‘Backrooms’ turns an internet nightmare into an ambitious but uneven horror film

Few horror concepts in recent years have emerged from a more unlikely place than “Backrooms,” a film whose origins can be traced not to a novelist, screenwriter or filmmaker, but to the chaotic collective imagination of the internet. What began as a single anonymous image shared online evolved into a sprawling mythology embraced by content creators, amateur storytellers and millions of viewers fascinated by the eerie possibility of slipping accidentally out of reality and into a place that feels both familiar and profoundly wrong. The resulting film, directed by the 20-year-old filmmaker Kane Parsons, arrives as one of the most unusual studio-backed horror projects in recent memory, carrying with it the expectations of an audience that has already spent years imagining what the Backrooms might be.

The film joins a growing wave of stories fascinated by liminal spaces, those transitional environments that seem suspended between purpose and abandonment. Earlier this year, the thriller “Exit 8” built its tension almost entirely within the repetitive architecture of a subway passageway. “Backrooms” expands that idea into something larger and stranger, locating horror not in darkness or isolation but in the blandness of fluorescent-lit interiors. Its setting is an endless underground maze of yellow walls, stained carpeting and humming lights, a place that appears at first glance less threatening than an office building after closing time. Yet the movie understands that some of the most unsettling fears emerge not from monsters but from spaces that feel uncannily recognizable.

Ironically, the story behind “Backrooms” may be more compelling than the film itself. The original concept appeared in 2019 as part of an anonymous online post featuring a photograph of an empty yellow room. Accompanying the image was a brief description imagining an infinite maze filled with the smell of damp carpet and the incessant buzz of fluorescent lighting. The image spread rapidly across internet communities, inspiring thousands of interpretations and turning a single photograph into one of the digital age’s most enduring horror myths. The idea resonated because it captured a distinctly modern anxiety. The Backrooms resembled places people had actually seen: forgotten offices, vacant commercial properties, empty hallways and generic waiting rooms stripped of human presence. It was horror rooted not in fantasy but in familiarity.

Parsons, who built a large following through his YouTube channel Kane Pixels, was among the many creators who expanded the mythology. His found-footage videos transformed the static concept into something cinematic, introducing movement, exploration and a sense of documentary realism. Those videos attracted millions of viewers and eventually caught the attention of A24, which saw enough potential in the internet phenomenon to finance a feature adaptation. The transition from viral sensation to theatrical release reflects a broader shift within entertainment, where online culture increasingly serves as a source of intellectual property for studios eager to connect with younger audiences.

Yet translating an internet myth into a feature film presents challenges that “Backrooms” never entirely overcomes. Online horror often thrives on ambiguity. A single image, a brief story or an unexplained video can remain powerful precisely because it leaves questions unanswered. A feature film, by contrast, requires characters, motivations, emotional stakes and narrative momentum. Atmosphere alone cannot sustain a story for nearly two hours. The screenplay by Will Soodik repeatedly struggles with this reality, attempting to build a conventional narrative framework around a concept that was originally designed to resist explanation.

The film centers on Clark, played by Chiwetel Ejiofor, the weary owner of Cap’n Clark’s Ottoman Empire, a struggling furniture store located in a fading strip mall that appears frozen somewhere in the late 1990s. Clark is not merely battling declining sales. He is haunted by personal disappointments, including the collapse of his marriage and the failure of his architectural ambitions. The store itself reflects those frustrations. Empty showrooms stretch across the building. Customers are scarce. Every aspect of the business suggests a man clinging stubbornly to something that may already be beyond saving.

Compounding those troubles are a series of unexplained electrical problems. Lights flicker without warning. Circuit breakers behave unpredictably. When Clark begins investigating the building’s electrical system, he discovers strange additions to the breaker panel that seem to have no logical purpose. The mystery initially unfolds with admirable restraint. Rather than rushing toward supernatural revelations, the film allows tension to build through mundane details. Anyone who has stared at a malfunctioning electrical panel or wandered through the forgotten corners of a commercial building will recognize the peculiar unease generated by spaces that seem slightly off.

