‘Dolly’ Review – All Atmosphere, No Pulse

There’s something about dolls that has always unsettled me. Maybe it’s the frozen smiles or the glassy eyes that seem to follow you across a room. They’re supposed to represent comfort, childhood, sweetness. But in horror, that innocence rots. It twists into something uncanny. So, when I sat down to watch Dolly, I was ready to feel that electric kind of fear—the kind that makes you curl your toes under a blanket and still peek through your fingers.

The film centers on Macy (Fabianne Therese) and her boyfriend Chase (Seann William Scott), who head into the woods for a romantic getaway. Chase is carrying more than camping gear; he’s planning to propose. Macy, meanwhile, is quietly grappling with what it might mean to become a wife and, more importantly, a stepmother. Those early moments hint at something deeper than your average slasher. There’s vulnerability there. Doubt. The fragile hope of building a family.

And then the forest begins to close in.

Not long into their hike, Macy and Chase stumble upon dolls hanging from tree branches and scattered across the ground. At first glance, it feels like a strange art project. But the longer we sit with the image—the cracked porcelain faces, the tangled synthetic hair swaying in the breeze—the more oppressive it becomes. The production design is easily the film’s greatest strength. The woods feel claustrophobic, suffocating, as if the couple has wandered into a shrine of decay. The dolls aren’t just props; they become a presence—a silent audience.

When Chase follows distant music deeper into the forest, the film shifts from eerie to violent. He encounters a towering, masked figure known only as Dolly (Max the Impaler), whose physical performance is genuinely unsettling. There’s a disturbing childlike quality to the way Dolly moves—frolicking one moment, brutal the next. It’s a performance built on physicality rather than dialogue, and that choice works in the film’s favor. Max the Impaler commits fully, crafting a villain who feels both grotesque and strangely playful.

Technically, Dolly is committed to its aesthetic. Shot on 16mm, the grainy texture gives the film a grimy, vintage feel that clearly nods to 1970s exploitation horror. The cinematography leans into harsh shadows and dizzying close-ups. The editing is frantic when it needs to be, letting chaos overwhelm the screen. There’s an earnestness in how the violence is portrayed. It doesn’t wink at the audience or cushion the blows with humor. It wants you to feel uncomfortable.

And in flashes, it works.

Fabianne Therese brings an emotional rawness to Macy that the script doesn’t always support. She feels human, even when the story reduces her to survival mode. There are moments when you glimpse the fear behind her eyes, the heartbreak of a future unraveling before it even begins. Seann William Scott, playing against the comedic energy many associate him with, throws himself into the physical demands of the role. He’s bruised, bloodied, desperate. It’s a performance that shows commitment, even when the character’s decisions strain credulity.

But here’s where the frustration creeps in.

For a film that runs just over 80 minutes, Dolly feels oddly stretched. There are lulls where tension dissipates instead of building. The emotional threads introduced early on—Macy’s hesitation about motherhood, Chase’s proposal—never fully evolve into something meaningful. They’re introduced like promises the story doesn’t quite keep.

More than anything, the film struggles to carve out its own identity. Its inspirations loom large, almost distractingly so. There’s a constant sense of familiarity in the structure and tone, as though the movie is chasing the shadow of something iconic rather than forging its own mythology. Homage can be powerful when it transforms influence into something fresh. Here, it often feels more like replication than reinvention.

And then there’s Dolly herself. As striking as the character is visually, we’re given almost nothing beneath the mask. A sliver of backstory—just enough to anchor the madness—could have elevated the horror into something tragic or mythic. Instead, Dolly remains a silhouette. Intriguing, yes. But emotionally distant.

I wanted to feel more—to let the dread seep under my skin and truly care who would make it out of that forest. Instead, I found myself admiring the craftsmanship from a distance: the gritty practical effects, the 16mm texture, and the deliberate grimy exploitation vibe. But atmosphere alone can’t sustain emotional investment.

In the end, I can see this connecting with horror fans who crave throwback, atmospheric slashers, but even with its brief runtime, it left me strangely detached. For all the noise and nastiness, there wasn’t enough emotional weight to pull me in, and I never truly cared who survived the night.

Dolly will debut exclusively in theaters on March 6, 2026, courtesy of Independent Film Company and Shudder.