What follows is not a creature feature but a —a slow, tactile study of a woman ingesting the physical memory of her husband, bite by bitter bite. The fungus spreads up the walls, across the mattress, and eventually, into Iris herself. Uncut NeonX’s Signature: Sensory Assault The “Uncut” label here is not mere branding. Where other shorts might cut away, Hungry Widow lingers. The film’s most infamous sequence—a seven-minute unbroken shot of Iris chewing a fibrous, mushroom-like mass extracted from the dead man’s sweater—plays less like horror and more like a ritual. Sound designer Marco Velez amplifies every wet crack, every reluctant swallow. The squelch of hyphae breaking between teeth is mixed to the front, uncomfortably intimate.
The screenplay, co-written by Holt and folklorist , draws on European “widow’s mushrooms” folklore (specifically the Estonian leseseen myth, where a dead husband’s spirit manifests as a fungus the widow must consume to free his soul—or be consumed herself). But the film complicates the myth. Iris doesn’t want to be freed. She wants to be filled.
In the final three minutes, Iris stops eating the fungus. She lies down on the now-fully-colonized marital bed, opens her mouth, and the camera holds as a single, pale fruiting body emerges from her throat—slowly, organically, as if blooming. The film cuts to black not on a scream, but on a soft, almost sexual exhalation.
The final shot: a wide angle of the house from the outside, months later. The roof has caved in. From the rubble, a dense cluster of bioluminescent mushrooms pulses, forming two vague shapes—side by side, like bodies in a bed.
In an era where short-form horror often relies on jump scares and two-minute “analog creepypasta” loops, the arrival of Hungry Widow feels like a deliberate, rotting step backward into slow-burn, psychosexual unease. Released in late 2024 as part of the Uncut NeonX Originals slate—a micro-budget label known for pushing sensory boundaries where mainstream streamers fear to tread—this 28-minute short has already polarized festival audiences. Some call it a masterpiece of repressed mourning; others, a stomach-churning exercise in grotesque metaphor. Both are correct. The Premise: Mourning Made Manifest Director Cassia Holt (formerly an editor for cult anthology The Midnight Flesh ) crafts a deceptively simple setup. Iris (played with hollow-eyed intensity by Naomi Yang ) is a recent widow living alone in a crumbling farmhouse on the edge of the Suffolk fens. Her husband, Elias, a mycologist, died six months prior under ambiguous circumstances—officially a fall, though the film never confirms it.
Possession (1981), The Lure , Hagazussa , and the fungal photography of The Last of Us ’s more art-house moments.
★★★★½ Sticks to the ribs. Literally. Hungry Widow is currently on the festival circuit and will stream via the NeonX Uncut VOD platform in Q2 2025. Viewer discretion for strong gore, disturbing sexual imagery, and mycophobia triggers.
NeonX’s visual signature—high-contrast, desaturated greens and deep, bruising purples—transforms the farmhouse into a living wound. Cinematographer (no relation to the singer) shoots close-ups of Iris’s lips, stained with dark fungal spore-juice, as if framing a Renaissance painting of a saint consuming the Eucharist. The rot is beautiful. That is the point. Themes: The Devouring Widow Archetype Hungry Widow weaponizes the archetype of the devouring woman —not as a monster, but as a mourner denied closure. Traditional grief narratives emphasize letting go. Holt inverts this: what if holding on meant internalizing the lost other, literally?