I went into A Wounded Fawn knowing little more than its art-house horror label and the buzz surrounding its surreal take on toxic masculinity. By the time the credits rolled, I found myself grappling with what I’d just witnessed: a vivid, bizarre, and occasionally brilliant meditation on the horrors of guilt, power, and self-destruction.
“Love is blind. Fear sees everything.”
The Premise
This twisted tale follows Meredith (Sarah Lind), a museum curator trying to escape the emotional fallout of a past abusive relationship, as she heads out on a romantic weekend getaway with Bruce (Josh Ruben). Little does she know, Bruce is more than just your typical “nice guy”—he’s a serial killer haunted by his own violent compulsions and a growing sense of karmic retribution.
The setup might sound straightforward, but the film quickly abandons traditional thriller tropes for a journey into surreal, almost mythological horror. Bruce’s psyche unravels as the personifications of his crimes and guilt manifest in increasingly bizarre and symbolic ways. Meanwhile, Meredith transforms from victim to something far more empowered and terrifying, creating an ever-shifting power dynamic that’s both thrilling and disturbing to watch.
“Art is a window to the soul—or a reflection of its cracks.”
The Execution
The first thing that strikes you about A Wounded Fawn is its style. Director Travis Stevens leans into dreamlike visuals, with splashes of Giallo-inspired lighting and nightmarish sequences that feel ripped from a fever dream. The cinematography is lush, making even the most grotesque moments look disturbingly beautiful. The use of color and sound design amplifies the unease, pulling you deeper into the madness.
Josh Ruben is stellar as Bruce, embodying a predator who hides his monstrous nature behind charm and a disarming smile. As his facade crumbles, Ruben’s performance becomes more unhinged, and honestly, it’s a masterclass in controlled chaos. Sarah Lind matches him step for step, delivering a nuanced portrayal of a woman reclaiming her agency in the most unexpected of ways.
“The mind is a labyrinth. Some never escape.”
The Horror Elements
This isn’t your standard horror flick. There are no jump scares or conventional scares here—A Wounded Fawn opts for psychological unease and visceral dread. The film’s true horror lies in its exploration of toxic relationships, the consequences of violence, and the way guilt corrodes the soul. The surreal horror sequences feel like an art gallery come to life, where every painting drips with blood and symbolism.
That said, the film’s abstract nature might alienate viewers looking for a straightforward narrative. It’s unapologetically weird, and while that works in its favor most of the time, there are moments where the film threatens to lose itself in its own artistic ambitions.
“Some wounds are self-inflicted.”
Final Thoughts
A Wounded Fawn is a bold, unique entry into the horror genre. It’s not for everyone—its avant-garde leanings and surreal imagery demand patience and an appreciation for the abstract. But for those willing to dive into its twisted world, it offers a haunting exploration of guilt and power that lingers long after the credits roll.
Strengths
- Striking cinematography and surreal visuals that create a dreamlike, unsettling atmosphere.
- Strong performances by Josh Ruben and Sarah Lind, bringing depth and intensity to their roles.
- A daring, symbolic approach to horror that tackles themes of guilt and toxic masculinity.
Weaknesses
- The abstract storytelling and surreal imagery may feel too esoteric for some viewers.
- A few sequences meander, making the pacing uneven in places.
Score: 7.0 – While not perfect, A Wounded Fawn is an unforgettable experience that blends art-house sensibilities with psychological horror, making it a must-watch for fans of experimental cinema.
Happy Goat Horror 
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