The Djinn

In the shadowed streets of Burbank, a quiet apartment becomes the world of a withdrawn teenager. Dylan Jacobs lives in the aftermath of loss, his mother’s absence a palpable ache that lingers in every empty room. While his father, Michael, spins night‑shift radio shows far from home, Dylan drifts through days that feel both too loud and unnervingly mute, his isolation sharpening the edge of his longing for something he cannot articulate.

When Dylan discovers a forgotten grimoire tucked away by a previous tenant, curiosity flickers into something more urgent. The arcane pages speak of a “Wish of Desire,” a ritual promising the fulfillment of a deepest yearning. For a boy who feels voiceless and unseen, the promise of having his inner need recognized feels irresistibly powerful, yet the very act of invoking it hints at unseen consequences that ripple through the thin walls of his sanctuary.

The moment the rite is performed, the apartment’s ordinary hum warps into an unsettling resonance, as if the very air has been altered by an unseen hand. What awakens is not a simple echo of the wish, but a malevolent presence that seems to understand Dylan’s innermost cravings, turning his safe haven into a place where ordinary objects and familiar shadows take on a threatening light. The tone slides between intimate coming‑of‑age tension and a creeping, claustrophobic dread, as the young man is forced to confront a force that mirrors his own hidden desires.

Caught between the yearning for a voice and the terrifying cost of that wish, Dylan must navigate a precarious balance of hope and horror. The film weaves a mood of suffocating stillness punctuated by sudden, disquieting flare‑ups, inviting the audience to wonder how far a longing can be stretched before it consumes the one who asked for it.

Last Updated: August 10, 2025 at 00:48