“Maybe She’s Possessed. Maybe She’s Just a Teenager.”
Every once in a while, a horror movie sneaks up behind you—not with a knife or a jump scare, but with a quiet whisper that says, “You might cry before this is over.” Anguish (2015), written and directed by Sonny Mallhi, is exactly that kind of ghost story: somber, slow-burning, and far more emotionally intelligent than a movie about body possession has any right to be.
It’s a supernatural drama disguised as horror, an indie coming-of-age story dressed up in exorcism clothes. Think The Exorcism of Emily Rose meets Lady Bird, but everyone’s clinically depressed and haunted by unresolved trauma.
And somehow—it works.
Plot: Two Girls, One Possession, and a Lot of Feelings
The film opens with a scene that’s equal parts tragic and darkly ironic: Lucy (Amberley Gridley) storms out of her mother’s car after being told she can’t go on a camping trip—only to be promptly flattened by another car. Talk about taking teen rebellion to a new level.
Enter Tess (Ryan Simpkins), a quiet girl with a long history of “mental instability,” which is horror-movie code for “probably psychic.” She and her mother Jessica (Annika Marks) move into a new town hoping for a fresh start—because that always works out well in these movies.
Almost immediately, Tess starts experiencing creepy phenomena. Unseen forces push her into the dirt, whispers follow her home, and her eyes begin changing color like a discount mood ring. Naturally, her mother assumes she’s off her meds again.
But when Tess encounters Lucy’s grieving mother Sarah (Karina Logue) and says something only Lucy could have known, the line between mental illness and supernatural interference begins to blur. Is Tess crazy? Possessed? Both?
Eventually, Sarah realizes Tess might be serving as a kind of spiritual Airbnb for lost souls—most notably Lucy, who’s not quite ready to move on. Cue a delicate dance of motherly heartbreak, ghostly goodbyes, and one or two exorcisms that could double as therapy sessions.
By the end, Lucy’s spirit says goodbye, but Tess’s eyes—those cursed blue-to-brown mood indicators—suggest that she’s not done being haunted. It’s an ending that’s both satisfying and unsettling, like watching someone finally get closure and then immediately lose their keys.
Ryan Simpkins: The Sad Girl Supreme
Let’s get this out of the way: Ryan Simpkins carries this movie on her scrawny, tortured teenage shoulders. Her performance as Tess is so raw, so painfully believable, that it transcends the usual horror trope of “girl stares blankly while something evil happens behind her.”
Simpkins nails the awkward, fragile in-between of adolescence and possession—an age when every emotion feels like an exorcism anyway. She mumbles through her dialogue like someone who hasn’t slept in years, flinches at her own thoughts, and looks perpetually one step away from bursting into tears or flames.
By the time her body starts playing host to a dead girl, you can’t help but feel for her. You also can’t help but think, this poor kid just needs a hug and a competent psychiatrist.
The Moms: Two Sides of the Same Nervous Breakdown
What really sets Anguish apart from your average haunting flick is that it’s less about evil spirits and more about parental grief. Annika Marks as Jessica and Karina Logue as Sarah give performances that are equal parts brittle and brave.
Jessica is the overprotective, exhausted single mom doing her best to drag her daughter through a minefield of mental health issues. You can practically smell the stale coffee and despair radiating off her. Sarah, on the other hand, is a mother frozen in mourning—clinging to the hope that her dead daughter might still be hanging around like an emotional poltergeist.
When these two women finally meet, the film becomes less a ghost story and more a therapy session gone horribly right. Their interactions are tender, haunted, and filled with the kind of sadness you can only get from losing a child—or raising one who might be possessed.
The Atmosphere: Quietly Creepy, Like a Haunted Art Film
Sonny Mallhi’s directorial debut feels like the anti-Conjuring. There are no screaming nuns, no exploding crucifixes, and no budget for CGI demons. Instead, he leans hard into mood—slow pacing, muted colors, and eerie silences that stretch longer than your last relationship.
The cinematography is downright meditative. Empty hallways, soft natural light, and close-ups that linger uncomfortably long on Simpkins’ face. It’s less about scaring you and more about making you feel haunted.
Even the soundtrack feels like it’s been dipped in melancholy—subtle, droning tones that hum beneath the dialogue like a distant heartbeat. It’s the kind of film where the ghosts don’t jump out at you; they just sit quietly in the corner, waiting for you to acknowledge them.
The Horror: It’s Coming from Inside the Grief
Unlike most possession movies, Anguish doesn’t treat the supernatural as something that can be “fixed.” There’s no priest yelling “The power of Christ compels you!” while a girl vomits pea soup. Instead, the horror comes from something much more human: not being believed, not being heard, not being able to let go.
Tess isn’t battling a demon—she’s battling everyone else’s expectations. The doctors want to medicate her. Her mom wants to normalize her. The priest wants to exorcise her. And poor Tess just wants to skateboard without being tackled by invisible spirits.
The real scare here is that her pain—mental or otherwise—is constantly minimized or misunderstood. The possession becomes a metaphor for depression, anxiety, and the way grief can occupy someone’s soul like an unwanted tenant.
It’s smart, sad, and yes—strangely funny in its bleakness.
The Humor: Existential, Awkward, and Accidentally Brilliant
For all its brooding atmosphere, Anguish occasionally flirts with unintentional comedy. Like when Tess’s mom boards up her bedroom window, as if plywood has ever stopped a ghost. Or when the priest solemnly declares, “Possession may be involved,” as though that’s not the most obvious understatement in horror history.
Even the final scene has a wry sense of humor. Tess sits quietly in a coffee shop, refusing to answer when asked her name—because she might not even know who she is anymore. It’s a dark little wink, suggesting that after all the therapy and exorcism, she’s still… well, a teenage girl.
The Themes: Ghosts of Adolescence
At its core, Anguish isn’t really about the supernatural. It’s about the way pain lingers—how grief and guilt haunt the living more effectively than any ghost ever could.
Lucy’s mom can’t let go of her daughter. Tess’s mom can’t let go of the idea that her daughter can be “fixed.” And Tess herself? She can’t let go of the voices in her head—or the dead girl camping out inside her ribcage.
It’s a haunting that feels metaphorically rich rather than exploitative. The spirits don’t come back for revenge—they come back for closure.
Why It Works: Sad, Scary, and Weirdly Comforting
What makes Anguish special is its refusal to pick a side. It never definitively tells you whether Tess is possessed or simply mentally ill. Instead, it lets you stew in that uncomfortable ambiguity.
Sonny Mallhi crafts a film that’s both intimate and unsettling, where every scene feels like eavesdropping on someone’s private breakdown. It’s not flashy horror—it’s compassionate horror.
It’s a ghost story that believes in empathy over exorcism, in listening over shouting “begone.” And somehow, that makes it scarier.
Final Verdict
★★★★☆ — Four Haunted Mood Rings Out of Five
Anguish is a quiet, cerebral horror film that trades jump scares for emotional bruises. It’s slow, meditative, and painfully human—a possession story that’s less about demons and more about the demons we live with.
It’s also the perfect movie for anyone who’s ever felt haunted by grief, misunderstood by family, or mildly concerned that they might be an accidental medium.
So dim the lights, grab your antidepressants, and let Anguish possess you. You might not scream—but you’ll definitely feel something stirring in your chest.
Just hope it’s not Lucy.