That unease eventually leads Clark below the store, where he passes through a wall and enters the Backrooms. The sequence marks the film’s strongest stretch. Parsons demonstrates a keen understanding of spatial horror, gradually revealing an environment that appears endless in every direction. The Backrooms resemble office spaces stripped of context and assembled according to dream logic. Hallways terminate abruptly. Doors lead nowhere. Furniture appears in random piles. Objects such as traffic signs, cardboard cutouts and cassette players emerge without explanation. Clark later describes the place as though it had been constructed by builders operating under the influence of hallucinogens, and the description feels remarkably accurate.

The production design by Danny Vermette becomes the film’s greatest achievement. The Backrooms are simultaneously banal and surreal, transforming ordinary architectural elements into sources of psychological discomfort. Every room looks familiar enough to recognize yet strange enough to provoke anxiety. The effect is remarkably effective. Horror cinema has long relied on haunted houses, abandoned hospitals and dark forests. “Backrooms” finds terror in the places modern life actually inhabits: offices, commercial spaces and anonymous interiors designed more for function than identity.

The film’s imagery inevitably invites interpretation. Like the endlessly scrolling architecture of the internet itself, the Backrooms seem to stretch infinitely without destination. One hallway leads to another, then another, then another. Information accumulates but understanding remains elusive. In this sense, the setting functions as a metaphor for contemporary digital existence, where endless exploration rarely produces meaningful resolution. Parsons appears aware of this connection, although the film never fully develops it.

Instead, “Backrooms” gradually shifts toward psychological territory. Before becoming consumed by his exploration of the labyrinth, Clark’s most significant relationship is with his therapist, Mary Kline, played by Renate Reinsve. During their sessions, Mary discusses behavioral loops and recurring habits, suggesting that people often become trapped within patterns of their own making. As the story progresses, the Backrooms increasingly resemble a physical manifestation of Clark’s internal struggles. The endless chambers begin to mirror his disappointments, regrets and obsessions. Mary herself eventually becomes entangled in the mystery, transforming from observer to participant.

This psychological dimension gives the film its most ambitious ideas. At its best, “Backrooms” feels like a horror-inflected cousin of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, using architecture as a representation of memory and identity. The labyrinth becomes less a location than a state of mind. Every door promises another layer of self-examination. Every corridor leads deeper into unresolved emotional territory.

Unfortunately, the film struggles to connect these themes coherently. While Parsons clearly identifies an intriguing narrative pathway, he never successfully bridges the gap between the physical reality of the Backrooms and Clark’s psychological condition. The symbolism often feels imposed rather than organic. Scenes hint at profound emotional revelations without fully earning them. The result is a film that repeatedly approaches insight but rarely arrives there.

The performances help compensate for those shortcomings. Ejiofor brings considerable gravitas to material that could easily collapse under the weight of its own abstraction. Throughout his career, he has excelled at portraying intelligence and emotional control, qualities that make Clark’s gradual unraveling particularly compelling. There is a quiet desperation beneath the character’s reserved exterior, and Ejiofor skillfully reveals it in measured increments. His performance gives the audience something tangible to hold onto even when the narrative begins to drift.

Reinsve, whose acclaimed performances in The Worst Person in the World and Sentimental Value established her as one of Europe’s most captivating young actors, proves equally effective. Making her first significant venture into horror, she brings intelligence, warmth and mystery to Mary. The role could easily have become a collection of psychological clichés, but Reinsve grounds it in emotional authenticity. She provides the film with much of the depth it otherwise lacks.

Even so, neither actor can fully overcome the screenplay’s limitations. The central challenge remains the same one facing many adaptations of internet-born phenomena: how to transform an evocative concept into a satisfying narrative. The original Backrooms image was powerful because it left space for imagination. The film fills that space with explanations, symbolism and character arcs, but those additions rarely prove as compelling as the mystery they replace.

Ultimately, “Backrooms” succeeds more as an experience than as a story. Its imagery lingers long after the credits end. The fluorescent corridors, yellow walls and endless rooms create a distinctive atmosphere that few horror films can match. Parsons demonstrates genuine visual talent and a remarkable ability to transform ordinary spaces into sources of dread. What he has not yet mastered is the equally difficult task of constructing a narrative capable of supporting those images.

The result is a film caught between internet mythology and traditional storytelling, between abstraction and explanation, between atmosphere and meaning. It is often fascinating, occasionally unsettling and visually memorable throughout. Yet for all its endless hallways and countless doors, “Backrooms” never quite discovers the path that would transform a compelling idea into a truly great horror film.