SXSW 2026 Review: GRIND is a Killer Corporate Horror Anthology

As we, at least we Americans, behold the horrors of late-stage capitalism in real time, the filmmakers behind the horror anthology Grind seek humor amid stinging commentary. Indie mainstays Brea Grant, Chelsea Stardust, and Ed Dougherty aren’t mincing their Worksploitation themes for the 2020s. Gig culture burnout, pyramid schemes, and Bezosian deities engage in entertaining depictions of genre-fied labor studies, but a prevailing message casts a terrible shadow: the erasure of the middle class. Grind is shaky at points, whether budgetary restrictions sacrifice visuals or concepts scratch the surface, but not enough to diminish the film’s unruly grab bag of Office Space-y nightmares. 

At the center of Grind is DRGN, the Amazon-esque megacorporation that’s strangling America’s economy. As the segments unfold, we’re keener on DRGN’s despicable intentions despite the miracle of same-day deliveries. Representing its C-Suite ranks is Andy (Rob Hubel), spewing lies about corporate synergy and dangling livable salaries like carrots in front of starving workers. He’s a cartoonish bigwig, spoofing the greediness of upper managers, because that’s the film’s tonal approach. For the better, Grind understands that the best Worksploitation examples are emphatically on the nose because of how delusional a percentage of our country’s workforce remains, even with so much evidence of a rigged system stacked against them.

Perhaps that’s why “Content Management” best maximizes its return. Dougherty’s chapter, about DRGN’s pit of security monitors, follows a poetry major as he tries to upgrade his professional outlook. Meek lil’ Joel (Christopher Rordriguez-Marquette) is promised a $175k salary if he can clear a queue of over 6 million flagged social media videos—a worker tortured as a grunt, getting high off the promises of managerial elevation. With every violent, immoral clip Joel watches, his sanity breaks (thanks to an onslaught of sickening perversion shot by unit filmmakers including Frogman’s Anthony Cousins). Rodriguez-Marquette becomes this proxy for low-level cubicle drones who bang away on keyboards, milked of their passion by soulless boardrooms, while Hubel humorously savors his position as a pied piper leading working-class schmucks into dead-end hopelessness.

Most segments score their Billions and brimstone moment, where the relevance is too painfully real. Stardust perfectly casts Barbara Crampton as The Founder, who was born to portray a malevolent multi-level marketing overlord beaming with QVC charisma. Or there’s Grant’s cheeky torturing of Benny (Vinny Thomas), a broke DoorDasher (er, DRGNDasher) who finds himself in a timeloop with an oozing delivery bag. Grind doesn’t play it safe by indie standards, leaning into the gorier or more grandiose obscurities of Worksploitation examinations. What if Starbucks unions were busted by folklore surprises, or disco-studded ax murderers appeared at your doorstep for not selling enough leggings on a livestream? These are the unrealities Grind chooses to explore, and does so with vicious appeal.

However, the production cannot avoid rough patches that feel held together by Scotch tape and a dream. I spied miniatures used for location shots, a charming touch, but also digital staircases shrouded in dark nothingness that almost look like a placeholder before VFX. One segment boasts fantastic creature effects, but doesn’t have the cash to pull off equally impressive kill scenes, which almost exclusively happen off-camera, without even a sound effect nod. There’s a quality ceiling that actors like Jessika Van, Matt Mercer, and Ify Nwadiwe try to bust through, but for a myriad of reasons—including less successful supporting parts—that never happens. Segments have clear peaks and valleys, each with a different ratio. Kudos for consistency, avoiding the anthology curse of at least one glaring dud, but jerkiness between hits and misses is more frequent, within stories themselves.

Still, Grind taps into the rage I feel as part of America’s current capitalist hellscape. By day, I work a salaried 9-to-6 role that pays my bills and keeps my film criticism dreams afloat —and it’s also sucking my soul dry. The filmmaking trio of Grant, Stardust, and Doughtery have their fun, but the poignancy of their frustrations is hugely evident. Flaws can’t hide, but neither can we from Grind’s scripted retaliations against the asshole elites turning into supervillains before our eyes. At its best, the film is a pipe bomb in a corporitized vacuum that hits hard against mounting attempts to widen the class gap, with enough oomph to shake the system (in its own delightfully deranged way).

Movie Score: 3/5