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(Fantastic Fest Review) BAD HAIRCUT Blends Comedy Horror and the Magnetic Madness of a Stand-out Villain. 

By. Professor Horror 

                                                                                     

 

Every now and then, a movie comes along that takes a premise so strange you can’t help but wonder how it could possibly work. BAD HAIRCUT, premiering at Fantastic Fest 2025, is one of those films. A college misfit walks into a barbershop for a confidence-boosting trim, only to be held hostage by a deranged barber with a flair for the theatrical. On paper, it sounds like the setup for a sketch that should last ten minutes. On screen, it stretches into a feature-length fever dream that is often too long for its own good…but still brims with energy, invention, and one of the most mesmerizing performances of the year.

The story centers on Billy (Spencer Harrison Levin), a socially awkward student fresh off a humiliating party disaster. His well-meaning friends decide a makeover is in order, and drag him to Mick’s barbershop. Enter Mick (Frankie Ray), a barber so eccentric and flamboyant he makes even Billy’s worst social anxieties look tame. What begins as small talk over scissors quickly transforms into a night-long nightmare of captivity, mind games, and escalating violence. By the time the film’s finale arrives (complete with a perfectly cheeky needle drop of “Alone”) Billy’s haircut has become the least of his worries.

What makes BAD HAIRCUT stand out isn’t the plot itself (which is stitched together from familiar genre beats). It’s the tension between tones: the opening act channels the breezy charm of 2000s teen comedies, only to lurch into claustrophobic horror and finally detonate into camp spectacle. Director Kyle Misak takes big swings, and though not all of them land (some sections sag under the weight of unnecessary narrative) the film remains oddly compelling because of the two leads at its core.  Levin nails the role of Billy as he balances goofy vulnerability with a grounded sincerity that keeps him sympathetic even as the story veers off the rails. But the film truly belongs to Frankie Ray as Mick. I am o b s e s s e d with Mick. To call his performance scene-stealing definitely undersells it because he devours every frame with flamboyant menace. Equal parts Richard Brake and Tim Curry’s Frank-N-Furter, Mick is terrifying, hilarious, and strangely tender all at once. He’s the kind of character who can make you laugh with a pout one moment and recoil from a whispered threat the next. Even when the narrative overstays its welcome, Ray ensures you never look away.

The brilliance of Mick lies not only in Ray’s delivery but in how the film positions the barbershop itself. Historically, barbershops have functioned as communal spaces: a place of intimacy, vulnerability, and transformation. You sit in the chair, surrender control, and emerge (ideally) renewed. Misak weaponizes that ritual of trust, turning the barbershop into a liminal space where identities are reshaped (not always willingly). Billy doesn’t just get a haircut...he gets an initiation into fear as he is forced to confront both his insecurities and the predatory figure looming over him. The scissors, combs, and mirrors cease to be tools of self-care and become instruments of power and entrapment.

                                                

Moreover, that theme of transformation is tied closely to the film’s exploration of performance and gender play. Mick is a barber, but he’s also a showman as he struts around the shop with campy exaggeration and theatrical flair. His gestures, his voice, even his manipulation of the scissors carry a performative edge that feels rooted in drag and glam traditions. He blurs the line between masculinity and femininity, predator and performer, villain and diva. It’s this ambiguity that makes him both mesmerizing and unsettling. Mick isn’t just a barber...he’s a performer. Every gesture, every exaggerated pout, every flourish of the scissors feels theatrical, like he’s putting on a show as much as giving a haircut. His presence is flamboyant, unnerving, and impossible to ignore as he showcases an energy that blurs the line between menace and entertainment. He thrives on spectacle, bending traditional power dynamics until both Billy and the audience are caught off guard, never quite sure whether to laugh, recoil, or do both at once. In this way, BAD HAIRCUT  taps into horror’s long history of camp villains: characters who disturb precisely because they’re as magnetic as they are monstrous.

Of course, the film isn’t without its flaws. At nearly two hours, it overstays its welcome, especially in the meandering second act where outside characters dilute the tension. The pacing hiccups, and the tonal whiplash occasionally threatens to derail the momentum. Yet for every unnecssary beat, there’s a moment of sheer, giddy absurdity that reminds you why you’re watching in the first place. By the time the film ends, BAD HAIRCUT has proven itself shaggy, messy, and uneven…but also bold, hilarious, and unforgettable. Levin cements himself as one of indie horror-comedy’s most watchable leads, while Frankie Ray delivers a performance that will be talked about long after Fantastic Fest. It’s not a perfect cut. It could use a trim. But as a showcase for eccentric performances, camp excess, and the transformation of a humble barbershop into a nightmare stage, BAD HAIRCUT is a wild ride worth taking. Fantastic Fest audiences, who thrive on this kind of bizarre genre mash-up, couldn’t ask for a better place to discover Mick…the barber you’ll wish you’d never met, but can’t stop watching.