Chattanooga Film Fest 2025 Review: The Harbor Men

The Harbor Men Review – Brooding Virus Noir That Never Breaks Containment

★☆☆☆☆☆ (2 out of 5)

By Travis Brown

Aiden White searches for meaning in the bleak, black-and-white world of The Harbor Men.

Casey T. Malone’s The Harbor Men is a moody, black-and-white virus-era experiment that struggles to turn introspection into something cinematic. Starring Aiden White as Stephen Dorre, alongside Randall Paetzold, Gian Chivas Polingo, and Stephen M. Wolterstorff, the film operates more like a post-pandemic therapy session than a sci-fi psychological mystery worth losing yourself in.

On paper, The Harbor Men suggests a grim and fascinating world—one in which a mysterious “harbor virus” looms in the background like a metaphysical threat. Think The Bay, but instead of flesh-eating parasites, we get existential spirals. The problem? The film isn’t particularly interested in stakes, tension, or even forward motion. Instead, it leans heavily into meditative stillness, philosophical musings, and mopey stares from our lone protagonist, who feels like yet another tired entry in the ever-growing subgenre of sad young white men trying to “find themselves” in the void.

There’s a noir aesthetic at play here—shaky cameras, deep shadows, long gazes—but the stylistic nods never build into anything lasting. The black-and-white palette calls attention to itself, as if begging the audience to feel the gravity of the moment, but that gravity rarely lands. It’s a film more concerned with looking like a thesis than delivering one.

To their credit, the actors give committed performances, especially considering how little they’re given to do. But the script is sparse, lacking the depth or intrigue needed to sustain a story that’s so deliberately static. There’s a whisper of social commentary in the background, but it’s undercooked and floats away like smoke from a dying match.

Ultimately, The Harbor Men feels like a collection of art-house gestures without the foundation to make them stick. It’s a self-serious fever dream that confuses introspection with storytelling, offering us another slow drip of existential dread disguised as cinema. While the ambition is admirable, the execution doesn’t hold. Here’s hoping Malone’s next effort finds a pulse—and a plot.

Final Score: 2 out of 5.