If feminist horror invokes anxieties from the female experience, then what does Obsession tell us about what we’re made to fear?
Curry Barker’s new psychological horror, released May 2026, is the internet’s new obsession. Notable for its box office success of over $305M with a $750,000 budget, the film has made its mark on global audiences with its expressive and compelling cast. Since its release, the low-budget horror has split an international audience with a moral debate: who is Obsession‘s victim, and why?
Our narrative follows Bear, played by Michael Johnston, an awkward and romantically-gauche employee at a music store. He forms an infatuated fixation on his coworker Nikki, played by Inde Navarrette. Having discovered a One Wish Willow, which he initially intends to gift Nikki, Bear uses the wish on himself and, of course, wishes Nikki to love him “more than anyone in the world”.
Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt first. Bear is the perfect Mr. Nice Guy – passively kind, sheepishly affectionate, yet puts himself first and foremost. He doesn’t know how to confess his love, but knows he will, whether or not it’s the right time. His wish prompts Nikki to become entirely consumed by him, evoking what seems to be a passionate, unstable twist of the mad woman trope. The surface seems simple. At first, it appears Bear’s personal freedom is challenged, demanded by Nikki’s codependency. She does not allow him to leave her side without emotional guilt, and the domestic space becomes confined to a more claustrophobic environment. From comically taping the entire front door to peeing on the carpet, Nikki limits his access, threatens his territory. It seems like a hell of a nightmare to be in such a suffocating relationship, right? No plans separate from your partner, a temperamental girlfriend, who explodes at every turn, and no moment of peace if she feels slightly less loved than what she wants. And it gets worse; she would kill for you, without regret. On top of all that, she ruined a game of truth or dare at the function.
Bear experiences some disturbing moments, undeniably, but it also doesn’t take a genius to see that so does Nikki. Male ego is the root of many problems in the horrific turn of events, as Bear’s selfishness grapples to hold onto an inauthentic reality, in the pursuit of Nikki’s affections. “Just kill me,” she pleads. To which he responds, “What’s so bad about being with me?”. Still believing the world revolves around him, Bear declines every opportunity to liberate Nikki from a life of denied free will, of enslavement, in exchange for his fleeting pleasures. He is initially given the option to cancel his wish, which he does not take, because he perhaps believes he can fix the situation. Or perhaps it’s male cowardice. He believes that nothing is worthy of his own inconvenience, in order to cower from accountability. This same male cowardice trembles at the thought of female rejection, and would rather turn to a One Wish Willow, than confess their feelings when asked.
Across social media, “incel culture” has become attributed to Obsession. Referring to “involuntary celibates”, male insecurity manifests as the monster in feminist horror, prompting the outburst of repressed female rage that we see in Companion (2025) and Pearl (2022). Yet, Obsession doesn’t fit entirely in the box. Feminine monstrosity doesn’t serve as punishment for the “nice guy” because Nikki never achieves her catharsis. Even Sarah, who had no knowledge of Nikki’s jealous-loving-puppet transformation, is ensnared by the inconsiderate, self-centred Bear, who probably should’ve known better. It’s no coincidence that the horrors we are most drawn to, and find most compelling, are those that showcase fears rooted in reality. These fears are particularly relevant to modern female viewers, as we find monstrous the plausibility of male violence, rather than the spectacle of supernatural intrusions. In Barbarian (2022), The Mother is visually and behaviourally monstrous, sure, but a direct product of male sexual violence. Jennifer’s Body (2009) features a gruesome, flesh-eating seductress, also birthed as a riposte from similar male cruelty. The terror of feminine monstrosity, then, does not exist in a vacuum. Our “unstable”, “hysterical” female horror icons indulge in the defiance of abjection, only to be mangled by the same controlling hands that moulded them. Obsession tells us that not only is a woman’s horror the forfeit of autonomy, but a man’s horror is the confrontation of this power grab.
The trope is not unprecedented. We’ve seen the possession of spirits, demonic souls, split-personality psychological thrillers, and a plethora of body horror forms in our classic horror-gothic narratives. This time, however, the threat does not lie in the supernatural invasiveness of spirit mediumship. Culpability, instead, lies with the male desperation to avoid loneliness. The result is that Nikki is dictated how to feel, what to say, how to act for an artificial affection that Bear selfishly chooses at the expense of Nikki’s ephemeral and corporeal autonomy.
In feminist horror, the most disturbing thing is maleness. Despite the film’s masculine subjectivity, the horror film we watch is not exactly Bear’s but, of course, Nikki’s. However, Obsession discusses a complexity of male desire that’s more than just the average experience of a man staring too long at you on public transport. Bear didn’t set out with malicious intentions, yet the slither of male ego pervades, and the persistent pursuit of his romantic desires is ultimately tethered to the sacrifice of Nikki’s ability to choose. A girl, who once had aspirations to quit her job and become a writer, is overruled by the fickle fancies of a boy, who doesn’t really seem to know what exactly he wants.
Barker may not have intended it, but the horror is Nikki’s loss of autonomy, brought by male entitlement. The horror is the audience that chooses to entirely place their sympathies with Bear. Horror, then, is not simply confined within the reflected light of the four-edged commercial cinema screen, but seeps beyond, mimetic of a social reality, prompting us to come back to that age-old question: when will women actually get to freely choose for themselves?
