The Taking of Deborah Logan

Jill Larson delivers a performance so unsettling it will haunt you long after the credits roll—she plays Deborah Logan, an Alzheimer's patient whose deterioration blurs the line between medical tragedy and supernatural terror in ways that feel genuinely unknowable. The film masquerades as found footage, luring you into what seems like a compassionate documentary about dementia before it pivots into something far darker and more visceral than you're prepared for.

What makes this work is its refusal to play by horror-movie rules. There's no jump-scare formula or predictable twist; instead, it builds a suffocating sense of dread through intimate, handheld footage that feels stolen and wrong. The tone sits somewhere between the clinical detachment of The Office and the mounting existential dread of Hereditary—unsettling not because of gore, but because you're watching someone's mind unravel and you can't tell what's illness and what's something else entirely.

This is for viewers who prize psychological horror over spectacle, who want to feel genuinely disturbed rather than just startled. It's the kind of film that respects your intelligence and your nerves in equal measure, treating dementia with seriousness while never quite letting you settle into safety. You'll spend days debating what actually happened to Deborah Logan.