When was the last time you watched something truly original? Something that felt unlike anything you’ve seen before? Debuting at Fantasia 2025, Buffet Infinity, the feature-length debut of Canadian comedian and filmmaker Simon Glassman, delivers one of the most original and cleverly conceived films I’ve encountered in quite some time.
Expanding on his previous YouTube short, the film satirizes consumerism, cult behavior, localized information bubbles, and media-driven paranoia in the fictional Alberta town of Westridge—where a single tragedy escalates to cosmic proportions. What’s so special about that? Well, it tells this entire story through alternating VHS-style commercials that gradually shift in tone as the town succumbs first to competition and snarky attacks… and then to outright fear and madness. Genius.
We’ve seen found footage. We’ve seen computer screenlife films—like Lifehack, another standout from this year’s Fantasia lineup—but have you ever seen low-budget local TV ads turn their pitchmen into full-blown characters, and the ads themselves used to tell a horror story while hilariously poking fun at society?
The entire film plays out like someone channel-surfing through a stack of cheap regional commercials and news clips. At first, the ads are hilariously mundane—sandwich shops, pawn dealers, mattress sales, insurance spots—all filled with bad acting, amateur jingles, and awkward timing. But as rival businesses like Buffet Infinity and Jenny’s Sandwich Shop start taking jabs at each other in their ads, a larger narrative begins to form. Soon, missing-person alerts interrupt the feed. A self-proclaimed spiritual leader hijacks airtime to deliver cryptic warnings. Absurd comedy gives way to creeping dread, as the town’s paranoia spills into every ad—guns show up, language grows hostile, and even the silliest mascots start sounding like doomsday prophets. Meanwhile, Buffet Infinity itself, with its unseen employees and too-good-to-be-true promises, becomes a looming, almost sentient presence that overtakes the town.
Just like real-life commercials (I still fondly remember an elementary school class where we spent a full hour analyzing the art of selling through TV ads), there’s an odd and indescribable pleasure in watching these short bursts of media. And the film knows it. The second act is where it thrives—exaggerating all of the commercials we saw in the first act to insane levels. One of my favorite ads is the burger commercial that keeps adding ingredients endlessly, starting with “just one more patty” and quickly escalating to shrimp, calamari, and of course… the secret sauce. Over and over. You can’t forget the secret sauce!
Through all these extremely silly moments, the atmosphere of unease builds subtly and brilliantly. The film walks a fine line—nostalgic, funny, and suspenseful—while making sharp observations about how repetitive, surface-level media can slowly distort reality. It reminds us how even amateur, low-budget advertising—especially when blended with religion and fear—can lead people from casual consumption to blind, cult-like loyalty.
The third act, however, doesn’t quite maintain that balance. As the film grows in ambition and shifts toward a more traditional narrative climax, it starts to lose its grip. Clocking in at 100 minutes, it begins to overstay its welcome and gives off the same feeling you get when you’ve watched too much TV—you just want to get up and do something else. Even with how strong the concept remains, the film feels the need to wrap things up more explicitly than necessary. The mystery was more powerful when it stayed weird and suggestive. It does return to the right tone at the very end and closes on a gloriously surreal note—but the 20 minutes leading up to that finale could have used a serious trim. Had they been tighter, we might be talking about a truly polished cult classic.
Even with its excessive length and its shift toward conventional storytelling in the final stretch, Buffet Infinity is unquestionably worth the ride. It’s just so damn original, conceptually captivating, and genuinely funny in ways we haven’t seen in years. Sign me up for a sequel that takes on YouTube Shorts or TikTok ads—I never would’ve thought I needed this in my life, but now I do.