Baby Blues, Bad Vibes, and Brooklyn Satanists
Lyle (2014) is one of those indie horror films that desperately wants to be called “atmospheric” but mostly feels like waiting for your Uber in a haunted apartment. Written and directed by Stewart Thorndike, it’s been proudly billed as a “lesbian Rosemary’s Baby.” Which sounds intriguing — until you realize it has about as much subtle satanic dread as a Whole Foods coupon.
At a brisk 65 minutes (yes, it’s barely feature-length), Lyle tells the story of grief, paranoia, and maybe demonic baby harvesting. Or maybe it’s just about the real horror of Brooklyn rent. It’s hard to tell, because the movie spends most of its runtime staring moodily at wallpaper and pretending that counts as tension.
Plot: Rosemary’s Baby… If Rosemary Were a Podcast Host
Our protagonist Leah (played by Gaby Hoffmann, who deserves better) is a young mother who moves into a too-good-to-be-true brownstone with her partner June (Ingrid Jungermann). The couple has a toddler named Lyle, a mortgage-sized stroller, and a baby on the way.
Within minutes of screen time, tragedy strikes: baby Lyle dies in a freak accident involving an open window. It’s horrifying, yes, but it also happens so abruptly that you’ll think you accidentally skipped a chapter. One minute Leah’s changing diapers, the next minute she’s sobbing over a closed casket and glaring suspiciously at her neighbors.
From that point on, Leah begins to spiral into grief-fueled paranoia. She suspects that everyone — from her therapist to the neighbors to her girlfriend — is involved in some sort of cult that wants her unborn child. And honestly, based on the décor alone, she might have a point.
The rest of the movie alternates between scenes of Leah glaring, crying, Googling, and discovering ominous clues that make about as much sense as a horoscope written by Satan. By the time the supposed “twist” arrives, you’ll be less scared and more in awe that 65 minutes can feel like a full semester of Catholic guilt.
Characters: Brooklyn’s Most Emotionally Exhausted Couple
Leah (Gaby Hoffmann) is the emotional core of Lyle, which is both a compliment and a curse. Hoffmann throws herself into the role with full-body anguish, complete with tear-streaked cheeks, trembling hands, and that thousand-yard stare you get after reading a co-op board’s pet policy.
Her performance is raw, but the movie gives her nowhere to go. Leah doesn’t evolve — she just marinates in anxiety for an hour. Watching her unravel feels less like horror and more like eavesdropping on your neighbor’s worst therapy session through the wall.
June (Ingrid Jungermann), meanwhile, is the partner whose main job is to say things like “You’re imagining it” and “We need to move on.” She’s written so flatly that she might as well be a sentient yoga mat. The chemistry between her and Leah feels less like a relationship and more like two people forced to share a Lyft.
The supporting cast includes Rebecca Street as Karen, the suspiciously helpful landlord, Kim Allen as Taylor the perpetually perky friend, and Ashlie Atkinson as the therapist who might be part of the cult — or just billing by the hour. Oh, and Michael Che pops in briefly as a character named “Threes.” Yes, like the number. No, it doesn’t make sense. He looks like he wandered in from another movie and nobody had the heart to tell him.
The “Horror”: Moody Lighting and Vague Unease
Let’s be clear: Lyle doesn’t do horror in the traditional sense. There are no jump scares, no gore, no monsters — just a slow, creeping dread that occasionally peeks its head out before retreating back into its minimalist apartment.
The cinematography is all muted grays and half-shadowed hallways, giving everything the aesthetic of a melancholy IKEA catalog. The film clearly wants to build suspense through atmosphere, but it’s so self-serious that it forgets to actually be scary.
There are moments where you think something truly eerie is about to happen — a faint sound, a strange look, a flicker in the light — and then nothing. It’s the cinematic equivalent of someone leaning in to tell you a secret and then forgetting what it was.
If The Conjuring is a roller coaster, Lyle is the line to get on the roller coaster, but the park closes before you make it to the front.
The “Psychological Thriller” Part: Gaslighting, But Make It Indie
What Lyle lacks in supernatural scares, it tries to make up for with psychological tension. Leah’s grief, isolation, and possible delusion should make for a compelling descent into madness. Instead, it feels like watching someone lose Wi-Fi signal while trying to stream Rosemary’s Baby.
We’re supposed to question whether Leah’s suspicions are real or the product of trauma, but the movie never commits to either. The cult elements — hinted through strange neighbors and cryptic baby names — come so late and so vaguely that they feel tacked on, as if the director suddenly remembered this was supposed to be a horror film.
By the time the final “reveal” happens, you’ll have more questions than answers, and not in a cool David Lynch way — more in a “Wait, did I miss something or was that just bad writing?” way.
The Lesbian Angle: Representation Without Revelation
Much has been made of Lyle being a “lesbian Rosemary’s Baby,” but aside from a few passing comments and the occasional domestic spat, the film doesn’t really explore sexuality in any meaningful way.
Leah and June could easily be replaced by a straight couple without changing the plot, which feels like a missed opportunity. The idea of queer motherhood under supernatural threat could’ve added rich subtext — instead, it’s treated like background noise, another piece of Brooklyn window dressing between the mid-century furniture and the overpriced stroller.
It’s representation without revelation — the cinematic equivalent of putting a rainbow sticker on a coffin.
Pacing: 65 Minutes That Feel Like 6 Hours
To its credit, Lyle is mercifully short. Unfortunately, it somehow manages to feel longer than Titanic.
Scenes linger well past their welcome, dialogue is stretched thinner than Leah’s sanity, and the pacing is so lethargic you half expect the end credits to apologize for keeping you up.
The movie tries to milk every ounce of tension out of every moment, but it doesn’t realize that suspense requires actual events. Watching Leah silently stare into space for 45 seconds doesn’t make me anxious — it makes me check my watch.
Symbolism and Subtext: The Devil’s in the Details (But He’s Bored Too)
There’s symbolism everywhere — baby monitors, mirrors, windows, dolls — but none of it adds up to much. It’s like the director raided the “creepy props” aisle at Goodwill and decided they’d make sense later. Spoiler: they don’t.
The movie gestures toward ideas about grief, motherhood, and guilt, but it never says anything interesting about them. It’s all style, no substance — like a thesis film that just discovered mood lighting.
Even the supposed satanic undertones feel half-baked. When the final twist finally arrives, it’s not shocking — it’s more like, “Oh right, I forgot there was supposed to be a cult in this.”
The Ending: Satan, Symbolism, and Shrugs
Without spoiling too much, let’s just say the climax involves a baby, a cult, and a whole lot of unearned melodrama. It’s meant to be shocking, but it lands with all the impact of a dropped pacifier.
You’ll watch the final scene, nod slowly, and think, “That’s it?” Then you’ll immediately Google how long is Lyle (2014)just to confirm that yes, you did, in fact, waste an hour of your life on this.
Final Thoughts: Rosemary’s Baby? More Like Rosemary’s Maybe.
Lyle had all the ingredients for a clever indie horror: grief, paranoia, queer representation, satanic overtones, and Gaby Hoffmann giving it her all. But instead of a chilling psychological descent, we get a moody, undercooked drama that mistakes whispering for depth.
It’s the kind of movie that leaves you saying, “I get what they were going for,” which is film-nerd code for “I didn’t like it, but I feel bad saying that.”
If Rosemary’s Baby was a five-course meal, Lyle is a half-eaten granola bar someone dropped on the subway.
Final Verdict:
⭐️⭐️ out of 5.
A film so slow and self-serious it makes you long for the campy charm of actual satanic cults. It’s not a thriller — it’s a waiting room with grief.
