Sundance ‘26: ‘NIGHT NURSE’ Is a Beguiling Wannabe Midnight Cult Classic

“It’s amazing to be needed,” so says the affectation-drenched day nurse Mona (Eleonore Hendricks) in Georgia Bernstein’s bizarre psychosexual horror Night Nurse. She works alongside a troupe of other young women, each assigned to their own older man, in a luxury retirement home that’s deeply unsettling from the jump. Something peculiar is happening there, but we’re never quite able to put a finger on what. We just know it feels wrong.

Eleni (Camre Paksoy) senses this the moment she starts her first night shift. She’s been assigned to Douglas (Bruce McKenzie), recently removed from one nurse’s care after some reported “inappropriate behavior” and flirtation. He’s an unsettling, if evidently charming, older man, perpetually smoking, even as he paces laps in the community pool. He’s barreling toward oblivion with acute dementia but somehow still manages to command a harem. It’s his off-putting habit of making bizarre scam phone calls, though, that really tips us off: whatever’s going on with Douglas, it’s not just memory loss.

The characters don’t behave like real people. They’re strange, unreal, emotionally distant, which keeps us at arm’s length from the whole thing. Take the uneasy, immediate intimacy between Mona and Eleni, who share a room and soon after, snuggles and kisses. Both women begin to get intimate with Douglas, drawn in under the weird spell of his scam calls, to which Eleni quickly becomes addicted. During these calls, Douglas gropes and grumbles, coaching her through scripts like he’s directing community theater. Eleni’s descent from caretaker to servant is swift. Soon she’s draped over Douglas like he’s a Greek emperor and she, his worshipful aide.

Bernstein’s script denies us explanation. We’re left to guess why these supple nurses are so drawn to Douglas and his scams — they just are. There’s no plot momentum beyond the lingering unease, the WTF momentum of surreal dread propelling everything forward. It’s a vibe piece, not a puzzle.

The performances are largely stilted, stiff as arthritis. Whether that’s an intentional affectation or just a stylistic shrug is hard to say. Douglas, the one decaying soul, is ironically the only one who seems alive. You start to wonder: is this some kind of Stepford situation? Has everyone else been infected with whatever grandpa juju he’s casting? These women become penitent zombies for his affection, strung out on his con artist routine. Clearly, we’re meant to feel off-kilter, but your mileage may vary. The work is discordant, untethered from how human interaction or basic systems (like, say, phones) are supposed to work. There’s a Lynchian undercurrent here, but the deadpan line readings and bizarre physicality also nod toward The Room more than Mulholland Drive.

Night Nurse doesn’t bother explaining the mechanics, but it does commit to its own strange internal logic. I’m left wondering what this May-December cat-and-mouse is really saying about the intersection of sex and violence. Bernstein’s clearly studied Crash-era Cronenberg, but she wants you to untangle that knot yourself. Personally, it didn’t make me care enough to try.

CONCLUSION: Unreachable and strange, ‘Night Nurse’ very much goes to the beat of its own bizarro drum but this twisted psychosexual midnight movie is too often caught up in its own weirdness to deliver much in the way of connection.