Watching and dissecting every horror flick that pops up on our screens? Yeah, that’s a bloody tall order—pun intended. So instead, we’re cranking out these Streaming Screams entries, a grab bag of bite-sized reviews for the creepiest, weirdest, and most WTF horror and horror-adjacent films haunting your streaming platforms. Think of it as your guide to the good, the bad, and the downright bizarre in the world of on-screen terror.

Ganymede: A Southern Gothic Cocktail of Queer Angst and Religious Trauma

Alright, y’all, Ganymede isn’t your run-of-the-mill indie horror flick; it’s a sweaty southern wrestling match between closeted gay panic and evangelical fervor. Colby Holt and Sam Probst deliver a tale that’s equal parts tender coming-of-age and unhinged nightmare fuel. Lee, our baby-faced protagonist with abs sculpted by a vindictive God, spirals into hallucinations of a BDSM-themed demon every time he feels something a little too hard for his openly gay classmate Kyle. Cute, right? Until the church says, “Nope, that’s the devil!” and hands him over to a pastor who looks like he moonlights in infomercials for holy water.

Let’s talk metaphors—because Ganymede stuffs them down your throat like it’s Sunday service. The monster is Lee’s shame. The wrestling mat is his battlefield of self-loathing. And the electroshock therapy sessions? Well, that’s just torture porn for the God-fearing audience. Jordan Doww, as Lee, flexes more than just his pecs; the man sweats pathos in every scene. Meanwhile, Pablo Castelblanco’s Kyle is the kind of unbothered, glittery gay hero who says, “Yeah, I sparkle, what about it?”

Special shoutout to David Koechner’s pastor—a fire-and-brimstone villain who’s more menacing than the literal demon crawling out of Lee’s closet. And oh, that demon? Credit to the effects team for crafting something both horrifying and oddly fabulous. But let’s be real: the real monsters are the parents quoting Leviticus while they commit all seven deadly sins on the down-low.

Sure, the movie’s tone wobbles between heartfelt drama and campy horror—it’s messy, it’s loud, and you can’t look away. It’s not perfect, but does it slap? Absolutely. If you’ve ever wanted your queer trauma served with a side of southern gothic camp, Ganymede is here to baptize you in blood and glitter. Watch it and thank me later. Or don’t. I’m not your pastor.

Booger: Cats, Grief, and a Whole Lotta Gross-Outs

Listen, Booger is not the movie you watch with your mom to unless your mom enjoys watching someone chow down on cat food while spiraling into a grief-fueled psychosis. Mary Dauterman’s directorial debut is what happens when body horror, cat memes, and existential dread have a baby—and that baby hocks up a furball.

The story follows Anna (Grace Glowicki), who loses her best friend Izzy and somehow decides the only thing keeping her tethered to reality is Izzy’s black cat, Booger. But Booger’s like, “Nope!” and bites her hand before bolting. What follows is a trippy descent into grief and feline weirdness. Anna starts licking her own hair, eating cat food, and swatting at shit. It’s equal parts unsettling and darkly funny.

Glowicki gives it her all as Anna, but the real MVP is Heather Matarazzo as the unhinged pet shop owner. Her scenes are the kind of chaotic energy this movie needed more of. The body horror elements flirt with brilliance—festering wounds, fangs—but stop short of the Cronenbergian grotesque you’re secretly hoping for. Honestly, if you’re gonna turn someone into a cat, go full walrus, baby! Whiskers, paws, the works.

The movie tries to balance its gross-out humor with a poignant exploration of grief, but it ends up as lopsided as Anna on all fours. While there’s a weird charm to its DIY vibe, Booger ultimately feels like it could’ve been a killer 30-minute short instead of an uneven 78-minute feature. Still, it’s got a scrappy indie heart—and a taste for Fancy Feast. While it’s not great, there is something here that makes me excited to see where Mary Dauterman goes next.

Hell Hole: Frack Around and Find Out

Okay, so Hell Hole is what happens when the Adams Family —no, not those creepy and kooky folks, but the indie-horror power fam (Hellbender, Where the Devil Roams, The Deeper You Dig)—decide to mash The Thing, Evil Dead, and a preachy take on environmentalism into one slimy mess. It’s got guts, quite literally, but it also trips over its own tentacles.

