John Bommarito

Alarum (2025) tosses you headfirst into a twisted little corner of the world where paranoia isn’t just a mood—it’s practically the air people breathe. John Bommarito jumps in as a guy who’s clearly seen better days, dragging around a battered suitcase of regrets and secrets. The city, all neon glare and rain-slicked streets, feels like it’s closing in on him. Every time he turns a corner, you half-expect something to jump out—a shadow, a memory, maybe both. The story unspools like a fever dream: Bommarito’s character wakes to a cryptic message scrawled on his apartment mirror. He starts chasing down strange clues, bumping into weirdos and old flames, each one making him question if he’s losing his grip or if there’s really some bigger game at play. People whisper about a mysterious figure known only as “The Watcher.” Nobody’s sure if it’s a person, a myth, or just the city’s way of messing with folks who dig too deep. As things spiral, reality bends. It’s never clear if the threats are real or just his brain short-circuiting from guilt and insomnia. Everything’s off-kilter: clocks tick backward, radios spit out coded messages, and strangers seem to know his name. By the time the credits roll, you’re left wondering who’s actually pulling the strings—and if anyone in this city ever really escapes their ghosts. Alarum is one of those movies that sticks to your ribs, messy and unforgettable.