Release Date: March 6, 2026 (U.S., limited theatrical)
Runtime: 84 min (1 hr 24 min)
Rated: R – strong violence, gore, grisly images, language and some nudity
Production Companies: Independent Film Company & Shudder
Producers: Ross O’Connor, Rod Blackhurst, Noah Lang, Joseph C. Grano, Isaiah Smallman, Bryce McGuire, Betty Tong, Esteban Sanchez
Cinematography: Justin Derry
Editing: Justin Oakey
Music/Composer: Nick Bohun
Dolly (2026)
Director: Rod Blackhurst
Writers: Rod Blackhurst & Brandon Weavil
Cast: Fabianne Therese, Seann William Scott,
Michalina Scorzelli, Max the Impaler, Ethan Suplee, Russ Tiller, Kate Cobb
Set yourself amongst the grindhouse genre’s emergence of the 1960s and ’70s: violence galore, low budgets, rough production quality, grainy film stock, exaggerated characters, outrageous premises, and most importantly—shock value. Think along the lines of classics such as The Texas Chain Saw Massacre and The Hills Have Eyes. Great! Now place all of that in a modern setting with a veteran actor in Seann William Scott, add a dash of perverted domesticity, and introduce a grotesque new killer concept—and you have the divisive recipe for Dolly, the latest feature from director Rod Blackhurst.
Set among the remote backwoods and forests of Tennessee, we meet Macy (Fabianne Therese) and Chase (Scott), who are dropping off his daughter with a relative before the two head out on a hike at Woodland Trails, making their way to Snooper’s Rock, a scenic overlook known for its sweeping views. The couple appears stable on the surface—there’s no overt hostility between them—but something quietly lingers beneath their conversations. It becomes apparent early on that they may not be operating on the same emotional wavelength. Whether they fully understand how they feel about each other, or what timeline they envision for their relationship, remains uncertain. What is clear, however, is that a difference in expectations hangs in the air between them.
Just as that tension begins to simmer beneath their romantic outing, the film introduces its first intrusion of unease. Moments before the couple can fully confront the conversation brewing between them, an eerie, childlike song begins to drift into their otherwise intimate moment at the scenic overlook. What initially sounds distant and innocent quickly transforms into something far more unsettling.
The moments that follow are where the film slams on the gas and kicks into high gear, fully embracing the R rating it proudly wears. Here we begin to see the cracks not only in the murderous antagonist’s childlike mask, but also in the aesthetic and stylistic approach that has drawn so many comparisons to classic grindhouse cinema. Violence erupts with little restraint, and the film leans heavily into the kind of visceral shock value that defined the exploitation era it clearly reveres.
For one, much of the film’s violence appears to rely on practical effects, which makes every moment of gore and brutality land with uncomfortable impact. Limbs break, blood splatters, and bodies are treated with an almost tactile realism that enhances the film’s grimy, analog feel. This is where Blackhurst’s stylistic ambitions truly shine, as the grainy texture and rough edges evoke the look and spirit of the era the film is paying homage to.
But Dolly doesn’t stop at grindhouse aesthetics alone. It also pulls from the lineage of New French Extremity, a movement known for its willingness to linger on the body, pain, and the psychological discomfort that accompanies both. The camera doesn’t shy away from the grotesque “nursery” that Dolly inhabits—a disturbing environment cluttered with dolls, corpses, and remnants of past victims. The film repeatedly returns to these spaces, forcing the audience to sit with the unsettling imagery rather than quickly cutting away from it. In doing so, it places a heavy emphasis on the human body, autonomy, and the suffering inflicted upon it.
Chase, we learn, has a daughter—one that Macy is not biologically related to. Subtle parallels begin to emerge between Macy’s hesitation and anxiety about potentially stepping into a maternal role and the twisted version of parenthood that Dolly embodies. The film cleverly juxtaposes these two ideas. While Macy fears the responsibilities of becoming a parental figure, Dolly violently strips her of autonomy and forcibly places her into the role of a child. In doing so, the film literalizes the concept of toxic parenting: control masquerading as care, and protection transformed into domination.
Blackhurst also does an exemplary job of crafting his antagonist into a memorable horror figure. Portrayed by professional wrestler Max the Impaler, Dolly is relentless and brutal from her very first encounter with the couple and rarely relents afterward. Towering over her victims with an imposing physical presence, Max dominates the frame in nearly every scene she occupies. The performance is animalistic, unpredictable, and deeply unsettling. Dolly looms over the audience for the entirety of the film, rarely giving viewers a moment to breathe—and in some instances, metaphorically choking that breath away altogether.
Gradually, fragments of Dolly’s past begin to surface as the story unfolds. Blackhurst wisely avoids spelling everything out, offering only small glimpses into her history. These hints are just enough to add dimension to the character without fully demystifying her. The ambiguity keeps the audience in the dark while also allowing moments of reluctant empathy to surface, particularly through Macy’s own evolving perception of her captor.
Beyond the obvious familial complications—particularly those tied to motherhood and identity—Macy ultimately realizes that survival requires her to adapt. She begins immersing herself in Dolly’s warped reality, playing along with the disturbing dynamic forced upon her in order to stay alive. While the film clearly prioritizes shock, exploitation, and over-the-top violence in many of its sequences, it does not exist entirely without psychological and emotional nuance. In many ways, Macy and Dolly operate as two distorted reflections of one another, two sides of a deeply fractured coin.
Because of that psychological tension, it should be noted that the film can be genuinely difficult to watch at times. The realism of the violence—thanks largely to the practical effects—creates a raw nerve that bypasses intellectual analysis and instead triggers something more visceral. The body reacts before the brain can fully process what it is seeing.
While the film does contain the expected horror staples—chase sequences, sudden bursts of violence, and the occasional jump scare—it spends far more time emphasizing Macy’s vulnerability. The true terror lies less in the pursuit itself and more in the suffocating helplessness she experiences under the watch of her baby-faced captor. Yes, some of the kills are grotesquely over-the-top and intentionally difficult to stomach, but the film’s most disturbing moments often come from quieter, more grotesque imagery: Dolly cradling decapitated corpses as if they were infants, or tenderly attempting to feed spoiled milk to those she considers her “children.”
Rather than relying purely on startle tactics, the film prefers to keep the audience suspended in a prolonged state of unease. The tension lingers, stretches, and simmers beneath nearly every scene, leaving viewers trapped in the same anxious uncertainty that Macy herself experiences.
All in all, Blackhurst concocts an intriguing exploration of familial dysfunction, inherited trauma, and the cyclical nature of toxic parenting, all while slapping a grimy ’70s grindhouse filter over the entire experience. The result is a film that feels purposefully abrasive—one that will likely divide horror fans. Some will undoubtedly debate whether its aesthetic is a loving homage or merely derivative imitation. Others, however, may embrace its willingness to push boundaries, revel in its grotesque imagery, and appreciate the ambition behind its transgressive approach.
Ultimately, Dolly is not interested in comfort or restraint. It thrives in discomfort, forcing its audience to confront imagery that is messy, grotesque, and deeply unsettling. By blending the exploitation spirit of grindhouse cinema with the psychological brutality of modern extremity horror, Blackhurst crafts a film that may not be easy to watch—but is certainly difficult to forget.