Blackout

Charley is a small-town artist haunted by his own creations and the gaps in his memory. Drinking binges blur the edges of his days, and he wakes to paintings that seem to recall nights he cannot fully remember. The film immerses viewers in his crumbling routine, where the ordinary streets and familiar faces of his community only heighten his growing sense of dread.

As his suspicion that he might be a werewolf takes root, Charley retreats further from those who care for him. Flashbacks and hallucinations seep into his canvases, each grotesque stroke hinting at grisly acts he may or may not have committed. The line between supernatural transformation and the ravages of addiction remains deliberately unclear, forcing both Charley and the audience to confront uncertainty.

Relationships fray as neighbors whisper and loved ones plead, but Charley cannot escape the pull of his own instincts and the compulsion to create. The film uses his art as a mirror of his psyche, with every new painting revealing another fragment of a violent, fragmented identity. Tension mounts as past and present collide, and the town’s quiet streets become a stage for a personal crisis spiraling toward a reckoning.

Blackout is a moody, slow-burning study of isolation, guilt, and the search for self in the face of terrifying possibility. Its visuals are raw and intimate, pairing haunting imagery with a sparse, unsettling score to keep viewers off balance. The result is a haunting blend of psychological drama and horror that lingers long after the credits roll.