Chance (Will Rothhaar) is an artist who is creatively blocked. He finds himself increasingly obsessed with a young woman named Charlie (Brooke Culbertson), who is researching serial killers and sociopathy. As Chance continues to struggle with his work, more boundaries are crossed and he winds up stalking Charlie, spying on her, breaking into her apartment. Things are pretty predictable.

Chance narrates in a dull monotone throughout, presumably to make him creepy or something. It doesn’t work. It makes him boring.

Art in horror is a thing. There are lots of horror films that center on artists. From Neon Demon to the writers in 90% of Stephen King works to, well, the taxidermy of Psycho. Phantoms of the Opera and the Paradise center on frustrated art and obsessive love from afar.

In particular the tortured artist seeking inspiration and delving ever deeper into dark waters in search of a muse is a trope often used and rarely with any innovation (exception: Xanadu).

“You’re not an artist, you’re a pervert.” –Marius

Oh yeah, the title: Chance (the character) Has No Empathy. Because he’s a sociopath.

“Sociopath” … look. It’s really frustrating that this is still a thing. Sociopathy (or psychopathy) does not lead to murder. Mental illness does not make people dangerous. It does, however, put them in danger. And people believing this sort of BS are going to make life hard on folks they think are sociopaths, based on a pop-culture reading of serial killer fanzines. And people in real trouble are that much less likely to seek help because they don’t identify with raw-gazed serial killers.

And it’s used so often in film that there’s zero tension here: this guy’s gonna snap and kill. Not a single surprise anywhere from first frame to last.

Unless you count the last line. The last line made me actively mad. It was pretentious, unearned, and really epitomizes this unsatisfying work.