Velvicide

A Story about Pain, Control, and Lies disguised as Help.

The question is not if you are suicidal or you have really attempted suicide, but what is underneath that question.

That’s the thought I had while pressing play on “Velvicide”, a screener provided by co-star Jon Devlin. Thinking of all the years of therapy sessions I’ve been through in my life, I always found this question tricky and somewhat superficial.

Don’t get me wrong, this topic is far from being superficial, but it’s rarely the real starting point.

“Velvicide” opens with Callum (Jon Devlin), a hotline suicide operator, receiving a call from a woman who wants to commit a murder through her husband. If she will succeed, that’s something you will discover watching the film.

The screen goes black and we shift into a documentary-style Q&A between Velvet (Gea Rose Henry) and Isaac F.(JD Starnes), where Velvet tells the story of her abduction and imprisonment by a disturbing man wearing a mask made of googly eyes. He plays with her, tempting her to commit the ultimate punishment, while bringing her food and objects she could use to end her life.

And this is where the film really starts to dig deeper, and creates a double-edged sword.

A metaphor—perhaps—of not really wanting to end her life, but being tested on how far she would go to end the torture she’s living through. That idea stayed with me creating psychological tension, and it brings me back to my opening line.

Sometimes it’s not our life that we want to get rid of, but the pain, the struggle. And “Velvicide” understands that in a way that feels uncomfortable, not explanatory. It doesn’t give answers—it just puts you in that space.

“Velvicide” is a surprisingly well-written thriller-drama that steps into the obsession of our decade with true crime podcasts and documentaries, where the line of telling a true story is often blurred into something premeditated and distorted. There’s always the feeling that someone is controlling the narrative, fooling survivors with empathy and tricky questions while chasing impact.

Most of the film lives inside the conversation between Velvet and Isaac, and that’s where it becomes really effective. You can tell the interview is being controlled, and not as honest as it sounds.

The film plays with that feeling, pushing you to connect the dots of what’s happening on the screen. It makes you examine the words used during the interview, while at times in between slowly change how you read the conversation.

Slowly revealing how it connects back to the opening scene with Callum and the tension built during the interview.

It keeps you stuck, even in its confusing moments. Not confusion because it’s unclear, but the kind that makes you stop and question what you’re actually watching. Your mind almost detaches for a second, trying to understand what is real and what is being constructed.

And even if it takes time, the film does bring things together by the end.

Technically, it’s very impressive. Even the direction by Kenneth Perkins, which relies mostly on still and controlled camera work, fits perfectly with the tone. It’s supported by an excellent cinematography by Denton Adkinson, where clean and dark lighting does a lot of the emotional work, capturing the atmosphere without forcing it.

The performances are very solid, especially Gea Rose Henry, who carries most of the film through voice and expression alone. She manages to hypnotise without overdoing it, and that becomes the real atmosphere of the film.

Her character feels like someone who is telling a story—but also learns how to manipulate it. And that changes how you perceive everything.

The evolution of a trauma survivor changes your perception, and you start reading people faster than others. She plays exactly on that edge, and it leads to a very satisfying ending.

Indie films are not perfection, and we don’t need that to make a good film. “Velvicide” isn’t flawless, but it knows what it’s doing.

“Velvicide” won’t give a surgical answer, but it makes the questions harder to ignore. You will sit with discomfort, questioning true crime, suicide, and helpline narratives.