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Summary
1980s. Neon lights blur over rain-soaked streets, and film reels flicker on dorm room walls.
Sirius Black, a manic, horror fanatic and aristocratic runaway, is obsessed with making the greatest horror film of all time. At Harrowmere Hall, he meets Remus Lupin, chain-smoking artist and beautifully self-destructive who wants nothing at all.
Amid midnight horror screenings, underground gigs, blood-red stage lights and the burning glow of cigarette tips, they create something unforgettable-scoring their lives to the scratch of a needle on vinyl, chasing immortality through Super 8 reels and cigarette ash. But the best horror films always end in tragedy. And between the fights, the drugs, the reckless, unspoken want-so do they.
"It's not real," Remus said as the tapes rolled.
Sirius grinned, a cigarette burning between his lips. "No, but it's cinema."
It's Dead Poets Society if the poets were punk filmmakers on the verge of losing themselves. Almost Famous, but in a dark academia-meets-grungy underground film scene. Its nostalgia drenched in horror and rock 'n' roll. Teenage obsession all wrapped up in cigarette smoke and flickering VHS static—it's pure fucking cinema.