“Smile for the Stalker, Everyone!”
Some horror films warn us not to mess with Ouija boards. Some caution against premarital sex or camping near inbred cannibals. Evil Things (2009) delivers a simpler message: never, ever trust a maroon van.
Written and directed by Dominic Perez in his feature debut, this low-budget found-footage thriller is what happens when The Blair Witch Project meets Unsolved Mysteries and decides to make you rethink every AirBnB invitation you’ve ever accepted. It’s creepy, minimalist, and—if you have a dark sense of humor—occasionally hilarious in its realism. Because let’s be honest: these five doomed college kids make the kind of decisions that make Darwin himself sit up in Hell and mutter, “Yep, checks out.”
Meet the Victims (I Mean, Characters)
Our soon-to-be-missing heroes are five fresh-faced New Yorkers heading upstate for a cozy weekend in the Catskills. It’s Miriam’s birthday, and her Aunt Gail—because every horror movie needs a relative named “Aunt Something”—has lent them her massive country home.
There’s Miriam (Elyssa Mersdorf), the birthday girl and apparent magnet for bad luck.
Cassy (Laurel Casillo), the sensible friend who will spend most of the movie in a state of disbelief.
Mark (Morgan Hooper), the obligatory hothead who thinks violence solves everything.
Tanya (Torrey Weiss), who starts carsick and ends… well, worse.
And finally, Leo (Ryan Maslyn), the aspiring filmmaker who brings his new video camera to document the trip, because no one in found footage has ever learned that holding a camera is basically a death sentence.
Together, they form the perfect horror-movie cocktail: two and a half functioning brain cells, one road trip playlist, and enough self-confidence to ignore every red flag the universe throws at them.
The Red Van of Doom
Trouble begins, as it always does, when the gang hits the road and crosses paths with a dark red van—a vehicle that immediately radiates “free candy” energy. The driver honks, tailgates, and generally acts like a cross between a highway psychopath and your average New Jersey commuter.
At this point, any sane person would turn around, call the cops, or at least stop filming like an influencer mid-apocalypse. But these kids? They do what horror protagonists do best: absolutely nothing helpful.
By the time they reach a gas station, the van conveniently shows up again. One of the girls even forgets her phone in the bathroom—a mistake that will later be replayed on videotape, because the stalker is not only homicidal, but apparently an editing enthusiast.
This van isn’t just stalking them—it’s producing content.
Welcome to Aunt Gail’s House of Anxiety
When they finally reach Aunt Gail’s house, the vibes immediately scream “future crime scene.” Aunt Gail herself pops in briefly to turn on the power and wish Miriam a happy birthday, then disappears from the movie faster than your phone battery in the woods.
The kids celebrate with cake and booze, filmed lovingly by Leo, who will document their joy right up until it’s replaced by sheer terror. The next day’s hike goes exactly as you’d expect: they get lost in the snow, hear mysterious noises, and decide the best survival strategy is to run around screaming.
Back at the house, the fun really starts. The phone rings with dead silence. The power flickers. And then—because every good horror movie has to ruin VHS nostalgia forever—a videotape appears on the doorstep.
The Worst Home Movie Ever Made
The gang gathers around to watch the tape, expecting, I don’t know, maybe Aunt Gail’s “Best of 1987” aerobics reel. Instead, they find footage of themselves.
The stalker has been filming them since the road trip: at the gas station, at the diner, even inside the house while they slept. It’s like Paranormal Activity meets America’s Most Disturbing Home Videos.
Their reaction is appropriately horrified—but, in true found-footage fashion, still weirdly calm. No one screams, “WHY ARE WE STILL HERE?” No one grabs a weapon or drives away. They just sort of… sit around and debate it. Because what’s scarier than supernatural evil? Millennial indecision.
Cue the Chaos
From here, Evil Things shifts from slow burn to full-blown panic. The power dies. The phones stop working. The car disappears. And somewhere outside, that red van hums like the world’s creepiest lullaby.
Mark, ever the brave idiot, grabs a knife and heads off to investigate mysterious noises. The group hears his screams, but instead of leaving, they sprint upstairs. Because yes, when in danger, always choose the most confined possible space.
Eventually, the camera falls, the audio distorts, and the film devolves into chaos. The last thing we see is the stalker’s night-vision footage—because of course the killer has a camera too. It’s found-footage rule number one: if your protagonist is filming, the killer must be filming better.
The final scenes reveal the stalker calmly watching his edited collection of victims on multiple monitors. He’s like the David Fincher of creepiness. The film closes with him scouting his next targets—another group of friends, blissfully unaware they’re about to become content.
Somewhere, Netflix executives are taking notes.
Found Footage Done Right (and Wrong, and Right Again)
For a microbudget horror debut, Evil Things pulls off a lot with very little. The first half leans on tension and realism, making you feel like you’re really stuck in that car, listening to everyone argue about directions and snacks. It’s the kind of banter that feels so authentic you almost forget you’re watching a horror film—until the van reappears like an ominous jump-scare on wheels.
Perez resists the urge to show too much, which works in his favor. The film’s horror isn’t in blood or gore—it’s in the creeping paranoia of being watched. The scariest moments are small: a camera zooming in from outside a window, a faint voice on a two-way radio, the sound of breathing just offscreen.
Still, the movie occasionally falls into that found-footage trap where realism becomes… well, boring. There are stretches where you start rooting for the killer, just to get these kids to stop talking. But when the suspense hits, it hits. The ending—in all its minimalist ambiguity—is hauntingly effective, like The Blair Witch Project for the Facebook generation.
The Horror of Modern Living
Beneath the snow and static, Evil Things nails a subtle commentary on surveillance culture. The villain isn’t supernatural—it’s just a guy with a camera, patience, and probably way too many frequent flyer miles on his van. In other words, he’s us.
In an age where everyone documents everything, the film asks an uncomfortable question: what happens when someone else decides to film you? The stalker’s obsession with turning real life into a movie is disturbingly familiar. He’s not just hunting them—he’s directing them. And judging by the precision of his editing, he’s probably a film major.
Final Thoughts: A Low-Key Nightmare Worth Watching
Evil Things may not reinvent the genre, but it doesn’t need to. It’s a lean, unsettling little experiment in dread—proof that sometimes the scariest thing isn’t a ghost or a monster, but a van with good gas mileage.
Perez’s direction is sharp, the performances are believably amateur (in the best way), and the pacing builds from “mildly creepy” to “please stop breathing near the window” without ever losing that unnerving realism.
It’s a film that rewards patience—and paranoia. By the end, you’ll find yourself double-checking every parked car on your block, wondering if someone’s filming you right now.
If The Blair Witch Project made you afraid of camping, Evil Things will make you afraid of road trips, house rentals, and anyone who owns a camcorder in 2009.
Grade: A- (for “Amateur, Authentic, and Absolutely Anxiety-Inducing”)
A chilling, darkly funny reminder that when your GPS says “Recalculating,” it might actually mean “Run.” Evil Things is found footage done right: terrifying, realistic, and disturbingly relatable.
And remember—if you ever see a maroon van following you on the highway, don’t just film it. Floor it.
