Somnium

Somnium is one of those films that feels both familiar and unsettling, a story about dreams, nightmares, and the fragile line between them. At first glance, it's a story we've heard before: a young woman arrives in Los Angeles with stars in her eyes, but is quickly confronted with the harsh reality of ambition, rejection, and exploitation. But what makes Racheal Cain's debut feature so captivating is the way it blends this well-worn narrative with a speculative, almost paranoid vision of the growing influence of technology on the human mind. Rachael Cain, who wrote the screenplay after winning a prestigious competition in Los Angeles and attracting attention at Cannes, demonstrates from the outset that she is less interested in repeating clichés than in subverting them to reflect our deepest anxieties.

At the heart of the film, Chloë Levine plays Gemma, a young woman from a small town in Georgia who moves to Los Angeles, determined to prove that the skeptics around her are wrong, including her ex-boyfriend, Peter Vack, who has resigned himself to a local life and wanted her to do the same. Like so many dreamers before her, Gemma arrives with nothing but a rented apartment and an emergency fund provided by her parents, facing a city that has already crushed and spat out countless hopes. It's a cruelly familiar situation, to which Levine brings an unflinching sincerity that makes her immediately likable. But what captivates us is the way her despair collides with something far darker than failed auditions: a job at Somnium, a cutting-edge clinic where success is manufactured in the unconscious mind.

The clinic itself is a masterpiece of conceptual horror. Run by the enigmatic Gillian White, aka Dr. Katherine Shaffer, Somnium uses technology that allows its clients to experience their greatest triumphs in their dreams, repeating them until their subconscious begins to accept them as reality. It's a clever sci-fi extrapolation of the manifestation culture that permeates our society, where positive thinking and self-confidence are commodified. For Gemma, who sees her night job as nothing more than babysitting, Somnium initially seems like a boring but steady paycheck. But in the dimly lit corridors, as she watches over patients in sleek capsules that resemble operating rooms as much as morgues, the shadows seem to grow longer. Strange anomalies appear, both in her work and in her life: rent she swears she has already paid, disturbing visions that blur with reality, and, even more terrifying, the appearance of a pale, skeletal creature lurking at the edge of her perception.

Rachael Cain skillfully plays with the audience, never letting us know to what extent Gemma's decline is the result of sleep deprivation, her own insecurities, or the experiments conducted by the clinic. This ambiguity is underscored by the characters who gravitate around her: Will Peltz as Noah, the dream designer with incel energy and disturbing control over what the patients experience; Johnathon Schaech as Brooks, the slick Hollywood producer who offers her a way into the industry but could just as easily be a predator in a fancy suit; and Draya Michele as Max, a former Somnium client who found fame after her sessions, but whose success seems as much a warning as a promise. Each character draws Gemma deeper into the maze, and as viewers, we find ourselves in the same position as her, unsure of who to trust, if anyone.

What sets Somnium apart is the way it integrates this psychological unease into a broader reflection on the Hollywood dream itself. Like David Lynch's Mulholland Drive, which clearly influenced the film, it treats Los Angeles as both a place and a hallucination. The flashbacks to Gemma's hometown, shot in warm, golden light and filled with moments of intimacy, laughter, and belonging, contrast starkly with the sterile corridors of the clinic and the cold indifference of the casting rooms. In a particularly poignant moment, Levine delivers an audition scene that echoes Naomi Watts' famous performance in Lynch's classic, but rather than coming across as an imitation, it feels like a genuine statement of nostalgia and vulnerability.

It's the kind of scene where the character's dream of fame and the actor's charisma come together, a doubling effect that mirrors the film's theme. The film also benefits greatly from its sensory design. Cinematographer Lance Kuhns creates images that seem both hyperrealistic and washed out, like memories that may not belong to us.
 The soundtrack, composed by Mike Forst and Peter Ricq, relies heavily on synth sounds reminiscent of It Follows, oscillating between dreamlike calm and nightmarish distortion. When the creature appears, gaunt and misshapen, its presence evokes the grotesque elegance of Silent Hill. These flourishes give this low-budget production a much larger scope, enveloping the audience in Gemma's fractured perspective.

But what is most unsettling about Somnium is the question it leaves us with: if dreams can shape reality, who decides which dreams are worth living? The film's Cloud Nine protocol, a last resort for patients who mentally collapse under the weight of their artificial visions, is mentioned as a whispered horror, and although its details remain ambiguous, it lingers as an unspoken threat, reminding us that playing with the subconscious has consequences. Cain doesn't give us any clear answers, and this ambiguity is part of the film's strength. Like waking from a dream where terror and beauty fade away, the story leaves us disturbed, unsure of what was real, but certain that it mattered.

With this debut feature, Somnium reveals Racheal Cain as a filmmaker who is both visionary and confident. She combines the paranoia of technological horror with the timeless pain of Hollywood fables, creating a film that is intimate, disturbing, and incisive. Chloë Levine, meanwhile, anchors the film with her powerful performance as the protagonist, whose life is turned upside down when she discovers that her dreams are being sold. In the end, we are left not only with images of monsters lurking in sterile corridors, but also with the more insidious fear that the real nightmare is the commodification of our desires—and the possibility that even our dreams can be colonized. In this sense, Somnium is not just a film about the quest for success, but also about what we sacrifice when we confuse illusion with reality. It is a film that lingers in the mind like a half-forgotten dream, inviting us to question whether waking life is as stable as we would like to believe.

Somnium
Written and directed by Racheal Cain
Produced by Racheal Cain, Chris Raby, Andrea Saavedra, Patricia Chica
Starring Grace Van Dien, Johnathon Schaech, Peter Vack, Gillian White, Will Peltz, Chloë Levine, Hannah Hueston, Bries Vannon, Keller Fornes, Amanda Jones, Bill Kottkamp, Sean Berube, Shannon Bengston, Shelby Lee Parks, Tyler Francavillak, Maye Harris, Kasia Pilewicz, Clarissa Thibeaux, Amador Plascencia, Nick Smoke, Noelle Perris, Kio Cyr, Margot Major, Vanessa Knight, Steve Eifert, Scott Cargle, Cadien Lake James, Colin Croom, Connor Brodner, Beckay Cook, Jack Dolan
Cinematography: Lance Kuhns
Edited by Kent Lamm
Music by Mike Forst, Peter Ricq
Production companies: Blue Dot Media, Allred Films
Distributed by Yellow Veil Pictures (United States)
Release dates: August 28, 2025 (United States)
Running time: 92 minutes

Seen on August 20, 2025 (press screener)

Mulder's Mark: