Call of the Void Review: Atmospheric Chills and Lingering Questions

“Call of the Void” beckons us into what initially feels like a familiar cinematic space: the isolated mountain cabin. We meet Moray, portrayed by Caitlin Carver, a young woman attempting to mend the fragments of her life after the profound loss of her brother and the subsequent shedding of her job.

She seeks tranquility in the rustic embrace of her family’s getaway in the San Bernardino mountains, a setting that itself hums with a quiet, melancholic beauty. There’s a certain appeal to these stories of retreat, isn’t there? That idea of finding oneself in the stillness of nature.

However, as often happens in such tales, the sought-after peace proves elusive. The film, from its very title, hints at something more unsettling beneath the surface, a psychological undercurrent that promises a slide from quietude into a folk-tinged disquiet.

When Strangers Knock: Unraveling the Conventional Cabin Tale

Moray’s intended solitude is soon punctuated by the arrival of a group of college students – musicians, no less – who occupy the other half of her duplex cabin. There’s the effervescent Lucy (Mina Sundwall), her beau Sterling (Richard Ellis), the more intense Cole (Christian Antidormi), and the observant, somewhat apart, Darryl (Ethan Herisse).

Their professor, the enigmatic Dr. Blackwood (Ted Barton), also makes a fleeting appearance before vanishing, an early thread in the tapestry of unease. What starts with friendly, if slightly off-key, invitations for breakfast or a hike to a place poetically named “Fiddler’s Green,” slowly begins to curdle.

The film doesn’t rush; it lets the narrative breathe, allowing the interactions to layer subtle notes of suspicion. It’s in these initial encounters that director James B. Cox starts to play with the familiar structure of a “cabin in the woods” story.

Instead of immediate, overt threats, we get a slow percolation of strangeness, a social awkwardness that teeters on the edge of something sinister. You sense the characters, and the audience, being gently nudged off balance, a narrative technique that prizes creeping dread over jump scares, at least in these formative stages.

Faces in the Forest: Character Chemistry and Hidden Depths

Caitlin Carver as Moray offers a relatable anchor. Her grief is palpable, her desire for art and peace understandable, making her reactions to the increasingly odd behavior of her new neighbors feel grounded. Mina Sundwall’s Lucy is a particularly interesting presence, a bright, charismatic figure whose friendliness carries a flicker of something less benign.

The dynamic within the student band itself, rife with jealousies and micro-aggressions, adds another layer of believable human messiness before the more inexplicable elements take hold. These performances feel naturalistic, which is a credit to the cast and direction. While the supporting characters might not always escape their archetypal boundaries – the troubled artist, the charismatic leader, the brooding musician – they serve the film’s atmospheric intentions well.

Moray herself is often more reactive than proactive, a common trait in protagonists overwhelmed by forces beyond their comprehension. Her backstory, particularly the loss of her musician brother, feels like it should resonate more deeply with the musical elements introduced, but it sometimes fades as the external mysteries intensify.

The Mountain’s Murmur: Crafting Dread with Sound and Sight

Technically, “Call of the Void” demonstrates a keen understanding of how to build mood on a modest budget. The sound design is a prominent player here. The traditional American folk music, sometimes presented in extended, almost agonizing run-throughs of a single song, becomes more than just background; it’s an texture of the film’s world, eventually hinting at something more.

This reminds me of how sound was so pivotal in films like “Berberian Sound Studio,” where the auditory becomes a direct conduit for the uncanny. Conversations overlap, whispers carry on the wind, and an unidentifiable hum from the woods contributes significantly to the disorienting feel. Visually, the cinematography by Rapha Bola captures the beauty and isolation of the San Bernardino mountains effectively.

There’s a competence in the lighting, especially in the night scenes, that avoids the murky unintelligibility that can plague low-budget horror. Images like the opening swirl of an elemental void or a strangely twisted tree linger, attempting to sow seeds of cosmic unease from the outset. The film opts for a slow-burn pacing, which, when it works, allows these aesthetic elements to seep under your skin.

Echoes in the Void: Mystery, Meaning, and the Unseen

The central enigma of “Call of the Void” – what exactly is out there, and what does it want? – remains maddeningly opaque for much of its runtime. Is it an ancient entity, a “body snatchers” scenario facilitated by strange mushrooms and tainted water, or something tied to the psychoacoustic experiments of the missing professor?

The film hints at all these possibilities, evoking a contemporary take on Lovecraftian themes where the horror is derived from the incomprehensible. This deliberate vagueness is a gamble. For some, it will amplify the unsettling atmosphere, reflecting a very current societal anxiety about unseen, ill-defined threats. For others, it might feel like narrative hesitancy, a reluctance to commit to its more outlandish concepts.

There are sequences, like Moray hiding in a closet overhearing terrible events, that generate genuine tension. Yet, the film sometimes struggles to escalate its “mild creepiness” into something truly terrifying.

It leaves the audience with a cascade of unanswered questions, which can be a powerful artistic choice in independent cinema, challenging viewers to piece together their own interpretations rather than offering neat resolutions. Does it entirely succeed? That might depend on your tolerance for ambiguity and your attunement to its specific, sonically-driven wavelength of unease.

Call of the Void was released digitally on April 15, 2025, and is available for streaming on platforms such as Fandango at Home.

Full Credits

Director: James B. Cox

Writer: James B. Cox

Producers: James B. Cox, Baruch Kaufman, Charles Box

Cast: Caitlin Carver, Mina Sundwall, Richard Ellis, Christian Antidormi, Ethan Herisse, Ted Barton

Director of Photography (Cinematographer): Rapha Bola