{Movie Review} Infirmary (2026): Almost But Not Quite

Infirmary feels like the kind of movie you discover at a festival screening where the air is bad, the coffee is worse, and everyone is a little too excited to be scared. Which is to say: perfect conditions for Nicholas Pineda’s intense, claustrophobic found footage debut to get under your skin.

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World premiering January 16, 2026 at Dances With Films NY, Infirmary is a smart, messy, frequently unnerving genre experiment that understands the grammar of found footage even when it occasionally trips over its own syntax. It’s a film full of cool ideas, mixed execution, and at least one scare so effective it almost justifies the entire movie’s runtime.

Set almost entirely inside the Wilshire Infirmary, a long-abandoned mental asylum that looks like it was designed by someone who hates OSHA regulations, the film follows Edward, a young security guard working his first overnight shift. He’s paired with Lester, a retiring guard whose vibe is best described as “immediately concerning.” When an intruder appears and disappears without explanation, Lester vanishes into the building’s depths, leaving Edward alone with the cameras, the corridors, and whatever the hell this place still remembers.

If that setup sounds familiar, that’s because it is. Infirmary knows it’s walking into a well-lit morgue of found footage tropes. Instead of pretending otherwise, it leans in. The film deploys bodycam footage, fixed security cameras, and handheld sequences with a confidence that suggests Pineda has done his homework. This is a movie that understands that found footage is less about realism than ritual. We accept the camera because the genre tells us to, and Infirmary spends much of its runtime testing how far that trust can stretch before it snaps. The rubber band is entact but pretty useless by the end of the film. Like it sticks together but barely.

That tension becomes most obvious in the film’s bodycam sequences. The transition into a first-person shooter–adjacent perspective is clever, disorienting, and occasionally exhausting. For gamers, it may feel intuitive. For non-gamers, it’s a heavy lift. Especially early on when Edward spends an inordinate amount of time staring at his own hands like he’s just unlocked them as a playable feature. There’s an ongoing philosophical problem here that the film never fully resolves: why are these security guards wearing body cams at all? The question of “why record?” is the foundational sin of found footage, and Infirmary gestures at an answer without ever fully committing to one.

Then there’s the follow-up question, which is arguably more interesting: why edit? Infirmary uses its edits aggressively, sometimes brilliantly, sometimes at the expense of its own diegetic logic. There are moments where the score swells in ways that feel almost too composed, too emotional, working against the supposed immediacy of the footage. It’s a great score, no question, but its prominence occasionally undermines the film’s commitment to the “this is what was found” illusion.

Still, when Infirmary works, it really works. The sound design is a standout, especially the siren-like screams that echo through the building like something wounded and mechanical is calling for help in the first act. The film’s aesthetic flirts with a Backrooms vibe, endless hallways folding in on themselves, rooms that feel wrong before any of the scary shit happens. There’s also a distinctly MTV FEAR energy at play, which is both a compliment and a warning. Some moments feel amateurish in that early-2000s reality-horror way, but that same looseness allows for genuine scares that feel unpolished and therefore unpredictable.

The morgue scene is the film’s undisputed high point, an absolutely terrifying sequence that understands the power of restraint. It is a bummer it takes place in that first act as it feels like the movie is chasing that high through the other two acts. It’s not just scary. It’s spatially disorienting, emotionally cruel, and perfectly paced. This is where Pineda’s control of atmosphere locks in, and for a few minutes, Infirmary feels like it’s operating at a higher frequency than everything around it. If you remember one thing about this movie, it’ll probably be that scene.

Visually, the film is far more accomplished than its budget would suggest, thanks largely to its lighting design. Clever use of light gives us just enough information to stay oriented while hiding the seams, the limits, and the money. Xiyu Lin deserves real credit here. The lighting isn’t just functional; it’s narrative. It directs attention, creates false safety, and weaponizes darkness in ways that feel intentional rather than convenient.

That intentionality doesn’t extend to every character decision. There are moments where actions feel less like human choices and more like plot necessities. Dragging a mannequin through a haunted asylum while terrified is not something a real person would do (at least not THIS real person. Mannequin’s are on their own). It’s something the movie needs to happen. These moments don’t kill the film, but they do remind you you’re watching one.

Ultimately, Infirmary plays like a haunted house walkthrough with ambitions beyond its walls. There’s a lot of walking with a flashlight. More than Alan Wake, somehow. Some jump scares are classic and effective, others feel obligatory. As a debut, it’s impressive but flawed, bursting with ideas that don’t always cohere but frequently intrigue. You can see the impressive concept and execution hiding behind a patina of shakey cam and CCTV.

This isn’t a movie that demands a theatrical pilgrimage, but in the right festival setting, with the right crowd, it absolutely earns its runtime. It’s the kind of horror film that feels tailor-made for late-night discovery, a strong Tubi watch down the line, and an encouraging sign that Nicholas Pineda is a filmmaker worth keeping an eye on, especially if he keeps refining his relationship with realism, restraint, and the ever-haunting question of who, exactly, is holding the camera.