The Film You Are About to See

About This Audiobook

Haley Newlin’s *The Film You Are About to See* isn’t just a horror story—it’s a love letter to the eerie magic of drive-in theaters, wrapped in a razor-sharp meta-narrative that toys with the audience as much as its characters. Set in 1959 Indiana, the novel unfolds over a single, fateful night at the Silver Screams Drive-In, where the line between celluloid terror and real-life dread dissolves like fog on a windshield. What starts as a campy B-movie marathon curdles into something far more unsettling, as the narrator (a wry, unseen projectionist) drops hints like breadcrumbs—daring you to piece together the truth before the reel runs out.

Claire Burgi’s narration is the secret weapon here: her voice oscillates between the warm, gravelly cadence of a classic horror host and the breathless urgency of someone whispering warnings from the projection booth. The audiobook leans hard into its format, using sound design sparingly but effectively—subtle echoes, distant screams—to mimic the crackling ambiance of a drive-in speaker. It’s a rare horror experience that *needs* to be heard, not just read, because the medium becomes part of the menace. Think *The Twilight Zone* directed by David Lynch, with a script that winks at the audience while tightening the noose."

"review": "I’ll admit, I went into *The Film You Are About to See* expecting a nostalgic horror romp, but Newlin’s novel is far sneakier than that. The premise—a small-town drive-in screening cursed films—could’ve been pure pulp, but the execution is layered with self-aware commentary on how we consume fear. The projectionist’s narration (delivered with pitch-perfect cynicism by Claire Burgi) constantly undercuts the tension with dark humor, like a tour guide leading you through a haunted house while rolling their eyes at the jumpscares. Burgi’s performance is a masterclass in tonal balance: she nails the midwestern drawl of the townsfolk, the exaggerated menace of the in-movie monsters, and the creeping dread of the *real* horror lurking in the wings. The production even plays with audio perspective—some chapters sound like they’re being broadcast through a staticky drive-in speaker, while others feel intimately close, as if the projectionist is leaning over your shoulder.

That said, the novel isn’t without its stumbles. The meta framework occasionally feels *too* clever, especially in the second act, where the nested stories threaten to collapse under their own weight. A subplot involving a missing local girl, while atmospheric, gets short shrift in favor of the cinematic gimmickry—leaving some emotional threads frustratingly loose. And while the ending lands with a satisfying *thud*, the final reveal might divide listeners: it’s ambiguous in a way that feels thematically right but narratively abrupt. Still, the audiobook’s strengths far outweigh its missteps. The combination of Newlin’s razor-sharp prose and Burgi’s hypnotic delivery makes this a standout for horror fans who crave something that *engages* with the genre rather than just replicating its tropes. Just don’t listen to it alone in the car at night—unless you *want* to side-eye every flickering streetlamp."

"tags": [
"meta-horror audiobook