My quick rating – 6.3/10. If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if two drunk conspiracy theorists got their hands on filmmaking equipment and a Costco-sized blood supply, Jimmy and Stiggs is your answer. Out-of-work filmmaker Jimmy Lang (Joe Begos) hits rock bottom so hard he bounces into outer space — or so he claims. After a blackout bender ends with an alleged alien abduction, he calls up his equally unhinged pal Stiggs (Matt Mercer) and does what any responsible adult would do: preps for intergalactic war from his apartment.

The film kicks off with a glorious callback to sleazy grindhouse cinema via fake trailers like The Piano Killer and Don’t Go In That House, Bitch — which, frankly, I’d absolutely watch. From there, it’s a neon-soaked fever dream of blacklights, bickering, booze, and bloodletting. The camera work is wildly inventive, and the luminous color palette turns even the filthiest apartment into something resembling alien chic. The creatures themselves look like they were built with duct tape, bicycle reflectors, and spite, but that’s absolutely the point. Practical effects reign supreme here — no CGI muzzle flashes, just guns conveniently pressed just out of frame so all you see is the delicious splatter. Resourceful. Noble. Hilarious.

Jimmy and Stiggs is the DIY spirit in its purest form: build your own props, shoot in your own apartment, then casually convert said apartment into a spaceship. The sheer dedication deserves applause — or at least bail money. This isn’t Begos‘ first film (I enjoyed VFW, and checking my database, I gave both the same rating), but it certainly is the most ambitious.

Now, let’s talk flaws. Jimmy and Stiggs yell at each other for so long that I started to consider siding with the aliens. The pacing is relentless, the plot ambiguous to the point of possibly not existing, and sobriety is clearly not in the script budget. But honestly? That’s part of the charm. You don’t watch a movie like this for narrative clarity, you watch it to see how many ways two dudes snorting drugs can weaponize Home Depot supplies against space invaders.

And if you stick around after the credits, there’s a chill little making-of segment with Eli Roth himself singing its praises and inspecting the carnage left behind. When Eli Roth blesses your film, that actually means something. When I do, well… it mostly means I have too much free time. But still — thumbs up.

Independent horror fans: this one’s for you. It’s messy, it’s loud, it might smell faintly of whiskey fumes, but it’s got heart — and enough alien guts to fill a Slip ‘N Slide.