Horror will always be a great way to find and achieve catharsis. Sometimes that means slow-burn elegies of grief and trauma, which have flourished over the past decade, or the visceral trips into and through mental illness that have found in montage and design a means of expressing and explaining, and the ways that we can never really escape our past. But if you had said a two-character splatterfest that does all the drugs and spills gallons of neon alien blood would somehow harness and exorcise the howl of how deeply felt friendships fray and unwind, I might have had some doubts about going into it. But you should never doubt Joe Begos — who made this film in his own apartment on 16 mm across almost four years — because tenacity like that yields unimaginable dividends.

Jimmy and Stiggs

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