My quick rating – 3.7/10. Ah yes, nothing says “quality cinema” like the opening text exposition for The Man with the Black Umbrella, claiming forbidden internet footage mysteriously scrubbed from the web except for this totally real copy. Uh huh. Pull the other one, it’s got night vision.

So here we go again—found footage. My kryptonite. My eternal curse. The movie follows Jack (Robert Bigley), who discovers a security cam recording of the 2015 double murder of his sister and… decides to personally investigate it with the help of Ryan (Max Johnson), an “investigator” in the same way I’m an astronaut when I play Starfield.

Let me address the cast: zero effort detected. Jack, our accidental Final Girl, delivers every line like he just stubbed his toe but wants sympathy for emotional trauma. He whines, he sulks, he stares into the camera like he’s waiting for someone to shout “Cut!” And his chemistry with the rest of the cast? Fully lab-tested and confirmed inert. Absolute vacuum. If charisma were flammable, they’d be fireproof.

But—and I hate to say this—something kinda worked.

Unlike The Blair Witch Project, which spent 80 minutes screaming in the woods at nothing, this one at least does things. Creepy shots? Surprisingly good. Actual tension? Occasionally. A coherent murder mystery with some intrigue? Against all odds, yes.

Then come the decisions. Yes, the decisions. We’re treated to scenes so baffling you wonder whether it’s lazy writing or a documentary on human incompetence. Characters who know they’re being hunted still sleep with doors unlocked. Evidence appears via Shoe Logic™. Connections between murders are made via Psychic Leap of Faith. It’s like watching CSI: Coincidence Unit.

And don’t get me started on the sound. Half the dialogue is delivered from across the room like they were allergic to microphones. I’ve heard clearer conversations through baby monitors.

But here’s the real twist: I didn’t hate it. As a found-footage hater by birthright, that’s basically high praise. I wasn’t even pissed by the credits, just mildly grumpy. That means something.

The ending, though? Oh, it lingered. A 90-minute movie with 70 minutes of material and 20 minutes of “Are we still rolling?” Ricky Umberger, buddy, either snip the fat or feed it better scenes.

And one other note: Yes, the movie’s marketing was spammed everywhere like an MLM pitch for umbrellas, but I’m judging the film—not the online Reddit assault.

The Man with the Black Umbrella is a flawed but occasionally creepy found-footage flick that’s too dumb to be brilliant but too interesting to dismiss. If you can tolerate whining and whisper dialogue, give it a shot. Just don’t leave your doors unlocked.