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REDUX REDUX  is a Lo-Fi Sci-Fi Gut Punch about Grief, Vengance, and Letting Go

By. Professor Horror

 

As a lifelong fan of lo-fi science fiction, REDUX REDUX immediately caught my eye…and then proceeded to rip out my heart in the best possible way. Playing at this year’s Fantasia Film Festival, the McManus brothers’ time-skipping revenge thriller delivers a rare blend of emotional depth and high-concept genre weirdness, all without losing sight of its human core. Beneath its gritty violence and multiversal mayhem, REDUX REDUX asks an age-old question: how far does “an eye for an eye” really get us? The answer is both devastating and oddly hopeful.

                                      

The film centers on Irene Kelly (played with smoldering intensity by Michaela McManus), a grieving mother who has access to a multiverse-hopping device. In each timeline she enters, she tracks down and kills a version of Nelson (Jeremy Holm), the serial killer who murdered her daughter, Anna. This rinse-and-repeat cycle of retribution is the backbone of the film’s structure, but it’s not the destination that matters. It’s the wear and tear on Irene’s soul. The brilliance of REDUX REDUX lies in how little it cares about the “rules” of the multiverse and how much it obsesses over the minutiae: where to find a fuel cell, which model the multiverse machine is, and what shifts (if anything) across the various timelines. Instead of getting lost in sci-fi spectacle, the film zeroes in on emotional consequences. Every kill brings Irene further from peace. Every universe fails to deliver the reunion she so desperately wants. And in that slow, aching disappointment, the film finds its emotional stakes.

                          

McManus is extraordinary in the lead role as she portrays Irene as someone constantly straddling the line between controlled determination and total collapse. She doesn’t play the part like an action hero. Instead, she leans into the quiet tragedy of someone who has nothing left to lose and nothing left to become. Even when she’s pulling the trigger or dragging a bleeding body down a hallway, Irene feels terrifyingly human. Her dynamic with Mia (Stella Marcus), a runaway she rescues in one of the timelines, brings another layer to the story. Mia’s fire and recklessness force Irene to confront her own motivations. Is she trying to save others… or just delay her own grief? As Mia grows more eager to take on Irene’s mission, the film subtly pivots into mentorship, almost motherhood, again. It’s messy, uncomfortable, and entirely earned. What elevates REDUX REDUX beyond its genre peers is its willingness to interrogate revenge itself. The film doesn’t glorify Irene’s actions. It shows the toll. It asks: if vengeance doesn’t restore what you’ve lost, what does it offer? And who are you becoming in the process? By the time Irene faces a version of Nelson who seems remorseful (or at least, different) the tension isn’t whether she’ll pull the trigger. It’s whether she needs to anymore.

                                               

This ethical murkiness is wrapped in an aesthetic that’s pure late-night festival magic. The neon-soaked bars, the grungy diners, the rain-streaked alleyways and every location pulses with a melancholy electricity. The score, which deserves its own standalone release, shifts effortlessly between synthy dread and swelling heartbreak. And let’s be honest: any movie that gives Jim Cummings multiple universe versions to flirt with deserves bonus points, even if his screen time feels criminally short. Not everything works. The middle stretch focuses heavily on Mia’s subplot, which can occasionally feel like it’s pulling the story away from its core. And while the final act ties things up thematically, it doesn’t quite hit with the punch of the second act’s emotional climax. Still, these are minor quibbles in a film that swings so boldly and hits far more than it misses.

There’s something deeply satisfying about how REDUX REDUX reclaims the multiverse from big-budget bloat. Unlike recent entries that treat parallel universes as excuses for spectacle or Easter eggs, this film sees them as emotional states: places to get lost in, to hide in, to bleed in. Each jump isn’t just spatial…it’s psychological. Ultimately, REDUX REDUX is a brutal but beautiful sci-fi revenge film that pulls no punches. It understands that grief isn’t linear, that vengeance doesn’t close wounds, and that real healing may lie not in killing the monster again…but in choosing not to. It’s a film that leaves you asking what justice really means when the damage is already done. If you were at Fantasia this year, hopefully you didn’t sleep on REDUX REDUX. This is exactly the kind of film that festivals are made for: bold, strange, emotionally rich, and cool as hell.