Daniel DelPurgatorio, the madman behind Marshmallow’s directorial helm, is a fresh face with a knack for twisting expectations. His short films, like Tales of the Black Freighter, showed a flair for grim, visually striking storytelling, but this is his first feature-length stab at horror, and he’s swinging for the fences. Screenwriter Andy Greskoviak, no stranger to subverting tropes, penned the delightfully unhinged Black Friday, a Thanksgiving-themed gorefest that proved he can weave sharp dialogue with bloody chaos. Together, they’re a duo unafraid to rummage through horror’s dusty attic, pulling out old toys and smashing them into something new. Their indie roots with Hemlock Circle Productions scream DIY passion, and Marshmallow’s festival wins at Panic Fest 2025 (Best Feature, Best Director) signal they’re not just playing around, they’re here to carve their names into the genre’s bark.

At Camp Alama, 12-year-old Morgan (Kue Lawrence), a shy kid haunted by nightmares and a fear of water after his grandfather’s death, steps into a summer camp that feels like a warped memory of every 80s slasher flick. A creepy campfire tale about a doctor performing grisly experiments on wayward kids starts to bleed into reality, with a shadowy figure stalking the grounds. Morgan, alongside new friends like the plucky Pilar (Kai Cech) and the bullied Dirk (Max Malas), must navigate bullying, budding crushes, and a growing sense that the camp hides a sinister secret. What starts as a familiar slasher setup twists into a bizarre, sci-fi-tinged nightmare, forcing the kids to confront truths that unravel their world. It’s a bloody, brainy ride that dares you to question what’s real.

Marshmallow isn’t just another camp slasher, it’s a warped mirror reflecting the horrors of adolescence and the lies adults tell to “protect” kids. The film’s central theme is the loss of innocence, not through the usual hormonal haze but through the brutal discovery of hidden truths. Morgan’s fear of water, tied to his grandfather’s death, symbolizes a deeper dread of the unknown, a murky abyss where childhood’s safety drowns. The campfire tale of the doctor, a figure in a glowing surgical mask, acts as a grim metaphor for authority figures who manipulate under the guise of care, a nod to real-world gaslighting that hits harder than any jump scare. Greskoviak’s script leans into this, using sharp, witty banter to mask the creeping dread, though it occasionally stumbles into expository clunkers that spell out what visuals already scream.

Cinematographically, DelPurgatorio crafts a fever dream of a summer camp, all misty nights and neon-drenched shadows, evoking Stranger Things without aping it. The camera lingers on the eerie glow of the doctor’s headlamp, turning it into a beacon of menace that haunts every frame. The practical effects, overseen by Robert Kurtzman, are gloriously gooey with blood and viscera that feel tactile, not digital. The writing style dances between playful and profound, weaving coming-of-age camaraderie with sci-fi horror that questions reality itself. It’s a bold blend, but the film’s ambition sometimes outpaces its execution, leaving some thematic threads, like grief and identity, dangling like loose campfire embers. Still, it’s a film that dares to ponder how truth shapes us, even when it’s terrifying.

Marshmallow’s greatest strength is its refusal to play nice. It takes the summer camp slasher, a genre so overdone it’s practically a fossil, and injects it with sci-fi venom that stings in ways you don’t see coming. The twist, without spoiling, flips the narrative like a blood-soaked pancake, shifting from predictable slasher beats to a mind-bending revelation that feels like Cabin in the Woods with a darker heart. The young cast is a revelation: Kue Lawrence’s Morgan is a raw, empathetic anchor, his wide-eyed fear and quiet courage grounding the chaos. Kai Cech and Max Malas shine as Pilar and Dirk, their chemistry crackling with authentic preteen awkwardness and defiance. The practical effects are a gorehound’s wet dream, with squelching, visceral kills that make you want to applaud the sheer audacity.

But for all its originality, the pacing is a drunken stumble. It’s molasses-slow in the first act, then sprinting toward the climax like it’s late for curfew. The setup leans too heavily on familiar tropes (bullies, horny counselors), making you roll your eyes before the rug-pull saves it. The twist, while clever, arrives late and feels rushed, like the script ran out of pages to explore its implications. Some dialogue veers into exposition hell, explaining themes better left to visuals, and the sound design with screeching kids and overzealous synths can feel like a drill to the eardrums. Horror impact? It’s there, but uneven. The psychological dread of Morgan’s nightmares and the doctor’s looming presence hit hard, yet the film shies away from fully embracing its darkest ideas, leaving you wanting a deeper plunge into the abyss.

Characters are a mixed bag. Morgan and his crew are richly drawn, their fears and friendships pulsing with life, but the adult counselors feel like cardboard cutouts, stereotypical jocks and stoners who exist to pad the body count. The horror’s impact lies more in its brainy subtext than in raw scares; it’s less about making you jump and more about making you think, which might disappoint gorehounds expecting a Friday the 13th on steroids. Still, for an indie flick, it’s a daring rebuke to convention, even if it doesn’t always stick the landing. It’s the kind of film that makes you forgive its flaws because it’s trying so damn hard to be something new.

TL;DR: Marshmallow is a genre-bending indie horror that twists the summer camp slasher into a sci-fi nightmare. With a stellar young cast, gooey effects, and bold themes of truth and trauma, it’s a wild ride that stumbles on pacing but delivers a unique punch.