If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if Saw, Big Brother, and a mid-tier YouTube prank channel got together and made a movie in one afternoon, Funhouse (2019) is your answer—and not in a good way. Written and directed by Jason William Lee, this is a horror film about a deadly reality show that somehow manages to be less tense than watching real people argue about kitchen chores on actual reality TV. On paper, it sounds like a sharp satire of influencer culture and voyeuristic entertainment. In execution, it’s more like a 100-minute comment section: loud, shallow, repetitive, and full of people you hope don’t make it to the end.
Influencers In, Brain Cells Out
We’re introduced to eight contestants: washed-up reality star Kasper, bride-to-be Lonni, tough-girl actress/martial artist Cat Zim, Instagram personality Ula, YouTuber Nevin, singer Dex, boxer Headstone, and blogger Ximena. It’s a lineup that screams “We couldn’t afford real celebrities, so we just cast types.” Each character is essentially a thumbnail personality: The Boxer, The Insta Girl, The YouTuber, The Chess Genius. They’re less people and more push notifications. The script never really bothers giving them much depth, which could be a pointed commentary on the shallowness of online fame… if it felt intentional. Instead, it feels like no one got past the character names on the whiteboard.
Big Brother, But Make It Lethal (And Boring)
The concept is simple: the contestants are filmed 24/7, viewers vote for their favorites, and every three days the lowest-ranked contestant has to endure a “penalty game.” This would be compelling if the movie had any sense of escalation or real suspense. Instead, it mostly just cuts between people being bland in different rooms and a CGI panda announcing murder like it’s giving away a toaster on a game show. The voting gimmick, which should build tension and alliances, barely matters. By the time penalties and deaths occur, you’re not thinking, “Oh no, not them,” but “Wait, which one was that again?”
Furcas the CGI Panda, Mascot of Poor Choices
The show’s host is Furcas, a CGI demon panda operated by the villain Nero Alexander. This should’ve been the movie’s secret weapon: a cute, cartoonish mascot delivering horrible news with deadpan menace. Instead, Furcas looks like something left over from a mobile game ad and sounds like your snarky coworker who thinks they’re edgy because they swear at meetings. Every time Furcas appears, the uncanny valley gets a little wider. You don’t feel dread—you feel like checking to see if your streaming resolution dropped.
Murder by Algorithm
Behind the scenes sits Nero Alexander, a wealthy sociopath orchestrating this whole circus for his own entertainment. He’s basically “rich evil guy” on default settings: smug, well-dressed, and utterly one-note. Nero supposedly controls Furcas, the penalty games, and the rules, yet somehow never feels like a real threat. He’s all monologues and vibes, no real presence. This is a man who has built a live-streamed murder machine and still manages to be less interesting than the average Twitch streamer raging about lag.
Deaths, But Make Them Forgettable
The penalty games are where Funhouse should shine. This is the big hook: losers die in brutal, imaginative ways, right? Except the kills range from “okay, that’s fine” to “this would be more disturbing if I cared who this was.” Some contestants kill themselves rather than play, which should be harrowing, but the film handles it with all the emotional weight of someone rage-quitting a video game. You can practically hear the screenplay muttering, “We need to thin the cast, just have them… I don’t know, give up.” The violence is graphic enough to qualify as horror, but it rarely feels like it has consequences beyond “less people on screen now.”
Satire with All the Sharpness of a Foam Bat
There’s a clear attempt to say something about influencer culture, reality TV, and our appetite for misery as entertainment. But Funhouse never actually commits to a point. Are we supposed to feel guilty for watching? Angry at the system? Horrified by voyeurism? The film just sort of shrugs in all directions. It tosses out archetypes—washed-up celebs, clout chasers, online personalities—but never really skewers them. It’s like watching someone set up a punchline and then wander away before delivering it. Even the “viewers” of the show, who should be a crucial part of the commentary, are mostly just background noise.
Cat Zim: Final Girl, Plot Twist, Still Not Enough
The one semi-interesting part of the film is Cat Zim, the actress and martial artist who ends up being the last survivor. She wins the twisted game, escapes, is questioned, and then released. The FBI raids the house and only finds bodies, no big mastermind. So far, so standard conspiracy horror. But then the film tacks on its final twist: Cat goes to visit Nero, and we learn she was in on it the whole time, complicit and meant to survive. She teases him with a line about not letting him win at chess “next time,” implying this is just the beginning. It’s a nice idea—Final Girl as secret villain—but by the time it arrives, you’re so checked out that it feels like a post-credits stinger on a franchise no one asked for. It’s less “jaw-dropping twist” and more “Oh. Okay. Sure.”
Style Without Substance (Or Fun)
Visually, Funhouse is competent without being memorable. The production design of the reality show sets feels budget-conscious but serviceable, like a discount game show stage crossed with an escape room. The cinematography does its job; the editing moves things along. But there’s little in the way of atmosphere or tension. Horror lives and dies on mood, and here the mood is mostly “low-energy livestream.” The film constantly tells you that what you’re watching is shocking, daring, and extreme, while the actual experience feels surprisingly flat. It’s the cinematic equivalent of someone saying, “Bro, this is gonna blow your mind,” and then showing you a mildly above-average TikTok.
A House of Mirrors With Nothing to Reflect
Ultimately, Funhouse isn’t just a bad horror movie; it’s a missed opportunity. The premise—celebrities and influencers trapped in a deadly reality show run by a lunatic—is ripe for savage satire and gut-wrenching horror. Instead, the film settles for a parade of thinly written characters, uninspired brutality, and a tone that never quite lands on horror, comedy, or critique. It’s content, not cinema: a feature-length reminder that having a clever logline is not the same as having an actual story.
If you’re looking for something brutal, clever, and nasty about media and violence, there are plenty of better options. If you specifically want to watch Funhouse, that’s your right as a free human being—but don’t say you weren’t warned. This carnival doesn’t just lack fun; it barely has a pulse.
