Anxiety-Inducing: 20 Movies That Will Completely Stress You Out

Souleymane’s Story (2024)

Imagine being thrust into a day that never seems to end where every delivery, every unfamiliar street, and every question feels like a test you forgot you were taking. That’s the emotional tightrope in Souleymane’s Story. The film follows Souleymane, a recent Guinean immigrant navigating Paris on his e-bike while rushing toward an asylum interview. Forced into exploitative situations – from crooked helpers skimming half his pay to mentors coaching him to lie – it’s a constant gaslighting marathon. Love, kindness, and security are all in short supply, and every wrong turn ratchets up the anxiety. By the time he pedals toward that final interview, your heart's pounding on his rhythm. It’s not loud terror – it’s quiet dread, grounded in economic precarity and bureaucratic cruelty, and it cuts deeper than any chase scene. | © Unité

Speak No Evil (2022)

What if polite interaction became a psychological prison? That’s the nightmare Speak No Evil throws at you: a nice family visit turns into a relentless series of social missteps and shocking boundaries. Every faked smile and forced laugh only tightens the vice around the protagonist, who’s caught between manners and escape. The film builds anxiety with social terror – never gore or a ticking clock and it’s as uncomfortable as it gets. You watch, almost rooting for them to just say “no,” but etiquette – and the hope that things might just go back to normal – keeps them putting one strained smile in front of another. It’s the politest horror you’ll ever experience. | © Profile Pictures

Boiling Point (2021)

Ever feel like your stress is rising faster than water in a pot on full boil? Boiling Point drops you straight into a busy London restaurant on its most chaotic night, filmed in one unbroken shot that doesn’t let you look away. Orders are piling up, customers are impatient, health inspectors show up at the worst possible time, and the chef – already emotionally fraying – is trying to keep it all together. Every mistake, every burnt steak, and every side-eye from the staff stacks the pressure higher until you can almost feel your own chest tighten. There’s no jump scare, no gunshot, just the unrelenting, real-life stress of watching an entire night slowly fall apart with no pause button. By the time the credits roll, you’ve been through the wringer alongside them, and you might never look at a kitchen the same way again. | © Matriarch Productions

Red Rocket (2021)

Some train wrecks you just can’t look away from. In Red Rocket, we follow a washed-up adult film star swaggering back into his Texas hometown with charm, arrogance, and absolutely zero plan. At first, it’s awkwardly funny – his hustles, his shamelessness, his way of spinning every setback into a half-baked scheme – but the tension grows as his lies stack higher than the smoke from a refinery. You can see the disaster coming a mile away, yet watching him double down on terrible choices is both maddening and fascinating. Every conversation becomes a high-stakes gamble, every small victory just sets up a bigger fall. By the end, you’re caught between laughing, wincing, and screaming “Just stop!” knowing full well he won’t. | © FilmNation Entertainment

All My Friends Hate Me (2021)

What’s worse than feeling like the odd one out? Feeling like the odd one out among people who are supposed to like you. All My Friends Hate Me nails this paranoia perfectly, starting as an awkward reunion and spiraling into a nightmare of social tension. The protagonist’s old friends seem… different. Every laugh feels loaded, every question a dig, every moment dripping with the suspicion that maybe they’ve all turned against him. The brilliance lies in the fact that nothing overtly “wrong” happens for most of the runtime – just an accumulation of little slights and unnerving moments that gnaw at your nerves. You keep waiting for the big reveal, wondering if it’s all in his head, and the uncertainty is as exhausting as it is gripping. By the end, you’ve sat through the most uncomfortable dinner party of your life, and you didn’t even get dessert. | © Totally Tom Films

Uncut Gems (2019)

If your pulse doesn’t surge watching this whirlwind of gemstone-fueled chaos, you might be a robot (and if so, hi from your human overlord). A manic mosaic of high-stress jewelry auctions, soul-piercing bets, and Adam Sandler in turbo mode – expect your heartbeat to outpace your brain’s ability to process reality. The film practically is anxiety: every shimmering opal and tense negotiation screams “look away.” The soundtrack sneaks up behind you like a tension ninja, turning every frame into a high-stakes “what happens next?” Relying on a droplet-tightrope balance of humor and horror, it feels like a cross between an adrenaline injection and a psychological thriller clinic. This is cinephile catnip for people who love watching the world implode… softly, in dazzling opal light. | © A24

Mother! (2017)

Imagine being trapped inside a pressure cooker while the entire kitchen conspires against you: that’s Mother! in a nutshell. This fever-dream parable from Darren Aronofsky tosses you into a house of growing dread where metaphorical bombs go off with every whispered word – or sudden, surreal noise. It’s like someone took your existential fears, dialed them up to “oh no,” then sprinkled on biblical allegory for extra trembles. The film teeters on the edge of profound and perplexing, making you wonder whether to scratch your head or hide behind it entirely. A hall-of-mirrors narrative that distorts everything you thought you understood about storytelling – so clever you almost forgive yourself for feeling deeply unsettled. | © Paramount Pictures

Good Time (2017)

