{Fantastic Fest} DOLLY (2025): In a Violent Dollhouse

Some movies come to Fantastic Fest preloaded with mythology and expectation. Dolly has the expectation, but I am not sure about the mythology. Director Rod Blackhurst and co-writer Brandon Weavil promise a blend of New French Extremity and 1970s slashers, but what shows up on screen feels more like a riff on The Texas Chainsaw Massacre with all the connective tissue stripped away. What remains is fat, sinew, and blood. But like any good slasher thats often all we need to have a good time. Dolly is definitely that.

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The story as it unfolds, A young woman, Macy, fights for survival after being abducted by a deranged, monster-likefigure who wants to raise Macy as their child. The villain here, played with sheer physical menace by Max the Impaler, is a hulking figure whose design immediately recalls Leatherface. Dan Martin’s mask work gives Dolly a grotesque yet oddly expressive presence. Max towers over the rest of the cast and communicates mostly through physicality, making Dolly both frightening and compelling even when the script offers little backstory. This is a monster who looks like they stepped out of a VHS tape you found in a box your parents warned you not to open.

The opening sets the tone. Shot with a grimy, old Polaroid aesthetic by cinematographer Justin Derry, the film announces itself with a gory tableau that feels dug up from the dirt of rural horror. Blackhurst structures the film into acts, each one introduced with a small preview card hinting at what comes next. It is a simple trick, but it frames the chaos with a sense of momentum. You are never lost, just bracing for the next cruel and bizarre lurch.

And cruel it is. There is a shovel sequence that will win over fans of New French Extremity purely on its brutality. Ashley Thomas’s special makeup effects keep everything grounded and wet (oh so grossly wet), and the film leans on practical carnage over digital noise. The violence looks good, sometimes too good. Yet here is the problem: New French Extremity is not just about shock value. Films like Martyrs or Inside push their brutality into a conversation about suffering, politics, or the very act of watching. Dolly skips that discourse. It is straight nihilism, a world where everything hurts because everything is meaningless. Even Chainsaw Massacre had a lens on capitalism and small-town decay. Dolly does not. Somewhere in the wings there is a deeper community and a mythos, teased in shadows and whispers (ala the stinger at the very end of the film). That is the meat. What the film serves up is mostly fat.

Where the carnage risks numbing, the performances give it some balance. Fabianne Therese anchors the story as Macy, the abducted woman forced to fight for survival. In the first act she is all questions—why her, why this, why now. By the time the final act rolls around, she has sharpened into an underdog fighter archetype. Therese has a feral intensity, backed up by sharp camera work and physical commitment. Even standing opposite Max the Impaler’s physical dominance, she never seems outmatched, only cornered.

Seann William Scott turns up as Chase, and the film seems eager to chew him up. He threatens to make an early exit before being saddled with a revolting prosthetic that transforms him into a grotesque parody of his familiar screen presence (specifically that sharp jawline). The movie does not just hate his character, it seems to revel in punishing him. Stifler ends up a stiff (I am sorry. Please don’t hate me).

Production designer Kyra Boselli deserves credit for crafting The Dollhouse. Both its exterior and interior feel ripped from horror canon, the kind of house you remember long after the screams fade. The first glimpse recalls the same unease of walking into the Sawyer home for the first time. Inside, however, the color grading is so dark that much of the detail is swallowed. What should be claustrophobic sometimes becomes visually confusing. You want to see more, even when you should want to see less.

And then there is that breastfeeding scene. No spoilers, but it will follow you into your sleep whether you want it to or not. It is one of those moments where the line between shock and discomfort is so thin you are not sure if you should laugh, gag, or both.

The film eventually heads into familiar territory. The final act is nearly a shot-for-shot reenvisioning of the Chainsaw Massacre climax, right down to the hysterical laughter. For some viewers this will feel reverent, a gory love letter. For others it will feel redundant. I found myself in the middle, impressed by the craft but wishing Blackhurst had pushed further into the weirdness of Dolly rather than running after that same road its drawing so much inspiration from. The movie hints at something stranger in its DNA, something unique. Max the Impaler’s performance is strong enough to carry a film that dares to be about nothing but Dolly. Instead, the script splits the difference, offering a twist that is serviceable but not transformative.

The technical contributions cannot be ignored. Justin Oakey’s editing keeps the rhythm sharp, Nick Bohun’s score hums with menace, and Haven Howell’s costumes keep the cast tethered to a world just left of reality. Every element feels tuned to amplify dread, even when the story hesitates.

Blackhurst has been clear in his director’s statement that he wanted to make the kind of wild, bloody rental a thirteen-year-old would stumble upon at a video store. On that front, he succeeded. Dolly is exactly the kind of movie you imagine tucked between Sleepaway Camp and The Hills Have Eyes on a shelf sticky with soda residue. It is the kind of movie you put on at midnight with a group of friends just to see who taps out first. It is mean, strange, and occasionally very funny in its cruelty. What it lacks in depth it makes up for in sheer audacity.

As the credits rolled, I stayed, and I listened. There is something there at the very end, though I am not convinced I fully understood it. Maybe that is the point. Maybe the mythos is waiting in the shadows, ready for the sequel. Dolly is going to stick with me, even if I am not sure I wanted it to. I screened Dolly as part of Fantastic Fest, Dolly is a ride worth taking if you are hungry for gore and atmosphere. Just do not expect a full meal.