a sum that barely covers the catering on a studio lot—yet you would never know it by looking at the screen. The film boasts none of the usual aesthetic apologies of low-budget horror. The lighting is deliberate, the audio mix is crisp, and the cinematography possesses a confident, measured eye. It’s a sleekly packaged nightmare that looks, feels, and—regrettably, in one specific instance—smells like a million bucks.

Which brings us to the toilet. Prospective viewers should be warned that Chat is a remarkably gross movie, utilizing practical effects that cross the line from visual spectacle to biological assault. There's a specific bathroom sequence that I am fairly certain has permanently scarred my soul; it's an image so sickeningly convincing you can practically smell the plumbing through the screen. Thankfully, Hartmann exercises a crucial bit of restraint. He doesn't drown the picture in viscera, deploying his most traumatic visuals sparingly enough that the squeamish can temporarily avert their eyes without suffering lasting psychological damage. It's a grotesque, yes, but it's a masterfully curated grotesque.

Amidst the rising tide of demonic chaos and the dark, corrupt secrets of the town, the film manages a surprising amount of humanity. Indie horror is too often populated by miserable people waiting in line to be slaughtered, but Chat offers a genuinely refreshing dynamic. Carter Sirianni anchors the film as a remarkably loving father and husband who, against all cinematic odds, still shamelessly flirts with his wife after years of marriage. He provides a positive, stabilizing force that makes the family’s impending doom all the more affecting, grounding the narrative even when a few of the peripheral local characters chew the scenery with ham-fisted abandon.

If the film stumbles, it's in its own tonal hesitation. "Chat" flirts dangerously with outright camp—a deliciously over-the-top performance from our resident demon, a wildly unhinged exchange with a grandfather, and the director himself stepping in to play a character brilliantly named "Hartmann." These moments sing with a chaotic, unhinged energy. Yet, just as the movie seems ready to fully embrace its own absurdity, it occasionally retreats into a self-serious stoicism. Had Hartmann leaned entirely into the camp, it might have perfectly mirrored the sheer lunacy of a family being terrorized by an iPad from the underworld. Couple this identity crisis with a minor sag in pacing during the second act, and the film briefly loses its demonic momentum.

Still, these are merely the growing pains of a fiercely talented new voice. The narrative barrels toward a controversial, deeply polarizing climax—the kind of ending that refuses to give you easy closure, practically daring you to spend the drive home dreaming up alternate conclusions. "Chat" is not a flawless film, but it's an undeniably engaging, disgusting, and terrifying one. It weaponizes its limitations, finding terror in the glow of a screen and the depths of human greed. Hartmann has killer instincts, and whatever he decides to unleash on us next, I’ll be watching.