Lo-fi Exploitation Thriller ‘Every Heavy Thing’ Pulls its Weight [Fantasia 2025 Review]
Mickey Reece’s Every Heavy Thing feels like watching a lost erotic thriller on VHS that’s been half-taped over with public access specials and late-night infomercials from another dimension. Premiering this year at Montreal’s Fantasia Film Festival, the film is a dizzying descent into comforting analog depravity. Part Dressed to Kill, part backyard sci-fi, part gonzo cable hallucination, this is Reece at his finest. There’s the reliable, loving embrace of trashy genre tropes, commanding lo-fi aesthetics, and analog surrealism all laden with a punk-rock edge that’s more interested in sensation than coherence.
The story centers on an unassuming ad agent working for a dying alt-weekly in a small city, who’s catapulted into a conspiracy involving disappearing women after witnessing a brutal murder. Played with full commitment by Josh Fadem (Twin Peaks: The Return), our loveably average protagonist stumbles through a neon odyssey of eccentrics, bureaucrats, and femmes fatales in a city that feels just a few degrees off from reality.
Fadem is the perfect ride-along to lead all of this insanity. He’s not so much driving the story as it’s dragging him by the scruff of the neck, wide-eyed and baffled. His UCB comedy background serves him well here; his oddball expressiveness shines as he bounces off the film’s wild ensemble.
One of the film’s secret weapons is Tipper Newton (The Mindy Project) as Lux, a character who instantly lights up every scene she enters. Newton’s mix of nervous charm and absurd comedic timing feels entirely at home in Reece’s warped world. She grounds the film with emotional honesty while still leaning into its zaniness, effortlessly navigating the script’s barrage of tonal shifts. Her performance sometimes steals the show by reflecting the chaos around her with an anxious, magnetic presence that makes the madness feel lived-in.
Reece makes sure to load the cast with cult icons and scene-stealers: Vera Drew (The People’s Joker) is a blast to watch. At the same time, Barbara Crampton (Re-Animator, Suitable Flesh) turns up in a sparkling supporting role you’ll wish you had more time with. She’s giving Tori Amos by way of Poison Ivy, and it’s impossible to look away whenever she’s nearby. Finally, James Urbaniak (The Venture Bros) is pitch-perfect as the film’s high-tech serial killer, signalling an eerie charisma you almost want to root for.
But what truly sets Every Heavy Thing apart is its distinct visual language. Between scenes, Reece inserts interludes of lo-fi psychedelia, featuring glitchy textures, VHS decay, retro graphics, and moments that evoke the feel of being edited on a haunted cable station from 1997. These experimental flourishes mirror the protagonist’s fraying grip on reality and invite mood more than message. But that’s not a complaint. The result is hypnotic, disorienting, and deeply fun.
Beneath the visual noise, the film has things to say. Reece doesn’t ignore the real-world horrors lurking beneath the aesthetics, and he subtly interrogates topics like transphobia, law enforcement corruption, and media decay, all without breaking tone or pandering. It’s exploitation with a bit of a conscience while still steering clear of political correctness.
If there’s a drawback, it’s that the film occasionally gets tangled in its web of references. At times, it leans a little too heavily on homage, blurring its identity beneath the weight of genre pastiche. But when it lets loose and embraces its raw, scrappy originality—rough edges and all—it becomes something singular. It’s bold, funny, and unconcerned with playing it safe.
In the end, Every Heavy Thing is bold, bizarre, and uncompromising. It’s a collage of cinematic trash and treasure, lovingly arranged by one of indie horror’s most unpredictable voices. Fans of Reece’s past work will find plenty to unpack here.
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Every Heavy Thing
Summary
Like an erotic thriller on VHS that’s been half-taped over with public access specials from another dimension, ‘Every Heavy Thing’ is a dizzying descent into analog depravity from indie darling Mickey Reece.
Categorized: Reviews
