Image Credits: Photo by DUSTIN RABIN – © Dustin Rabin. All Rights Reserved
Sound has always been central to horror, but “Undertone” (2026) takes that idea and pushes it somewhere far more unsettling. In his directorial debut, Ian Tuason creates an experience where fear comes from what you hear just as much as what you see. Early reactions have already labeled it a contender for horror film of the year, and it’s not hard to see why. The film currently holds a strong score of 74% on Rotten Tomatoes, reflecting both praise and growing audience buzz. Though the score isn’t the strongest ever, it feels like one of those rare horror films that people will keep talking about long after its release.
“Undertone” follows Evy, a paranormal podcast host who returns home to care for her dying mother. What begins as a quiet, emotionally grounded setup quickly shifts when Evy and her co-host receive a series of disturbing audio recordings from a couple documenting their experiences in a supposedly haunted house. With each new file, the sounds and implication grow more invasive and personal, blurring the boundary between Evy’s life and whatever is lurking within the recordings.
What makes “Undertone” so effective is its restraint. The film resists the urge to rely on constant jump scares, instead embracing a sense of stillness and absence. Long takes of empty rooms are filled only with distant, echoing noises, forcing the audience into a state of hyper-awareness. The wide-angle shots create the uneasy feeling that something should be there, just out of sight. Rather than delivering immediate fear, the film allows tension to stretch and simmer, which makes every moment feel like it’s on the verge of breaking.
That minimalism extends to the film’s structure. Evy carries nearly the entire narrative, with all scenes confined to her home and limited to the audience seeing only her and her mother. This isolation becomes a key part of the experience. Without other distractions, the audience is placed directly alongside Evy, relying on the same sounds she hears. Every creak and whisper becomes amplified, leaving the audience with a sense of unease that builds even before you fully process what it means for her.
While the film explores familiar horror themes such as the paranormal and the demonic, it approaches them with a surprising level of subtlety. Religious elements in horror may feel overused or not for everyone, yet “Undertone” refreshingly limits its use of these ideas. It doesn’t overwhelm the narrative or rely on cliché imagery. Instead, it weaves them into the story, allowing them to enhance the tension. In this case, its use of religious context strengthens the themes of the film. It also incorporates elements reminiscent of early YouTube horror, especially in the use of found audio and distorted recordings, which adds a layer of realism and even nostalgia that makes everything feel closer and more personal.
Of course, none of this would work without its standout sound design. It is, quite simply, the film’s greatest strength. The audio is engineered to unsettle but also create questions, creating a balance that keeps the viewer constantly engaged. At the same time, the cinematography deserves recognition. The film makes deliberate use of space and composition, often employing techniques like the rule of thirds to draw attention to what isn’t there as much as what is. Every frame feels intentional, leaving viewers scanning the screen, questioning whether they’ve missed something and dreading the moment when they haven’t. Even the lighting contributes to this unease, with dim, natural light creating shadows that feel deep enough to hide something.
In the end, “Undertone” proves that horror doesn’t need spectacle to be effective. Through silence, space and carefully crafted sound, it builds an experience that lingers long after the credits roll. It does not just ask you to watch. It asks you to listen, and once you do, it makes sure you will not feel comfortable doing so again. More importantly, its precise and intentional use of sound feels like it is pushing the genre forward. It shows that horror can evolve by focusing less on what is shown and more on what is suggested, opening the door for a new kind of fear built around atmosphere, perception and the power of simply hearing something you cannot explain.