The Dark Art of Channeling Grief into Cinema: Ian Tuason’s ‘Undertone’ and the Cost of Creative Honesty
There’s something profoundly unsettling about a filmmaker who predicts their own success with eerie accuracy. Ian Tuason, the writer-director behind Undertone, didn’t just hope for a mid-seven-figure deal with A24—he declared it months before it happened. What makes this particularly fascinating is the context: Tuason wasn’t some industry insider with a Rolodex of connections. He was a grieving son, pouring his inheritance into a $500,000 horror film shot in the very house where he’d just lost both parents to cancer.
The Film as a Grief Journal
Undertone isn’t just a movie; it’s a séance. The story follows Evy, a paranormal podcaster who unwittingly unleashes something sinister while caring for her terminally ill mother. On the surface, it’s a sound design-driven horror flick. But dig deeper, and you’ll find Tuason’s own demons. Personally, I think what’s most striking is how Tuason weaponized his pain. He didn’t just write a script—he exorcised his grief, scene by scene. The film’s claustrophobic suburban setting, the protagonist’s drinking problem, the raw portrayal of caregiving—it’s all a mirror to his own life.
What many people don’t realize is that this kind of creative honesty comes at a cost. Tuason admits to numbing himself during the writing process, a detail that I find especially interesting. It’s as if the act of creation was both his salvation and his torment. The result? A screenplay so dark that even he struggled to feel anything when it was done. This raises a deeper question: Can art ever truly heal, or does it just reshape the wound?
The Paradox of Predicting Success
Tuason’s confidence in landing A24 or Neon wasn’t arrogance—it was survival instinct. If you take a step back and think about it, his prediction was less about hubris and more about necessity. He’d already gambled everything on this film. Failure wasn’t an option. What this really suggests is that sometimes, the boldest creative risks are born out of desperation, not ambition.
But here’s the irony: when A24 actually came knocking, Tuason was… underwhelmed. “I don’t feel it,” he admits. This isn’t ingratitude—it’s the aftermath of emotional exhaustion. After two-and-a-half years of caregiving, he’d detached from the very emotions that fueled his art. It’s a bittersweet victory, one that highlights the disconnect between external success and internal peace.
Sound as a Character
One thing that immediately stands out is Tuason’s obsession with sound. Undertone isn’t just a visual experience—it’s an auditory one. The film’s sound design is so immersive that it feels like a character in its own right. Tuason claims he had access to a massive library of sounds, which he mixed “everywhere around your head.” In my opinion, this is where the film transcends its genre. It’s not just about scaring you—it’s about surrounding you.
This approach reminds me of Christopher Nolan’s critique that cinema is “conservative” when it comes to sound. Tuason seems to agree, though he’s humble about his own innovation. Personally, I think we’re only scratching the surface of what sound can do in cinema. Undertone feels like a proof of concept for a new kind of sensory storytelling.
The Podcast Paradox
Evy and her co-host Justin are paranormal podcasters, a detail that feels eerily authentic. Tuason credits his actors, Nina Kiri and Adam DiMarco, for nailing the nuances of podcast culture—the banter, the ASMR-like tones, the phrase “save it for the show.” But what’s truly clever is how the film uses podcasting as a metaphor for performance. Evy and Justin aren’t just hosting a show; they’re performing their own beliefs, exaggerating their skepticism and faith for dramatic effect.
This blurring of reality and performance is more than just a plot device—it’s a commentary on how we all curate our identities. In an age where everyone’s a content creator, Undertone asks: How much of ourselves do we sacrifice for an audience?
The Cost of Creative Honesty
Tuason’s journey is a masterclass in vulnerability. When he met his team, he was “radically honest,” and in return, they gave him their best. This collaborative ethos is rare in an industry often driven by ego. But it’s also a risky strategy. What if his honesty had been met with skepticism instead of support?
From my perspective, Tuason’s story is a reminder that art requires both courage and luck. He emptied his bank account, channeled his trauma, and bet everything on a vision. Most people would call that reckless. I call it necessary. Because sometimes, the only way to make something truly original is to risk everything—including your emotional reserves.
The Future of Grief-Driven Cinema
As Undertone hits theaters, Tuason is already moving on to his next project, a horror franchise inspired by the very film that launched him. It’s a testament to his resilience, but also a reminder that grief is never truly finished. It evolves, finds new forms, and—if you’re lucky—becomes art.
In the end, Undertone isn’t just a horror film. It’s a case study in how pain can be transformed into something powerful, even if the artist can’t always feel the impact. Tuason may not be “bouncing off the walls” with excitement, but he’s done something far more impressive: he’s turned his darkest moments into a mirror for the rest of us. And that, in my opinion, is the highest form of cinema.