Cruising through the seediest corners of New York City at caffeine speed, Good Time is like a siren song to anyone who secretly enjoys watching plans completely collapse. Robert Pattinson, with that “I’m in over my head and loving it” vibe, guides you through one disaster after another – poor decisions that spawn more poor decisions, all backed by a synth score that wraps you in jittery neon unease. It’s like watching your friend sprint face-first into trouble, then refusing help because “no, it’s fine, probably fine, definitely fine…”–and yeah, you know that’s absolutely not fine. A frantic, pulsing ride that slams the pedal on tension and never lets up – even when you think you can’t stomach one more moment. | © Elara Pictures

Dunkirk (2017)

If you thought anxiety only came with inner monologues, Dunkirk will teach you otherwise – this film makes silence terrifying. It’s a war thriller that folds you into a tidal wave of tension without spilling a single unnecessary sob scene. Whether it’s the aerial ballet of Spitfires, the invisible menace of bullets, or the relentless ticking of a clock counting down survival, every frame is engineered to squeeze the air from your lungs. Nolan’s non-linear storytelling chops don’t just tell a story – they trap you in a moment, over and over, like a suspense loop that refuses to let go. You’ll finish it wondering if you just watched a movie or signed up for an immersive panic workshop. | © Warner Bros. Pictures

Son of Saul (2015)

Here’s a Holocaust drama that doesn’t rely on sweeping epics or overt dramatics – it plummets you into one man’s singular, tortured perspective. With a lens that stays locked on Saul’s haunted eyes, Son of Saul turns every background whisper and shadow into a weight that pushes against your ribcage. It feels like a vice around your empathy: you’re pinned to his pain, unable to escape the gulf between horror and humanity. Cinematic restraint here is pure suffocation – Simon’s story is both intimate and impossible to shake. This is not a flick for leisurely popcorn; it’s a holding-your-breath experience that reverberates long after the credits roll. | © Laokoon FilmGroup

The Gift (2015)

Few thrillers turn simple acts of politeness into weapons as effectively as The Gift. On the surface, it begins with a seemingly innocent reunion: a married couple bumps into an old acquaintance from the husband’s past. But Joel Edgerton, pulling triple duty as writer, director, and unnervingly polite antagonist, slowly transforms those “chance” encounters into a spiral of tension. Every unexpected visit, every wrapped present left at the door, becomes a little heavier with suspicion. The suspense grows in the gaps – awkward silences, lingering stares, and stories from the past that never quite add up. This isn’t a film that relies on loud scares; instead, it builds a slow, creeping discomfort that worms its way under your skin. By the end, you’re questioning not only who’s the victim, but whether you’d ever feel safe answering your own door again. | © Blumhouse Productions

It Follows (2014)

Horror movies often threaten you with what might be around the corner – It Follows terrifies you with what’s walking straight toward you. David Robert Mitchell’s inventive, low-budget gem takes the familiar “slasher stalks victim” setup and reinvents it with a supernatural entity that can take any form and moves at a constant, relentless pace. The genius is in the rules: it never runs, it never hides, and only you can see it once you’ve been “marked.” This means the horror lives in the background, in a slow figure getting closer in the distance, in a stranger walking just a bit too directly toward the camera. The unsettling retro feel, paired with a droning, synth-heavy score, makes It Follows feel like a fever dream you can’t quite wake from. You leave the film glancing over your shoulder, just in case someone is… well… following. | © Northern Lights Films

Whiplash (2014)

Obsession has never sounded this exhausting or this electrifying. Whiplash throws you headfirst into the high-stakes world of competitive jazz drumming, where perfection isn’t encouraged, it’s demanded at a soul-crushing cost. Miles Teller’s Andrew is the young prodigy desperate to be the best, and J.K. Simmons’ Fletcher is the conductor who will push him past the breaking point, using humiliation and psychological warfare as his teaching methods. The drum solos are blistering, but the real fireworks come in their verbal duels, each rehearsal a battle of wills. Director Damien Chazelle frames the action like a boxing match: sweat flying, sticks snapping, cymbals crashing like knockout punches. By the finale’s breathless climax, you’re so tense you almost forget to clap until you realize the performance you’ve been watching isn’t just music, it’s a declaration of war. | © Blumhouse Productions

The Hunt (2012)

Some thrillers rely on hidden monsters, but The Hunt shows that the most terrifying threat can be your neighbors. Mads Mikkelsen delivers a heartbreaking, understated performance as a man whose life unravels after a young child falsely accuses him of an unspeakable crime. The accusation spreads quickly in his small town, fueled by rumor, fear, and the human instinct to protect the innocent – regardless of evidence. What follows is a slow, relentless erosion of trust: friendships collapse, strangers glare, and the very spaces that once felt safe turn hostile. Director Thomas Vinterberg keeps the drama grounded and painfully real, making each moment of public suspicion feel like a physical blow. The Hunt leaves you shaken not because of what happens, but because of how easily it could. | © Zentropa

Sexy Beast (2000)

