Jimmy & Stiggs just crash-landed with a trailer so deranged, even seasoned horror fiends are clutching their pearls. Joe Begos—indie horror's reigning king of neon nightmares—shot this fever dream in his own apartment, wrangling puppets, robot toy hands, and enough fluorescent slime to drown a disco. Now, with Eli Roth's new banner The Horror Section behind it, the film is set to splatter theaters on August 15, and the genre crowd is already howling.
Here's the kicker: Jimmy & Stiggs isn't just another midnight movie. It's a pandemic-born, four-year odyssey of DIY insanity. Begos, high on Red Bull and pure genre devotion, filmed in his lived-in LA apartment, turning every surface into a canvas for alien viscera and late-night paranoia. The trailer? A kaleidoscopic blitz of practical effects, goopy Greys, and benders gone cosmic—like They Live and Dead Alive on a bender, then shot through a VHS filter at warp speed.
“He got his crew to commit to helping him all that time, and they stuck with him. One week it was all horror directors helping him as his crew… Joe really sticks the landing and the film transcends its limitations. It just becomes a great film, not a great low budget film.”
—Eli Roth
Why This Isn't Just Another Splatterfest
Let's get real: low-budget, single-location horror is nothing new. But Jimmy & Stiggs weaponizes its constraints. The trailer oozes a punk spirit that's been missing from the genre since the heyday of Sam Raimi and Peter Jackson's early work—think Evil Dead II's cabin fever meets Braindead's kitchen carnage, but with more weed smoke and less studio polish. Begos' signature? Every alien, every kill, every puddle of neon blood is practical, handmade, and gloriously unhinged.
Insane detail: Begos literally climbed into his closet rafters to rig camera pulleys, all while living in the chaos he was filming. The aliens? Puppets on fishing wire, Greys cobbled from toy store junk, and gallons of paint-splattered slime. The result: a film that feels like a lost artifact from the VHS era, but shot with the desperation and creativity only a global pandemic could inspire.
The Secret History: Pandemic Cinema Gets Loud
Remember the early COVID days, when every filmmaker with a webcam tried to make “the next Unfriended”? Most fizzled. But Begos went the other way—he turned lockdown into a pressure cooker, cranking up the volume on every vice and visual. The last time indie horror got this scrappy and weird, we got the likes of Host and One Cut of the Dead—films that made their limitations the main event. But Jimmy & Stiggs takes it further: it's not just a product of its time, it's a middle finger to the idea that you need a studio, or even a second location, to make something memorable.
Anonymous crew member (probably still scrubbing slime off their shoes):
“We were living in the set. At one point, the fridge was full of fake blood and actual beer. You couldn't tell which was which.”
The Verdict: Cult Classic or Cosmic Mess?
Here's the uncomfortable truth: Jimmy & Stiggs isn't for everyone. Some will call it a neon-drenched headache, others a late-night revelation. But if you crave the kind of movie that feels like a transmission from another, weirder universe—this is your midnight ticket. Genius or garbage? You decide. But one thing's certain: you'll want to see it with a crowd, and maybe a rain poncho.
Would you watch this or burn $20? No judgment. (…Okay, some judgment.)
