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{Fantastic Fest 2025} Coyotes (2025)

If you have ever lived in the Midwest, you know coyotes are not mysterious predators lurking in the shadows. They are scrawny, scrappy, and usually heard yipping at dusk before disappearing back into the cornfields. That is why Coyotes is such a riot. Colin Minihan has no interest in realism. His pack of predators is bigger, meaner, and far more cinematic than the lanky tricksters I grew up with. The movie is not eco horror. It is straight-up animal attack mayhem with a wink and a grin. From the very first scene it plays like broad satire, and the coyotes are the punchline waiting to pounce.

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Justin Long has become the perfect horror archetype: the guy you are itching to see die in the first act. Somehow he survives long enough to chew scenery, and he is great at it. Kate Bosworth plays the perpetually uncomfortable mom who seems at odds with her home, her family, and maybe even her own skin. The tension between them is funny and biting, which fits the tone exactly. Their real-life chemistry keeps the movie from floating completely off the rails.

The style is pure pop. Interstitial character introductions give it a comic book vibe that feels ripped out of Sin City but spliced with late-night cable horror. Each character gets a flashy intro, flexes their quirks, and then usually dies in spectacular fashion. It is nasty, gleeful, and about as subtle as a slap to the face. In a landscape of movies desperately clinging to emotional stakes, Coyotes laughs at the idea that anyone matters. Everyone is stupid, selfish, or obnoxious, and the film delights in proving they deserve what is coming.

Keir O’Donnell steals every scene he is in, walking the line between absurd and menacing with spot-on timing. Norbert Leo Butz as Trip and Kevin Glynn as Tony crank the absurdity even higher, dragging the story into full-blown dark comedy. By the time the whole supporting cast is lined up, it feels like a buffet of bad decisions waiting for the coyotes to feast on. Watching them get picked off is not stressful. It is hilarious.

That said, the second act hits a snag. The film leans into straight action and loses some of the sharp comedy that makes the first half sing. It never fully bogs down, but the tonal wobble is noticeable. Once the humor snaps back into place the ride steadies again.

The effects team deserves credit for keeping the coyotes mostly practical. You never stare down a CGI beast. Instead the edits give you aftermath shots—bloodied limbs, shredded doors, bits and pieces of what is left behind. When the practical gore lands it is delightfully gross. The coyotes themselves are not the most convincing creations, but the chaos they bring is more than enough.

The real kicker is how the movie frames gender dynamics. Every man on screen is a disaster. They posture, bumble, and make things worse. The women have to save the day. It is on the nose, but it works. When they finally come together the movie hums like it knows exactly who we should have been rooting for all along.

Coyotes is not trying to teach a lesson about wildfires or nature’s unpredictability. It is here to mock the privileged, laugh at our collective stupidity, and have a pack of snarling animals literally tear into both. It is mean, stylish, and full of jokes sharp enough to draw blood. If coyotes in the Midwest are a background soundtrack, Coyotes the movie is a full-on metal concert where the band throws carcasses into the crowd.