Some movies are clever, some are dumb fun, and then there’s Murder Party — a movie that’s both, but proudly so, like a film student who just discovered irony and power tools at the same time. Written, directed, and shot by Jeremy Saulnier (who would later go on to make the fantastic Blue Ruin and Green Room), Murder Party is a low-budget horror comedy that somehow manages to be a pitch-perfect satire of pretentious art culture and a splatterfest with heart.
If The Texas Chainsaw Massacre were staged by art school dropouts during a Brooklyn Halloween party, you’d get Murder Party. And honestly? It’s kind of brilliant.
Plot: Hipster Hell, Population One
Christopher (Chris Sharp) is a lonely, mild-mannered parking enforcement officer — the kind of man whose idea of rebellion is returning his library books a day late. On Halloween night, he finds a random invitation blowing down the street that simply says: “Murder Party.”
Now, most people would laugh, throw it away, and go back to microwaving their dinner. Christopher, however, decides this is a sign. After all, what’s the worst that could happen? So he bakes some pumpkin bread (with raisins, because of course he does), cobbles together a knight costume made entirely out of cardboard, and ventures into Brooklyn to party.
Instead, he walks straight into the world’s least successful art collective — a bunch of pretentious, drug-addled students who think murder is the next big art medium. Their goal: to kill Christopher “for art” and impress their supposed wealthy patron, Alexander.
It’s like Saw meets Art Basel meets the world’s most awkward grad school mixer.
The Artists Formerly Known as Functional Adults
The art students are a delightfully useless bunch. There’s Paul, the vampire wannabe photographer who probably says “aesthetic” too often; Macon, the pyromaniac werewolf in cargo pants; Sky, the vegan zombie cheerleader who promptly dies from eating non-organic raisins (the most millennial death imaginable); Lexi, who looks like Pris from Blade Runnerand acts like she’s auditioning for Mean Girls: The Art School Years; and Bill, who is actually talented — which, naturally, means the others secretly hate him.
These people are so insufferably self-involved that even their murder plot can’t get off the ground. Sky dies within 10 minutes, Alexander turns out to be a con artist pretending to be a wealthy art patron, and the rest are too high on drugs and self-loathing to remember they even have a victim tied to a chair.
Christopher spends half the movie politely watching his would-be killers argue about art theory and fornicate in various corners of the warehouse. If he weren’t tied up, he’d probably start cleaning.
Chris Sharp: The Everyman in Cardboard Armor
Chris Sharp’s portrayal of Christopher is perfect: a deadpan, well-meaning nobody who accidentally stumbles into hell. He’s the human embodiment of “how did I end up here?” His constant politeness — even when surrounded by lunatics armed with truth serum and power tools — makes him oddly endearing.
When chaos erupts, Christopher becomes the most unlikely of final boys, surviving not because he’s brave or smart, but because everyone else is too stupid or distracted to finish the job. Watching him bumble through each blood-soaked set piece feels like rooting for your socially anxious coworker to make it through a particularly violent office retreat.
By the time he finally snaps, chainsaw in hand, you’re ready to stand up and cheer for this knight of the awkward table.
Art School Confidential, But With More Blood
Jeremy Saulnier’s genius lies in how Murder Party skewers the pretentiousness of the art world while embracing horror tropes with a wink and a grin. The film takes aim at the kind of people who say things like, “My installation is a commentary on capitalism’s violent relationship with death,” and then forget to pay rent.
Here, art isn’t just pretentious — it’s lethal. The artists’ obsession with “creating something meaningful” leads to their downfall, one self-inflicted disaster at a time. They accidentally kill each other in increasingly absurd ways, proving that the only thing deadlier than ego is bad cocaine.
And yet, beneath all the dark humor and arterial spray, there’s a strange affection in Saulnier’s direction. He’s not just mocking the art scene — he’s exorcising it, with buckets of fake blood and genuine laughter.
Death by Art, Death by Idiocy
Let’s take a moment to appreciate the film’s deaths, which range from poetic irony to “what the hell just happened.”
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Sky dies first from eating non-organic raisins in Christopher’s pumpkin bread. If Whole Foods made a PSA about clean eating, this would be it.
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Macon drunkenly sets himself on fire — a literal burning passion for art.
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Paul gets shot in the head mid-photo shoot and barely notices, continuing to complain about the lighting.
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Lexi is murdered by Bill, the tortured genius of the group, because he’s decided everyone else’s art sucks.
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Alexander, the fake patron, meets his end courtesy of his own guard dog, Hellhammer (the best actor in the movie, by the way).
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And finally, Bill’s head gets ventilated by a chainsaw, courtesy of our cardboard knight, who caps it all off by smashing a pumpkin on the corpse and shouting, “I JUST WANTED TO PARTY!”
It’s pure slapstick carnage, with gallons of fake blood and enough absurdity to make Evil Dead II proud.
Brooklyn, the Real Horror Show
Let’s not overlook the film’s setting — a decaying Brooklyn warehouse filled with bad lighting, worse art, and the faint smell of failure. Saulnier’s cinematography captures the grimy, claustrophobic energy of an art scene teetering between genius and madness.
Every corner of the warehouse looks like it was decorated by someone who just discovered nihilism and glue guns. The walls are covered in cryptic graffiti, half-finished sculptures, and pretentious angst. It’s less a workspace and more a mausoleum for broken dreams and unpaid student loans.
Low Budget, High Charm
Made for the cost of a single semester at art school, Murder Party proves that creativity trumps money every time. The practical effects are gory and gleeful — think more Peter Jackson circa Bad Taste than Hollywood polish. The blood looks like strawberry syrup, the chainsaw looks real enough to make you nervous, and the acting teeters between committed and deranged.
But that’s what makes it so much fun. It’s scrappy, self-aware, and absolutely unashamed of its own weirdness.
A Bloody Good Time (With Extra Pumpkin)
By the time Christopher stumbles home at dawn — blood-soaked, traumatized, and victorious — the movie has pulled off something rare: it’s a splatter comedy with heart. Beneath the gore and absurdity, it’s about loneliness, creativity, and the desire to connect — even if that connection involves a chainsaw.
Murder Party ends on the perfect note of dark humor: Christopher returns to his cat, Sir Lancelot (a truly unbothered feline king), tosses his medication, and sits down, still wearing his cardboard armor, to watch TV.
He’s finally taken back his chair — a small, pathetic victory that feels huge. It’s the happiest ending you could hope for after a night of artistic homicide.
Final Verdict: A Masterpiece of Mayhem
Murder Party is Clue for the art school dropout generation — sharp, bloody, and weirdly profound. It’s the kind of film that reminds you that horror doesn’t need big budgets or A-list stars, just a good idea and a willingness to get messy.
Jeremy Saulnier’s debut isn’t just a parody of pretentious art—it is a work of art, lovingly splattered in fake blood and self-awareness.