The movie kicks off with Napoleonic soldiers who get Trojan-Horsed by a mutant monster, then flash-forwards to modern-day Serbia, where an American fracking crew unearths the same ancient slime beast. And, surprise, it’s still pissed. This setup screams creature-feature gold, but instead of leaning into the chaos, the movie spends half its runtime debating whether they should kill the monster or, I don’t know, send it to community college.

Toby Poser steals the show as Emily, the stressed-out leader juggling eco-warriors, drill-happy Americans, and a monster that finds men’s bodies to be its favorite Airbnb. The film tries for humor—think tentacle invasions and ass jokes—but it’s hit or miss, like when you throw spaghetti at the wall and only some of it sticks. The monster effects are goopy but too fucking reliant on CGI! Practical effects would have put this metal-infused B-flick over the top!

There are flashes of brilliance, like a French soldier encased in a human jellybean or some gnarly body explosions, but the movie doesn’t commit to its batshit premise. It teeters between wanting to be smart commentary and a gory good time, and ends up not nailing either. Still, if you’re into blood, guts, and tentacles taking liberties with every bodily orifice, Hell Hole is worth a watch—preferably with a stiff drink and low expectations.

Red Rooms: The Feel-Bad Hit of the Year

Red Rooms is like getting punched in the gut by your own bad taste in entertainment and then asking for another round. Pascal Plante doesn’t just make a courtroom drama—he makes you feel like you’re complicit in every dark-web snuff-film Google search you’ve ever been curious about but didn’t dare type. Juliette Gariépy’s Kelly-Anne is basically a mannequin with Wi-Fi, coldly hacking her way through a murder trial like she’s logging onto her email, while Laurie Babin‘s Clementine, her delusional new BFF, doubles as her chaos buddy and makes a strong case for why we should ban true crime podcasts.

The movie’s all icy blues and whites, like a Nordic death metal album cover but with less screaming and more existential dread. Vincent Biron’s cinematography is so sterile you’ll think the courtroom’s been doused in bleach, while Dominique Plante’s soundtrack is basically anxiety in audio form—just the right touch for watching human depravity unfold. The film doesn’t show any graphic violence, which somehow makes it even more disturbing because now it’s your sick brain filling in the blanks.

It’s slow—so slow—but it builds tension like a pressure cooker of existential dread. This isn’t a film that says, “Here’s your tidy resolution”; it’s more like, “Here’s a mirror, you little freak. Enjoy the view.” If you’re into true crime and you’ve ever Googled “Do red rooms actually exist?” while clutching your blanket like a shield, this is your movie. Just don’t expect to feel good about yourself when it’s over—you voyeuristic ghoul.

Humane: When Saving the Planet Means Killing the Vibe (and Maybe Your Siblings)

So Caitlin Cronenberg’s Humane is what happens when you mix Succession-level family dysfunction with The Hunger Games’ dystopian moral finger-wagging and then spike it with the kind of blood-soaked nihilism only a Cronenberg could dream up. First feature? Sure. A masterpiece? Hell no. But it’s got some fun in its bones—if you can stomach rich assholes stabbing each other over who gets to die for the planet.

We kick off with a grim UN climate decree so grim. The world’s cooked, literally, so now governments are paying families $250k for a “voluntary” dirt nap. Enter Charles York (Peter Gallagher), retired news anchor, who tells his gaggle of spoiled brats he’s ready to martyr himself—and their evil stepmom too. Except, whoops, she bails, leaving death bureaucrat Bob (a delightfully dead-eyed Enrico Colantoni) demanding a second body. Cue the York kids scrambling to decide who draws the short, stabby straw.

The setup is delicious, but then it faceplants. Instead of diving into Black Mirror-style existential terror or really gutting privilege, the movie goes full sibling deathmatch. Emily Hampshire and Jay Baruchel shine as the kind of sociopaths you love to hate, but everyone else? Cannon fodder with fancy backstories. And Bob? Guy’s practically winking at the camera while cracking euthanasia jokes like it’s open mic night in hell.

Visually? Meh. The movie’s about as cinematic as your aunt’s backyard theater setup. And for a Cronenberg, the gore’s weirdly tame—though there’s a pretty juicy scene involving a fork. Could this have been a sharp 50-minute Twilight Zone episode? Definitely. Instead, it’s a padded, slightly flabby 90 minutes that thinks it’s smarter than it is.

Still, Humane is a decent stab at satirical horror, even if it’s missing the depth to really wound. Here’s hoping Caitlin sharpens her knives for the next one. For now, I’ll take my dystopia with a side of popcorn and slightly lower expectations.