Weird, Bloody, and Unapologetically Messy

MOVIE REVIEW
Perpetrator Limited Edition Blu-ray
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Genre: Horror, Mystery, Supernatural
Year Released: 2023, Arrow Video Blu-ray 2025
Runtime: 1h 41m
Director(s): Jennifer Reeder
Writer(s): Jennifer Reeder
Cast: Kiah McKirnan, Alicia Silverstone, Christopher Lowell, Melanie Liburd, Ireon Roach, Tim Hopper, Casimere Jollette, Taylor Kinkead, Audrey Francis, Mia Park, Vic Kuligoski, Sasha Kuznetsov, Ilirida Memedovski, Avery Holliday, Josh Bywater, Maya Lou Hlava, Greta Stolte
Where to Watch: available August 19, 2025. Pre-order your copy here: www.arrowvideo.com, www.mvdshop.com, or www.amazon.com

RAVING REVIEW: PERPETRATOR wastes no time establishing itself as something strange. Jennifer Reeder’s latest is a horror film wrapped in a feminist coming-of-age story, dipped in surrealism, and splattered with blood. It’s as ambitious as it is uneven — a movie with moments of real intrigue, flashes of brilliance, and an energy that refuses to stay in one lane, even when a little restraint might have made all the difference.

At its core, the story follows Jonny Baptiste (Kiah McKirnan), a rebellious teenager who is sent to live with her estranged Aunt, Hildie (Alicia Silverstone), just before her 18th birthday. Almost immediately, she begins undergoing a bizarre transformation tied to a family spell called the Forevering — a concept left just mysterious enough to keep audiences hooked while also creating room for frustration. As young women start disappearing from Jonny’s new school, the lines between supernatural empowerment, predatory danger, and adolescent self-discovery begin to blur.

The plot moves like a fever dream, lurching between camp, melodrama, and outright horror without much warning. For some, this will be part of the charm; for others, it’ll be the biggest barrier. Reeder’s vision is deliberate — a refusal to make something safe or predictable — but the trade-off is a narrative that often feels fractured. It’s a film that demands patience, and not all viewers will think that patience is rewarded.

One undeniable highlight is Alicia Silverstone, who plays Aunt Hildie with a combination of whimsy and menace that makes her magnetic in every scene. She’s unpredictable, almost theatrical, but in a way that fits the heightened reality Reeder is creating. McKirnan’s performance is trickier — at times understated to the point of seeming disconnected, but occasionally landing moments of quiet strength that give Jonny more depth than the script alone provides.

Visually, PERPETRATOR is gorgeous. Cinematographer Sevdije Kastrati bathes the film in vivid, Bava-inspired colors, utilizing light and shadow to imbue each scene with a lush, otherworldly quality. The film’s look is often more cohesive than its story, with imagery that lingers long after the credits roll. The gore effects are equally memorable, leaning more into stylization than realism, which keeps the film from tipping fully into grim territory despite its subject matter.

Tonally, though, PERPETRATOR is all over the map. Moments of sharp satire about predatory behavior and the absurdity of authority figures exist alongside scenes that feel pulled from a campy teen drama. There’s a kind of genre maximalism at play — a determination to mash supernatural fantasy, serial killer thriller, and adolescent rebellion into one package — but the collision doesn’t always produce the intended spark.

When the film does click, it’s often in its smallest moments: an unsettling interaction between Jonny and a teacher, a cryptic comment from Hildie, a fleeting visual that suggests something much darker just beyond the frame. These are the moments that suggest what PERPETRATOR could have been if its various threads had been pulled tighter.

The feminist themes are front and center, but they’re handled with an intentional bluntness. This isn’t a film interested in subtle metaphors about gendered violence — it’s overt in its depiction of predation, rage, and survival. For some, this directness will feel refreshing; for others, it might come across as heavy-handed. Either way, Reeder’s refusal to dilute her message is admirable, even if the delivery isn’t always elegant.

The pacing is another sticking point. The opening half-hour throws the audience into a whirlwind of mood shifts and narrative threads, but it isn’t until much later that the central conflict becomes clear. By then, the film has either hooked you with its weirdness or lost you entirely. The ending arrives suddenly, resolving certain elements while leaving others hanging in a way that feels more abrupt than intentional.

Arrow Video’s Blu-ray release presents the film in a manner worthy of its striking visuals. The high-definition transfer brings out every saturated color and shadow detail. At the same time, the supplemental features — including a commentary track with Reeder and Kastrati, a video essay, and three of Reeder’s short films — offer valuable insight into the creative process. For fans of her work, this release is a treasure trove.

Ultimately, PERPETRATOR is a film that will likely divide audiences sharply. It’s messy, yes, but it’s also fiercely original — a rarity in contemporary horror. It’s the kind of movie you might admire more than you enjoy, or one you’ll passionately defend despite its flaws. Whether it leaves you enthralled or exasperated, it’s hard to deny that Reeder swings for the fences. And even when she misses, the attempt is worth noting.

Bonus Materials:
LIMITED EDITION BLU-RAY CONTENTS
High Definition (1080p) Blu-ray presentation
Original DTS-HD MA 5.1 surround audio
Optional English subtitles for the deaf and hard of hearing
Brand new audio commentary by writer-director Jennifer Reeder and director of photography Sevdije Kastrati
Perpetrator: Mirrors and the Monstrous Womb, a brand new video essay by filmmaker Jen Handorf
On-set cast interviews with Kiah McKirnan, Alicia Silverstone, Melanie Liburd, and Christopher Lowell
Screenplay (2024), a music video for Aitis, directed by Jennifer Reeder
Tiny Baby (2024), a music video for Joan of Arc, directed by Jennifer Reeder
Three short films directed by Jennifer Reeder: All Small Bodies (2018, 20 mins); I Dream You Dream of Me (2018, 11 mins); LOLA, 15 (2017, 5 mins)
Original trailer
Reversible sleeve featuring two original artwork options by Creepy Duck Design and Duke Aber / Shudder
Illustrated collector’s booklet featuring new writing on the film by Kat Hughes and Marianne Lampon

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[photo courtesy of ARROW VIDEO, MVD ENTERTAINMENT]

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