Iron Lung – Film Review

We’re officially in the era of the YouTuber movie, and honestly, I’m not complaining. The best examples of which being Danny and Michael Philippou‘s Talk to Me and Bring Her Back, while last year saw the release of the impressively creepy Shelby Oaks, helmed by YouTube film critic Chris Stuckmann. Now, we have Markiplier‘s Iron Lung, and while it’s undoubtedly the weakest film of the bunch, it’s still an impressive feature debut from him that proves that he has real promise behind and in front of the camera.

Adapted from David Szymanski’s cult indie game, the film doesn’t try to “open up” the premise in a conventional Hollywood sense. Instead, it doubles down on confinement, dread, and psychological erosion. The result is a science-fiction horror film that is impressively crafted, deeply atmospheric, and occasionally hypnotic — but also frustratingly drawn out, narratively murky, and weighed down by repetition. It’s a bold feature directorial debut that showcases Fischbach’s eye and performance strengths while also exposing the growing pains of an ambitious filmmaker stretching a minimalist concept to feature length. The final effect lands squarely in the middle: a memorable experience, just not a consistently engaging one.

The setup is pure cosmic nightmare fuel. Humanity is already teetering on extinction when a mysterious event known as the Quiet Rapture wipes out contact with entire star systems and seemingly erases celestial bodies themselves. In this void of answers, a prisoner is sent on what amounts to a suicide mission: piloting a barely functional submarine into an ocean of blood on a dead moon. The premise alone sells the film’s tone — hopeless, surreal, and soaked in existential terror. Fischbach wisely resists overexplaining the larger mystery, letting the unknown loom like a suffocating presence. The world-building is sketched in broad, unsettling strokes, and that restraint helps the film maintain a pervasive sense of unease.

What truly defines Iron Lung is its atmosphere. The film thrives on mechanical groans, distorted radio chatter, flickering displays, and the constant suggestion that something massive and unknowable exists just outside the hull. The submarine’s interior feels oppressive in a way few sci-fi settings manage. Panels crowd the frame. Shadows swallow corners. The lighting often feels sickly and artificial, as if even illumination is failing. The sound design, in particular, does heavy lifting — every metallic creak sounds like impending catastrophe. Fischbach clearly understands that horror often lives in suggestion, and many of the film’s strongest moments come from what we don’t clearly see.

Fischbach’s direction is surprisingly confident for a first feature. He demonstrates sharp visual discipline, committing fully to the submarine’s cramped geography. Shots linger uncomfortably long, forcing the viewer to sit in silence with the protagonist’s deteriorating mental state. The editing, also handled by Fischbach, reinforces this suffocating mood. Cuts often arrive just a beat too late, amplifying tension and making even small technical malfunctions feel monumental. There’s a tactile quality to the filmmaking — buttons click, switches grind, and the vessel feels less like a prop and more like a decaying machine barely holding together.

As a performer, Fischbach carries the film with an intensity that may surprise those unfamiliar with his acting work. His portrayal of Simon leans heavily into physicality: shallow breathing, darting eyes, tremors in his hands. He convincingly sells the psychological wear of isolation and the creeping dread of being trapped in a metal coffin under impossible pressure. Because the film is largely a one-person show, his performance becomes the emotional anchor. Even when the script drifts into abstraction, his fear and desperation keep the audience tethered to something human.

The claustrophobic elements are where Iron Lung truly excels. The camera placement often makes the viewer feel physically boxed in, with tight close-ups and obstructed compositions. Space — or the lack of it — becomes a form of horror. There’s no relief, no wide-open vistas to breathe in. This relentless spatial compression gives the film a distinct identity and helps it stand out in a genre that often relies on spectacle. Instead of scale, Fischbach weaponizes limitation.

However, the same commitment to confinement also contributes to the film’s biggest weakness: pacing. Iron Lung frequently feels massively long, even when little is happening. Extended sequences of monitoring instruments or slowly adjusting course build tension at first, but the effect diminishes as similar beats repeat. The atmosphere is strong enough to sustain stretches of quiet dread, but not always long enough to justify how drawn out some scenes become. The film occasionally mistakes duration for depth, and the result can feel like stalling rather than escalation.

The plot also becomes increasingly confusing as the film progresses. While ambiguity suits cosmic horror, the narrative threads surrounding conspiracies, prior missions, and the nature of the blood ocean blur together in ways that feel less mysterious than muddled. Viewers may struggle to track what is literal, what is psychological, and what is symbolic. That uncertainty can be powerful, but here it sometimes undermines emotional impact because it’s hard to grasp the stakes beyond immediate survival.

Repetition is another hurdle. Visual motifs, audio distortions, and hallucination-like interruptions recur so often that their impact dulls. What initially feels disorienting eventually becomes familiar, and familiarity is the enemy of fear. The film’s commitment to a single setting and tonal register leaves little room for contrast, making later sequences feel like variations on earlier ones rather than meaningful progression.

Still, it’s hard not to admire the ambition. Fischbach aims for bleak, existential science fiction horror rather than mainstream thrills, and that artistic conviction gives Iron Lung a distinctive voice. The film may not always be successful, but it rarely feels generic. Its oppressive mood lingers, and several images and sound cues stick in the mind long after the credits roll.

Iron Lung is a film of strong craft and uneven storytelling. Fischbach proves himself a capable director, editor, and leading actor, and the atmosphere and claustrophobic design are genuinely effective. Yet the bloated pacing, confusing narrative layers, and repetitive structure keep it from reaching the heights its premise promises. It’s a suffocating descent worth experiencing for horror and sci-fi fans, just be prepared for stretches where the tension plateaus instead of climbs.