Now this one was a pleasant surprise. My only familiarity with writer/director Mickey Reece was 2021’s genre oddity Agnes, a film that featured a strange gear shift to the narrative that frankly did not sit very well with me. Whilst Every Heavy Thing certainly had a more compelling hook to it than Agnes, it still wasn’t exactly sitting high on the top of my most anticipated list. Perhaps it was these expectations that led to a far greater surprise than expected. A trashy descent into madness, Reece packs this full of filth and nightmarish vision that thrives on its lead’s manic anxiety. Chaotic, crude, and utterly hypnotic, Every Heavy Thing is an exclamation mark of a genre flick with an incredibly bold perspective from Mickey Reece.
Every Heavy Thing opens with a vintage-style nostalgic opening kill—a naked woman chats on the phone before a surprise intruder silences her without a second thought. This sets a decidedly pulpy tone for the film’s fractured descent into paranoia and obsession. Joe (Josh Fadem), a quiet man living in Hightown City, appears ordinary at first glance. He indulges in Chinese takeout with his wife, dreams of naming their future child, and tries to ignore the string of missing women plaguing the city. But when a female musician (Barbara Frampton) gets shot in the head right in front of him, Joe becomes entangled in the killer’s twisted games. After abruptly unmasking himself, William (James Urbaniak) spares Joe only to make a point. He challenges Joe to pretend he never saw the merciless murder. William assigns Joe as his “experiment,” forcing Joe into a psychological spiral of complicity and guilt.
At home, Joe seems… off. His wife (Tipper Newton) suspects that Joe has already learned the secrets of her own infidelity. Each of these characters has lives separate from the other, and hide vital truths in the back of their pocket. The story fractures across two grim cities, Hightown and Lowton, the latter a decaying wasteland of empty warehouses. Joe’s parents, Mike (Ben Hall) and Bev (Ginger Gilmartin), are gun-toters who idolize violence under the guise of patriotism, providing brief bursts of comic relief. Joe’s home life plays into the finale in a surprising way that makes the time spent on character building worthy of the payoff.
As Joe’s sanity unravels, he experiences bizarre hallucinations… or are they just twisted takes on reality? How does the connection between Joe and the killer extend to even the dream realm? Between strangers muttering mantras like “every heavy thing just falls away,” and a new coworker drawn into the fray, can Joe somehow manage to step out from the killer’s shadow long enough to stop his own life from falling apart? The performances here are a lot of fun, but the brash visuals are what keeps the energy flowing. The horror at play seems a bit simple at first. However, the cat and mouse angle between Joe and William ratchets up the tension to an exciting crescendo of a finale. Fadem and Urbaniak are great playing opposite archetypes.
Every Heavy Thing fuses Rob Zombie-style grime with the digital paranoia of Cronenberg’s Videodrome. The unique style alternates between VHS static, split screens, red filters, and strobe edits that materialize as Joe’s anxieties. The result is purposefully disorienting, forcing the viewer to decode Joe’s fragile mental state. Tonally, the film balances horror satire and full-on psychotic meltdown. Reece never fears of his bizarro feature being too ugly or confusing, which is exactly what makes it work. Love it or hate it, the decadent imagery and eerie atmosphere linger long after the closing credits.
Every Heavy Thing screened at 2025’s Brooklyn Horror Film Festival.
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