My head is buzzing. No — not buzzing. It feels like someone stuck a whisk into my brain and just… pureed everything. I’m sitting on my couch, Prime Video’s menu still glowing on the TV, and I feel completely unmoored. Like I’m not quite Alex right now.
I just watched Icon.
I didn’t plan to. You know how it goes — endless scrolling on Prime Video, the algorithm knowing youa little too well. The poster was simple: a single, distorted eye. No synopsis. No trailer. I clicked.
Three hours later, I still hadn’t moved. Not even for a pee break. That’s how deep this movie pulled me in.
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A Story Built on Obsession
The film follows Elara, a quiet, introverted librarian whose life revolves around her obsession with a deceased movie star, Julian Croft. He died a decade ago in a tragic accident, and Elara’s apartment is essentially a shrine to him — posters, magazines, and even a lock of his hair she bought at an auction.
It’s creepy. It’s sad. And somehow… painfully relatable.
Not the dead movie star part, obviously — but the way she clings to something larger than herself. The way obsession becomes a substitute for meaning.
The Sensory Immersion Chamber: Where Everything Breaks
Elara wins a once-in-a-lifetime contest: the chance to test a revolutionary technology called the Sensory Immersion Chamber, a machine that allows users to experience another person’s memories.
Of course, she chooses Julian.
That’s when Icon stops being just a movie and starts becoming an experience.
This isn’t a jump-scare horror film. It’s worse. It’s a slow, psychological horror that seeps into your bones and refuses to leave.
The Scene I Can’t Stop Thinking About
There’s one moment that genuinely messed with my head.
Elara is sitting at her kitchen table, drinking coffee. Nothing dramatic. The camera slowly pushes in — barely noticeable. Light from the window hits her face just right, and for a fraction of a second, her face looks exactly like Julian Croft’s.
Not a full transformation. Not obvious CGI. Just a blink-and-you-miss-it moment.
I leaned forward so fast I almost fell off the couch. My cat, Milo — who had been asleep on my feet — shot up and glared at me like I’d lost my mind.
Did I actually see that?
Or did the movie trick my brain into imagining it?
I could have paused. Rewound. Checked frame by frame.
But I didn’t.
Letting that doubt sit there felt intentional — like I was participating in the film’s gaslighting. On my couch, with the remote in my hand, I chose uncertainty.
A Shot That Says Everything Without Words
One shot is burned permanently into my brain.
It starts with an extreme close-up of Elara’s eye — close enough to see the reflection of a dusty ceiling fan spinning in her pupil. The camera then slowly pulls back. Painfully slowly.
It drifts through her apartment, past the Julian Croft memorabilia, past her bed, out the window, across the street, up a building — until it finally lands on a massive billboard advertising a perfume.
The model on the billboard looks exactly like Julian Croft… if he were a woman.
No dialogue. No cuts. Just city noise and a low, humming synth score.
In two minutes, the movie explains obsession, projection, and how we turn people into icons — into billboards — inside our own minds.
I’ve genuinely never seen anything like it.
Why This Movie Hurt More Than I Expected
Watching Icon reminded me of something deeply personal.
When I was around ten, I found an old, broken pocket watch in my grandfather’s attic. It was beautiful — silver, engraved, heavy with mystery. I became obsessed with it. I made up stories about its original owner: a dashing spy, a heartbroken poet.
One day my mom saw me holding it and asked why I loved it so much. I told her everything.
She smiled and said,
“Oh, that? Your grandpa got it free in a pack of cigarettes. It was just a promo item.”
And just like that, the magic died.
That hollow, embarrassed feeling — that’s what Icon is about.
The moment when the icon you built in your head turns out to be… nothing.
The Final Act: Cathartic or Cliché?
There’s a scene near the end where Elara smashes all of her Julian Croft memorabilia. In the moment, it felt powerful. Cathartic. Like release.
But now, thinking about it… was it a little on the nose?
Did it fall into the familiar “angry woman breaking things” trope?
I honestly don’t know. I’m too close to it emotionally to judge clearly.
What I do know is that the synth score — all throbbing bass and unsettling high notes — has been stuck in my head since the credits rolled.
That Ending…
The final scene is brutal.
Elara is inside the chamber, reliving Julian’s final moments — the car crash, the screaming, the panic. Then the screen cuts to black.
We hear a voiceover.
It’s her voice, speaking one of Julian Croft’s most famous lines:
“They don’t want me. They want the reflection.”
Then silence.
No explanation. No resolution. Did she escape? Is she trapped? Did she become him?
The movie doesn’t care.
It leaves you alone in the dark — on your couch — with your cat staring at you like you’ve just seen a ghost.
Final Verdict
I probably need to go for a walk. Or put on a dumb sitcom. Something with a laugh track. My brain feels like it’s been folded into a pretzel.
But yes — despite everything —
Rating: 8.5/10
Decent.
Unsettling.
And very hard to forget.
— Alex
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