"There’s something evil here, isn’t there?"
For their new feature film, Avalon Fast returns with Camp, an eerie, witchy story set at a sleepaway summer camp. After making their no-budget genre debut with Honeycomb in 2022, Fast began writing Camp that same year and brought it to life in 2024.
Emily (Zola Grimmer) is the root cause of two devastating tragedies that occur very early in her life. She carries the weight of these accidents as if a curse has been placed upon her. Her dad (Mike Tan) suggests she attend a camp for troubled youth to help ease her guilt, where she can work as a counsellor. When Emily arrives, she is taken in by the other counselors; they accept her as she is and wrap her in a veil of peace and forgiveness. Emily stands at the forefront of a new kind of life, but there’s a voice in the woods she can’t quite seem to ignore. The voice is whispering; it’s telling Emily to go home.
At its core, Camp is a coming-of-age horror movie that delves into "grief, community, girlhood, trauma, gender, queerness, nightmare, spirituality and death into a dreamlike reckoning." But the movie isn't interested in telling a "conventional horror" story, and it turns out to be a lot more about grief and guilt and forgiveness and the emotional scars people carry long after tragedy strikes. Emily’s guilt manifests like a haunting, blurring the line between psychological trauma and something more spiritual. Fast never fully explains whether the voice in the woods is something otherworldly or simply an extension of Emily’s fragile state of mind, allowing that ambiguity to become one of the film’s greatest strengths.
From the moment Emily sets foot at the camp, something feels quite off. And don't get me wrong, that discomfort has nothing to do with Fast’s filmmaking, quite the opposite. It’s embedded in the atmosphere they create. Although Emily is welcomed by the other counselors accepted for who she is, despite everything that happened in her past, there's an inexplicable tension that seems to linger beneath most interactions. The camp presents itself as a sanctuary where broken people can heal, yet it never fully feels safe or peaceful. I found myself doubting people's intentions from the moment she arrived, and I kept doubting for the rest of the movie. Everyone is almost unnervingly kind, making every smile and every conversation feel just slightly off, as though everyone knew something Emily doesn’t.
The film feels surreal, but never completely detached from reality. Its spiritual and "supernatural" moments coexist with everyday life rather than completely suppressing it, creating the impression that Camp is trapped in a fleeting and magical moment in time. Eily Sprungman’s hazy cinematography only amplifies that sensation, blurring the lines between reality, memory, dreams, and trauma.
Nature itself becomes another character, as the woods aren’t merely a backdrop but a living presence, ever whispering, watching, and drawing Emily toward something she can never quite fully understand (at least not at first). The remote, wooded environment, the constant sensation of something lurking just beneath the surface, and the eerie atmosphere all work together to create a surreal experience.
Fast demonstrates remarkable confidence in building atmosphere. And rather than relying solely on traditional horror tropes or clear explanations, they encourage viewers to simply exist within the film’s strange emotional space. Silence becomes just as important as dialogue, while the sound design — the rustling trees, the rain, distant whispers, and quiet stillness of the woods — constantly suggests that something exists just beyond the frame.
Some of the film’s strongest moments are also its most visually striking. The film’s opening sequence shot on film has a nostalgic, almost dreamlike quality that immediately establishes the film’s emotional texture, and Emily’s breakdown in the forest is one of its most haunting and memorable scenes. Fast continues to play with the film format in this sequence, using it less as a nostalgic device and more as a visual representation of haunting memories and unresolved trauma. Zola Grimmer (whose performance in Camp marks her feature film acting debut) delivers a deeply vulnerable and raw performance, quietly carrying the weight of Emily’s guilt without ever overplaying her emotions.
However, I’m not sure I fully connected with Fast’s vision. That’s not to say I don’t appreciate their filmmaking, quite the contrary. I do feel like they have a distinct artistic voice and a clear understanding of the kinds of stories they want to tell. Their approach seems to prioritize atmosphere, emotion, and ambiguity over straightforward storytelling, and I love the confidence behind those choices. But as much as I appreciate what Fast was reaching for, I remained at a slight distance throughout.
Still, Camp is absolutely worth seeking out. Whether or not its wavelength resonates with you, it’s another reminder of how adventurous and singular Canadian independent cinema can be. Films like this deserve to be seen because they’re willing to take risks, embrace ambiguity, and tell stories that refuse to fit neatly within familiar genre conventions. Even if I didn’t completely connect with Fast’s vision, I have a great deal of respect for it — and I’ll always be excited to see Canadian filmmakers continue to push the boundaries of independent cinema.
Camp will be screening at Metro Cinema in Edmonton on July 12 and 15, and at VIFF in Vancouver on July 17, 18, 19, and 22.
Synopsis and photo from Filmoption International
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