Frank Palangi’s Warren County is a lean, unsettling indie horror-thriller that thrives on atmosphere, tension, and a sense of dread creeping through the cracks of small-town life. With a brisk 62-minute runtime, the film wastes no time plunging its audience into a patchwork of serial killings, strange encounters, and unnerving performances that give the quiet New York countryside an aura of menace.
The film unfolds as an anthology of interconnected stories, anchored by the voice of “Just Rick,” a true-crime podcaster who tries to piece together the grisly history of murders in the region.
This narrative device not only frames the killings but also lends a sense of realism—like the viewer is listening to a podcast come to life. Through Rick’s investigations, we meet characters such as Clarence Kilmer (Andy Scullin), a Grammy-nominated producer whose search for “the perfect sound” masks darker intentions, and Jerry (Brandon Fronk), an awkward everyman whose ill-fated date spirals into horror.
Palangi, who directs and also appears on screen, shows a knack for crafting tension out of mundane scenarios—recording sessions, first dates, or even quiet farm chores become gateways to violence. The dialogue, drawn out in moments of awkward intimacy or professional pressure, adds to the film’s eerie realism. Some sequences, like Clarence turning auditions into something far more sinister, or Jerry’s increasingly nightmarish dinner, recall the uncomfortable unease of grindhouse slashers while layering in modern anxieties about technology, trust, and exploitation.
The cast, featuring Teresa Tuttle, Aaron Lambert, Lori Tucker, Jereme Young, and Palangi himself, commit fully to the offbeat and at times surreal tone. Performances often lean into heightened awkwardness, which makes the eruptions of violence all the more jarring. The film’s mix of true-crime stylization and slasher horror roots place it in an interesting space—somewhere between The Last House on the Left and the modern podcast boom.
Where Warren County excels is in its rough-edged authenticity. It feels like a film made with passion and a willingness to experiment, unafraid to embrace odd tonal shifts or unconventional pacing. The lo-fi production values might not appeal to everyone, but for fans of microbudget horror, they reinforce the film’s unnerving charm.
Ultimately, Warren County is a strange, unsettling ride—part slasher anthology, part true-crime fever dream. Palangi captures the fear that even in the most unassuming places, darkness is never far away. For those who appreciate gritty indie horror with an experimental edge, this is a film worth seeking out.
Jessie Hobson