When conventions started taking over Houston, I was all in. It felt like someone had cracked open a portal to my childhood and dumped it into a giant convention center. Booth after booth of collectibles, artists sketching your favorite characters on the spot, panels filled with people whose voices practically raised you. I loved meeting voice actors and Power Rangers from my childhood, the kind of faces you grew up watching after school or on lazy Saturday mornings. There was something surreal about standing in line to thank someone for being a small but meaningful part of your formative years.
Eventually, my dad started tagging along. At first, I thought he just wanted to see what all the hype was about, but it did not take long before he had his own checklist. He was there for the Star Wars folks, sure, the galaxy far, far away still had a firm grip on him. But really, he wanted to meet Lou Ferrigno. Not just the actor. The Incredible Hulk. For my dad, that was not just another autograph. That was a piece of his era.
You hear mixed things about those encounters. Some say he is warm and generous. Others say it feels strictly transactional. My dad’s experience landed somewhere in the middle. Not bad. Not great. Just… there. Like buying chips at a gas station. You pick your chips, you pay for your chips, you leave—end of exchange.
Still, Ferrigno is Ferrigno. The original, non-CGI Incredible Hulk. A bodybuilding icon. A pop culture staple. So when I heard he was stepping into horror for the first time as a cannibalistic pig farmer in The Hermit, I was curious. How does a larger-than-life gamma monster become a backwoods recluse, slicing up teens? Turns out, in a pretty weird way.
Directed by Salvatore Sclafani and hitting Digital and On Demand March 3 from Uncork’d Entertainment, The Hermit follows teens Lisa and Eric, played by Malina Weissman and Anthony Turpel, who are dragged on a woodland getaway that quickly spirals into a blood-soaked nightmare. Waiting for them is Hugo, a deaf hermit who makes and sells jerky. Not beef jerky.
The film opens with an over-the-top score by John Jesensky that feels a little too epic for what we are seeing. It is good, just mismatched. Then we get a solid cold open. Bloody. Efficient. Hugo is introduced quickly and violently. It works.
Seeing Ferrigno with long hair and a massive beard is off-putting in the best way. He is hulking, grimy, and mostly silent, which oddly works in his favor. Outside of the clever detail that Hugo is deaf, the film does not break much new ground in the slasher subgenre. There are shades of Friday the 13th and Hatchet here. Bullied kid. Twisted upbringing. Isolation breeds violence. You know the drill.
The flashbacks explaining Hugo’s transformation into a killer get strange, especially the scenes with his mother insisting, “We never waste meat.” It almost plays like satire. You are not sure whether to laugh or recoil.
Structurally, the film struggles. Instead of letting the story unfold naturally, it constantly jumps between past events and present-day interviews with Lisa recounting what happened. A journalist interrupts her story to poke holes in inconsistencies, and some key scenes are described rather than shown. It drags on the pacing and kills momentum. Certain moments feel like they pop out of nowhere, disrupting what little flow the film manages to build.
That said, for a budget title, the production quality is surprisingly solid. David Wolfgang’s cinematography looks polished, even if the frequent drone shots feel like they are trying too hard to show scale. Weissman brings a grounded presence and gives off serious Odessa A’zion energy. Turpel has a young Jack Quaid vibe that makes him instantly likable. Some of the supporting performances are rough, but nothing completely derails the experience.
And then there is the twist.
I will not spoil it. I refuse. But I will say this. If you claim you saw it coming, you are lying. This is M. Night Shyamalan levels of what-the-hellery. It is so absurd that predicting it would require psychic powers or access to the script. It blindsides you. And the needle drop that accompanies it? Perfect. Weirdly perfect. I was laughing in disbelief. It is the kind of swing that either makes you furious or makes you admire the sheer audacity. For me, it was both.
Ferrigno’s performance is more restrained than you might expect, but there is something fascinating about watching a man once defined by explosive rage play a quiet, methodical butcher. It is not groundbreaking horror, but it is certainly a conversation starter.
The film’s troubled production history also hangs over it. Production in Syracuse was halted in 2022 after crew members walked off set over unpaid wages when a promised $200,000 investment fell through. Only a fraction of that reportedly materialized, causing major financial strain. Equipment was stolen. Weissman suffered an eye injury that required medical attention and delayed filming. The director of photography underwent emergency surgery. It was, by all accounts, a chaotic shoot. You cannot help but wonder how much of that turbulence bled into the final product.
At a lean 86 minutes, The Hermit never overstays its welcome. It is messy, occasionally clunky, sometimes unintentionally funny, but undeniably bold. It does not reinvent the backwoods slasher, but it does carve out a bizarre little corner for itself.
Jessie Hobson