Cold Storage

From the very first minutes, Cold Storage establishes a mischievous contract with the audience: what if a fragment of Skylab, which fell to Earth in 1979, carried something far more sinister than burnt metal? Screenwriter David Koepp, who adapted his own novel, explores this deliciously paranoid “what if” with a tone that balances clinical plausibility and dark humor. The prologue, set in Australia, is lively, sunny, and disconcertingly effective, sketching a catastrophe that intensifies at an alarming rate: contamination, behavioral distortion, then the transformation of bodies into grotesque delivery systems. There is something refreshing and old school about the way these early scenes work: they don't over-explain, they just explode, letting the images and pacing generate the terror. The result is an introduction that is both nostalgic and strangely contemporary, evoking classic science fiction thrillers about contagions while subtly acknowledging modern anxieties.

When the narrative jumps forward to Kansas, the conceptual irony lands with a satisfying thud. A former top-secret military facility, once designed to contain a biological hazard capable of wiping out the species, has been repurposed into a self-storage business of relentless banality: bright, commercially bland, and symbolically perfect. This is not only a clever backdrop, but also the central joke and thematic backbone of the film. The setting becomes a visual metaphor for institutional amnesia and bureaucratic arrogance: humanity's most dangerous mistakes are literally walled up behind drywall and paperwork. Director Jonny Campbell stages the action with real clarity, resisting the murky visual chaos that plagues many contemporary works of the genre. The corridors glow with sterile fluorescent light, the underground levels stretch out in an unsettling abstraction, and the geography of the building remains legible even as panic spreads. This spatial consistency proves essential when the fungus inevitably escapes, turning familiarity into menace with every door opened and staircase descended.

At the heart of the film is the surprisingly endearing duo of Joe Keery and Georgina Campbell. Travis Teacake Meacham is portrayed as a mix of nervous decency and comical vulnerability, a man whose survival instinct constantly struggles with his good nature. Naomi Williams, played by Georgina Campbell, radiates a keen intelligence and unwavering determination, projecting an image of competence without sacrificing her warmth. Their chemistry is immediate but natural, rooted less in flirtatious banter than in a shared disbelief as events spiral beyond reason. In a packed theater, it was striking how often the laughter came from their reactions rather than the obvious punchlines: the sidelong glances, the gasping pauses, the half-spoken realizations that this routine night shift has turned into something apocalyptic. The script wisely allows both characters to oscillate between fear, irritation, and reluctant courage, creating protagonists who feel human even as they navigate spectacular absurdity.

Opposite them, Liam Neeson embraces a role that knowingly plays with his own cinematic mythology. Robert Quinn, a seasoned bioterrorism specialist whose back has seen better days, serves as both a narrative anchor and a conscious commentary on aging heroism. Liam Neeson plays the role with dry, slightly exasperated humor, punctuating moments of tension with physical comedy that never descends into parody. Lesley Manville, as Trini Romano, plays opposite him with unwavering composure and sharp timing, bringing a typically British tonal counterpoint to the film. As for Vanessa Redgrave, she appears in a supporting role that seems eccentric at first but gradually reveals a surprising emotional texture. Her character, Mary Rooney, is initially presented as a fragile, grieving presence, before becoming one of the most unpredictable elements of the film. The presence of actors of this caliber could easily have overwhelmed the subject matter, but on the contrary, they elevate it, anchoring this extravagant premise with conviction and delight.

Visually, Cold Storage embraces excess wholeheartedly. Jonny Campbell prefers what might be called jump splats to traditional jump scares, deploying shock through sudden explosions of grotesque images rather than carefully modulated suspense. The fungus itself is rendered as a smooth, invasive entity, creeping, pulsating, insinuating itself through bodies and architecture. There are sequences of joyfully repulsive spectacles: vomit projected to a level of quasi-operatic absurdity, victims rushing toward heights before exploding, the interiors of organisms transformed into hostile ecosystems. The film's tactile pleasures are particularly evident when practical effects dominate, offering a satisfying, grimy texture reminiscent of late '80s and early '90s creature films. However, the use of CGI, particularly in certain animal transformations, sometimes disrupts this illusion, revealing budget constraints that momentarily pull the viewer out of the nightmare.

In terms of tone, the film walks a precarious but often entertaining tightrope between horror and comedy. When the balance is achieved, the experience becomes contagious in the best sense of the word: laughter collides with disgust, tension dissolves into incredulous amusement. When it falters, we perceive the underlying mechanics of the script: familiar rhythms, timely complications, a narrative logic that serves the momentum. Yet the film's kinetic energy rarely evaporates completely. Even in its most conventional passages, David Koepp's dialogue is witty, while Campbell's pacing ensures that events never stagnate. The film seems fully aware of its heritage, consciously drawing on decades of B movies without falling into outright satire or smug self-reference.

Beneath the splatter and irreverence lies a surprisingly sharp undercurrent. Cold Storage sketches a world where systemic complacency, institutional denial, and environmental negligence conspire to resurrect a long-buried catastrophe. Climate change looms as an implicit catalyst, bureaucracy as an ever-present obstacle, and scientific arrogance as the original sin. These ideas are never hammered home; they flash at the periphery, leaving the show with an aftertaste of unease. The fungus becomes more than a monster: it is a consequence, a reminder that humanity's habit of covering up its mistakes is rarely a permanent solution. This subtext gives the film a resonance that exceeds its deliberately modest ambitions.

Cold Storage doesn't reinvent the epidemic thriller or the horror-comedy hybrid, but it offers a lively and often amusing variation on familiar themes. Its pleasure lies in its pacing, its performances, and its willingness to embrace joyful bad taste. One may criticize its narrative shortcuts or uneven digital effects, but it's hard to resist the film's disjointed charm and unapologetic madness.

Cold Storage
Directed by Jonny Campbell
Written by David Koepp
Based on Cold Storage by David Koepp
Produced by Gavin Polone, David Koepp
Starring Georgina Campbell, Joe Keery, Sosie Bacon, Vanessa Redgrave, Lesley Manville, Liam Neeson
Cinematography: Tony Slater Ling
Edited by Billy Sneddon
Music by Mathieu Lamboley
Production companies: StudioCanal, Pariah
Distributed by StudioCanal (France), Samuel Goldwyn Films (United States)
Release dates: February 13, 2026 (United States), February 18, 2026 (France)
Running time: 99 minutes

Seen on February 18, 2026 at Gaumont Disney Village, Theater 16, seat A18

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