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Sometimes you start something — and in the beginning, everything seems normal. No monsters. No supernatural. But there’s that feeling — like something’s off. A small detail, a look, silence that comes at the wrong time. And then, together with the characters, you start doubting the one thing that seemed certain — your own perception.
Here are stories where everything appears real. Until you start asking questions.
A group of friends gathers for a casual dinner — wine, conversations, a little tension between exes. A comet passes over the city, the lights go out, and someone suggests checking a nearby house for help. From that moment, the world begins to glitch. People change. Dialogues repeat. The house they walk into looks… way too familiar.
This is minimalist sci-fi made on a shoestring budget, but it hits so hard you’d swear the director implanted a virus in your brain. A brilliant film about parallel possibilities — and how much can depend on a single word.
A perfect pick for when you’re in the mood for low-key vibes and maximum unease.
The main character joins a tech company to investigate her boyfriend’s disappearance. She gets assigned to a secretive division called Devs — a place nobody talks about. Every step deeper into that world feels like diving under ice: everything’s quiet, pristine — too pristine.
From the creator of Ex Machina, this series once again explores control, surveillance, free will, and technologies that understand us better than we understand ourselves. Visually it’s pure aesthetic. Narratively — slow, heavy, philosophical. One of those shows that doesn’t entertain, but silences you, making you stare into the void.
A reclusive engineer lives in a mountain lab and works on one thing: transferring his deceased wife’s consciousness into a machine. He’s got prototypes — machines containing parts of her personality, memories, and voice. He talks to them. Argues. Breaks down.
This isn’t horror — it’s deeply personal sci-fi. Beneath its cyber-experiment shell lies a story of love, loss, and denial. And the closer you get to the end, the clearer it becomes: you weren’t watching quite what you thought. One of those films you’ll want to watch again, just to catch the clues you missed the first time.
Sarah is a runaway teen haunted by sleep problems. She signs up for a sleep study — and at first, it’s all good: food, a bed, a sense of stability.
But as the nights go on, her sleep gets worse. Her dreams darker. She starts feeling like someone’s watching — even during the day.
This film doesn’t go for direct scares — it crawls under your skin. Makes you rub the back of your neck and look over your shoulder. Shot with a moody style and growing unease, it’s perfect for those who love films that live on the edge between dream, memory, and quiet dread.
A young couple visits a suburban neighborhood to look at houses. The agent shows them identical homes — and then vanishes. They try to leave, but every road leads back to the same spot. The next morning, a cardboard box appears on the doorstep. Inside — a baby. With a note: “Raise the child and you’ll be free.”
This isn’t horror. And not quite satire either. It’s a strange, metaphor-heavy trap that’s easy to fall into — and hard to explain. Feels like someone shrink-wrapped your life and made you watch it from outside. Harsh, but honest.
Mister Green
