Horror feeds on pain, and there’s nothing that terror likes to take a big bite out of more than the rare dish of generational trauma.  Feasting on the fears passed down through families can twist them into something unshakable and, when done right, unforgettable.  In recent years, movies like Relic turned dementia into a skittering, unrelenting presence, while You Are Not My Mother filtered the pain of maternal estrangement cleverly through Irish folklore.  In Flames layered low-key supernatural terror over real-world misogyny for two Pakistani women.  Hulu’s latest original, Control Freak, operates in that same space, offering a distinctive Vietnamese-American perspective on family wounds that manifest as a literal monster.

Valerie (Kelly Marie Tran, Raya and the Last Dragon), a self-made motivational speaker, has built her career on the promise of control—over fear, over failure, over one’s own destiny.  On the brink of major success and beginning to plan for children with her husband (Miles Robbins, Halloween), she develops an itch.  Not just any itch—a deep, insatiable, maddening irritation at the back of her head that no amount of furious scratching can soothe. 

At first, it’s just a nuisance.  Then, it’s an incessant compulsion.  Then it’s something much worse.  As her life unravels, Valerie turns to her estranged father, a former addict turned Buddhist monk (Toan Le), and her blunt, chain-smoking Aunt Thuy (Kieu Chinh, The Joy Luck Club) for answers.  Meanwhile, her already strained marriage to Robbie crumbles under the weight of her paranoia (not that they had much chemistry to begin with).  The more she digs (sometimes literally), the slower reality unravels around her.

Director Shal Ngo, expanding his 2021 Bite-Size Halloween short Control, crafts a slow-burn psychological horror that understands dread is best built in silence and shadow.  He clearly has a gift for atmosphere, and it’s likely why Hulu greenlit the full feature based on the impressive short.  Scott B. Siracusano’s cinematography leans into claustrophobic shadows, with flickering fluorescents and inky darkness creating a sense of unease.  The film thrives in these moments, using palpable discomfort rather than cheap jump scares to keep viewers squirming.  The physicality of the horror—the unbearable scratching, the grotesque practical effects, the bugs (lots of bugs!)—ensures that Control Freak gets under your skin in the most literal sense.

But while the movie is unsettling, it’s also scattered.  The mythology behind Valerie’s torment shifts shape whenever the plot needs it to.  Is this entity punishing her for her past or the bad deeds of her family members? Does it feed on her rising success? Is it a manifestation of the repressed guilt she harbors over the drowning death of her mother when she was a child? The film suggests all of the above at different points, making for an intriguing but frustrating experience.  Horror thrives on rules, and I never got the feeling that Control Freak had firmly established them. 

If a film sets up a supernatural force, we should understand what it wants and how it works.  Control Freak toys with these ideas but never locks them down.  The glimpses of a deeper cultural horror, particularly in how Valerie’s past trauma ties to her Vietnamese-American identity, have potential but remain strangely unexplored.  Instead, we often pivot toward more conventional horror territory when a greater focus on cultural specificity could have provided more distinctively memorable scares and meaningful commentary about the lasting impacts of war.

Despite the inconsistencies, Tran’s performance is outstanding, carrying the full weight of Control Freak on her shoulders.  She has a way of making the horror of the situation feel personal by shifting from controlled poise to quickly spiraling desperation with surprising authenticity.  The physicality of Valerie’s descent, the manner in which she tenses, twitches, and finally succumbs to the compulsion to itch, is a how-to guide in horror acting.  Her dynamic with Le’s tormented father adds an undercurrent that the film could have explored further, while her interactions with Chinh’s permanently exasperated Aunt provide the film’s best moments of dark humor and familial tension.

Less successful is Valerie’s relationship with Robbie, a grossly underwritten character that didn’t feel like a meaningful aspect essential to the storyline.  Robbins comes across as too young for the part, or at the very least, not paired well with Tran.  That leads to their scenes ringing entirely false, making his presence feel more like an obligation.  The film would have been stronger had it focused solely on Valerie’s battle with herself, the questions she has regarding her past, and the creeping force that threatens to consume her.

The sleek minimalism of Valerie’s curated home becomes suffocating as her grip on reality slips, transforming effectively from sanctuary to prison under Michelle Patterson’s production design.  Extra ambiance is found in the sound design, which ensures every scrape and nail crack hits with maximum impact.  This horror is designed to be felt in the body, which makes you itch in sympathy.  Admit it, you’ve instinctively itched your arm, face, or head (or wanted to) while reading this.

By the time the film reaches its ghoulishly macabre climax, audiences will either be fully invested in its total chaos or left yearning for a more precise, cleaner narrative throughline.  Ngo is scratching at good ideas in Control Freak, like ambition being a double-edged sword, the inescapability of personal history, and the cost of reinvention, but doesn’t manage to nail them down completely.  All things considered, it’s undeniably effective as a psychological horror experience, elevated by Tran’s compelling performance, and it sits comfortably above average in Hulu’s original horror lineup.