Delirium

In the shadow of a sprawling, once‑grand estate, a newly released man is thrust back into the world on a thin line of conditional liberty. The mansion, inherited from a father whose public triumphs concealed private despair, looms as both a sanctuary and a maze of echoing corridors. Its walls seem to remember whispers of the past, and the surrounding grounds sit heavy with an atmosphere that feels as though time itself is holding its breath.

Tom Walker steps into this imposing house under the watchful eye of a strict thirty‑day house‑arrest, his daily freedom measured only by a video call to a parole officer. Freed from the confines of an institution, he carries the weight of his father’s legacy and the lingering scent of unresolved family tensions. Every hallway, every creak, flirts with the edge of his sanity, hinting that the mansion may be more than just a structure—it could be a mirror for his own fragmented memories.

Around him, a small cast of uneasy allies adds layers to his isolation. Brody, the parole officer, balances professional suspicion with a personal curiosity that teeters on the brink of intrusion. Alex, Tom’s older brother, drifts in and out of the picture like a phantom presence, his motives as opaque as the house’s dark corners. And Lynn, a grocery delivery worker whose brief encounters bring a fleeting sense of normalcy, offers a glimpse of connection that feels both grounding and precarious.

The film settles into a tone that blends psychological tension with a lingering, almost tactile dread. Shadows stretch and contract as the house seems to respond to unseen currents, inviting viewers to wonder what lies beneath the polished veneer of wealth and what truths the walls are desperate to keep hidden. In this delicate balance between inherited burden and personal redemption, the story teases the thin line between reality and perception, leaving the audience poised on the edge of discovery.

Last Updated: August 10, 2025 at 02:50