There’s nothing quite like having your peaceful, sun-soaked retirement violently hijacked by the human embodiment of chaos. Sexy Beast opens with Gal, a happily retired safecracker, lounging by his Spanish villa pool, exuding the kind of blissful inertia that makes you sigh with envy. Then comes Don Logan – Ben Kingsley in a performance so intense it could strip paint from walls – who barges in demanding Gal take “just one more job.” The tension isn’t in explosions or gunfights; it’s in the verbal assaults, the psychological warfare, and the constant threat of Don’s temper erupting into something dangerous. Every scene feels like holding your breath while a match burns down to your fingers, unsure when it will ignite the dynamite. By the time Sexy Beast shifts from unnerving conversation to its crime-plot mechanics, the damage has been done – your nerves are frayed, your palms are sweaty, and you’re ready to shout “Just let the man enjoy his pool!” | © Film4 Productions

Funny Games (1997)

Michael Haneke’s Funny Games is less a movie and more a calculated psychological trap. It begins innocently enough – a family vacationing at their lake house, a knock at the door from two polite young men asking for a favor. But within minutes, civility rots into menace, and you realize you’ve stepped into a nightmare designed to confront your own relationship with violence. The film breaks the fourth wall, taunting you, reminding you that you’re complicit just by continuing to watch. There’s no score to guide your emotions, no clever twist to relieve you – just a steady, unblinking presentation of cruelty that strips away any safe narrative distance. By the end, you feel both manipulated and complicit, which is exactly Haneke’s point. Funny Games doesn’t want you to enjoy it, it wants you to think about why you wanted to in the first place. | © Wega Film

After Hours (1985)

If you’ve ever had one of those nights where everything that can go wrong absolutely does, After Hours is your cinematic nightmare twin. Directed by Martin Scorsese, the film follows Paul Hackett, a word processor whose attempt at a casual late-night date spirals into a surreal marathon of disasters across New York City. What starts as an awkward evening quickly descends into an escalating series of misadventures involving eccentric strangers, stolen money, mysterious deaths, and a city that seems to be actively rejecting him. The brilliance of After Hours is that it blends nerve-jangling anxiety with a dark comedic streak – you want to laugh, but you’re too busy wincing. Each new encounter raises the stakes until Paul’s odyssey becomes a full-blown urban fever dream, one where logic takes a back seat to bad luck. By the time the sun rises, you’ll feel like you’ve endured your own overnight trial, desperately hoping to make it back home in one piece. | © Warner Bros.

Possession (1981)

Part domestic drama, part supernatural horror, and part emotional meltdown on celluloid, Possession is a film that doesn’t just unsettle – it completely unmoors you. Set against the backdrop of Cold War-era Berlin, it begins with the crumbling marriage of Anna and Mark, played with devastating ferocity by Isabelle Adjani and Sam Neill. At first, it seems like a portrait of infidelity and emotional estrangement, but then it takes a sharp turn into the bizarre: strange absences, unexplained injuries, and eventually, a horrifying creature that seems to represent Anna’s deepest desires and darkest impulses. The infamous subway scene, where Adjani unleashes a performance so raw it borders on inhuman, remains one of the most intense moments in film history. Possession operates on a feverish wavelength, mixing psychological breakdown with Lovecraftian dread until you’re no longer sure what’s real. It’s exhausting, mesmerizing, and unforgettable – exactly the kind of cinematic madness that lingers like a shadow in your mind. | © Gaumont

Sorcerer (1977)

If you think your commute is stressful, Sorcerer will redefine the meaning of white-knuckle travel. William Friedkin’s masterclass in sustained tension follows four men – each with a dangerous past – tasked with transporting truckloads of unstable nitroglycerin through perilous South American terrain. The premise alone is nerve-wracking, but the execution turns it into something almost unbearable in its intensity. From treacherous jungle paths to washed-out mountain roads, every moment is an exercise in patience and dread. The crown jewel of anxiety is the iconic bridge sequence: a rain-lashed, swaying structure barely holding under the trucks’ weight, with the volatile cargo threatening to detonate at the slightest jolt. Friedkin shoots it with such realism that you can practically feel the water soaking through your clothes and the mud pulling at your boots. By the end, Sorcerer leaves you wrung out, as though you’ve been gripping that steering wheel the whole way. | © Paramount Pictures

Woman in the Dunes (1964)

Few films make the mundane feel so suffocating. Woman in the Dunes tells the story of an entomologist who becomes trapped in a sand pit with a mysterious woman, condemned to a Sisyphean existence of shoveling sand to keep their makeshift home from being swallowed. What could be a simple tale of captivity becomes a haunting meditation on the nature of freedom, desire, and resignation. The endless dunes themselves become a character – silent, shifting, and relentless in their erasure of time and willpower. Hiroshi Teshigahara’s direction makes every frame feel tactile: the grit in the air, the sting of the wind, the weight of the labor. The more the protagonist resists, the more the sand claims him, until the line between escape and acceptance blurs completely. Woman in the Dunes lingers like a strange dream you can’t quite shake – beautiful and unsettling in equal measure. | © Teshigahara Productions