{Fantastic Fest} CAMP (2025): A Charming Mumbler

One of the joys of Fantastic Fest is catching a film that feels like it was dug out of a dusty VHS bin, passed hand-to-hand, and whispered about at midnight screenings. Avalon Fast’s CAMP is exactly that kind of movie. It is lo-fi, proudly rough around the edges, and filled with a kind of dreamy sincerity that makes it both frustrating and undeniably charming. If her debut Honeycomb felt like a punk zine taped together in someone’s basement, CAMP is the slightly more polished second issue, stapled properly this time, but still bleeding ink onto your fingers.

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Fast is only twenty-five, and CAMP is her first time working with a budget and producers. What she has not abandoned is the scrappy filmmaking style that defines her voice. This is still her and her people out in the woods with a camera, and it shows. The opening title sequence lands with mumblecore weirdness that sets the tone. Then comes an angled shot through the trees that is unsettling in its simplicity. There is a distinctly analog feel to the whole aesthetic, like a lost relic from the 90s. Somewhere between The Craft and Ginger Snaps, this film is a VHS fever dream waiting to be rediscovered.

The story follows Emily, played with understated vulnerability, who takes a counselor job at a Christian summer camp after a string of personal tragedies. She finds herself pulled toward a group of free-spirited girls with witchy impulses. The tension comes not from big horror set pieces but from the quiet pull between faith, rebellion, and self-discovery. This is more mumblecore than mumblegore. The relationships are the drivers of the action, while the horror lurks around the edges.

There are scenes that make Fast’s resourcefulness clear. The train sequences, for instance, are a perfect use of a small budget. They look great, feel authentic, and fold seamlessly into the story. The woods themselves become a character. Long gazes at the stars and slow conversations around the campfire mimic the experience of being isolated in nature. Time stretches. Focus narrows. The deliberate pacing puts you in the woods too, with nothing to do but listen, talk, and watch.

That pacing, though, will test some viewers. The first act is very talky, leaning all the way into the mumblecore vibe. Even given the allowances of the subgenre, a few scenes drag longer than they should. A veteran editor’s eye might have trimmed twenty minutes and brought the runtime closer to a conventional ninety. Instead, CAMP lingers. Whether that is a bug or a feature will depend on your patience.

What works without hesitation are the dream sequences. Fast uses color and light in ways that feel both experimental and deeply considered. Against the backdrop of the forest, the surreal imagery pops with an almost handmade beauty. These moments elevate the lo-fi aesthetic into something truly cinematic. The line “God is freedom for some people” lingers in the air, capturing the film’s mix of faith and rebellion.

The cultural influences are easy to spot. Beyond the 90s VHS cult aesthetic, CAMP is clearly riffing on female-centered woodsy ensembles like Yellowjackets. Where Yellowjackets thrives on sharp plotting and escalating dread, CAMP floats along like a half-remembered dream. It is less about what happens than how it feels. This is cinema verité witchcraft, where the camera drifts and the story unfolds like a summer night with no curfew.

By the final act, the film leans all the way into that dreamlike state. I called it the lens flare scene. It has the aesthetic of an old Unsolved Mysteries segment set in the woods, complete with a strange mix of seriousness and campiness. It teeters on silly, but by that point the movie has built up enough goodwill to pull it off. The final ten minutes unfold without much dialogue at all. The images are gorgeous, though the meaning remains slippery. It felt like being back in college during my vinyl-and-punk-rock phase, watching something that I may not fully understand but still vibe with on a deeply nostalgic level. That is not an insult. There is a sincerity here that makes the film stand out. In an era where nostalgia is weaponized and toxic, CAMP offers something sweeter, weirder, and more personal.

Avalon Fast’s place in the underground scene is also worth noting. She is part of a new wave of Canadian filmmakers making boldly weird and deeply personal work. Alongside artists like Alice Maio Mackay, Louise Weard, Vera Drew, and Jane Schoenbrun, Fast is carving out space for queer, outsider voices that challenge what genre cinema looks like. CAMP is very much of that world. It is a film that feels more like a zine or a mixtape than a studio project, but that is exactly its charm.

CAMP is not perfect. It is slow, sometimes indulgent, and occasionally too enamored with its own lo-fi aesthetic. But it is also beautiful, unsettling, and full of a strange warmth. It feels like sitting around a campfire with people you just met, not sure if you will be friends tomorrow, but knowing you will always remember tonight.

Screened as part of Fantastic Fest, CAMP stands as both a step forward for Avalon Fast and a reminder of what personal, scrappy filmmaking can still do. It will not be for everyFone, but for those willing to wander into the woods and stare at the stars, it might be worth the journey.