My quick rating - 4.1/10. Lenore opens with people talking to cameras during the credits, because apparently even the opening credits aren't safe from people who think the internet desperately needs to hear their life story. One woman gets particularly comfortable telling us about herself, immediately raising an important question. Is this movie mocking narcissistic online behavior, or is it accidentally auditioning for the same attention economy? Stick around, because there are plenty of opportunities to find out.
We meet Max (Nicholas Jaquinot), a terminally online fellow whose social life appears to consist of bouncing between livestreams featuring attractive women, taking notes, and conducting some decidedly questionable business with his audiovisual equipment. One streamer discusses cameras, another shows off a gun, and Max watches it all with the enthusiasm of a man whose browser history would require its own investigative task force.
Then there's Lenore (Ruby Duncan), a controversial influencer who has suddenly gone silent following an incident involving a playschool. I get the nod to the poetry of Edgar Allen Poe, obviously, but here Lenore is not a lost love. She's an online persona that may as well be an illusion. Naturally, Max decides to investigate her disappearance for a documentary. Because when you're already spending your life obsessing over strangers you will never meet, the obvious next step is to make their problems your entire personality.
An old friend eventually turns up with some footage, and the investigation begins to unfold. Lenore takes its time getting there, delivering a slow-burning descent into online obsession and madness. It's an interesting enough premise, particularly in an age when people confuse watching someone's livestream with actually knowing them. Unfortunately, the film's pacing feels like it's buffering on the same dodgy connection as Max's grasp on reality.
There's also the technical side of things. Max's audiovisual setup looks impressive enough for the one-room production, but some of the equipment responsible for certain activities seems more decorative than functional. I'm no expert in Max's particular brand of weirdness, but I found myself questioning whether his collection of gadgets could actually accomplish, well, anything. Perhaps the budget went toward props rather than a consultation with someone who knows how the equipment works.
The acting is serviceable, although the police performances and reactions are unconvincing. It's difficult to take an investigation seriously when the investigators seem as though they've wandered in from a different movie. Still, the production is reasonably well put together for a low-budget effort, and there's a worthwhile idea lurking beneath the questionable execution.
Writer-director David Ward has something to say about parasocial relationships, digital obsession, and the disturbing intimacy people develop with strangers through screens. Unfortunately, the big revelation arrived much earlier for me than I suspect he intended. When your twist announces itself before the movie does, suspense becomes more of a formality.
Lenore is a dark, modern descent into madness that taps into your obsession with people you'll never actually meet. It's a different kind of horror, and the concept deserves credit. The execution, however, left me thinking this might have worked better as a competent student film than a full length feature. It might make you glance nervously at your phone, right before throwing it at the wall.
