Trapped In a Loop: I Watched ‘Until Dawn’ Six Times in One Night and Survived…Barely

As soon as I got the email about the Until Dawn all-nighter contest, I knew I had to do it. I’m a sucker for a good stunt marketing scheme, and this iteration was just stupid enough to convince me it might actually be a fun form of misery: watch Until Dawn on a loop from dusk to dawn, 7 PM to 6:45 AM. No phones, no bathroom breaks except during designated times, no sleeping. Last person standing wins $5,000. 

So, I did what came naturally: showed up to the theater and did my damndest to survive watching this movie adaptation of a ten-year-old video game six times in a row. It was grueling, and I’m not sure I’d ever do it again, but in some perverse way, I’m proud of myself for holding out the entire night. The following is a play-by-play recounting of my experience, including my thoughts on the film—delivered as impartially as possible after becoming so intimately familiar with it—adapted from live notes I took in my journal and expanded with retrospective thoughts.

5:20 PM: A lifetime ago now. I arrived at the theater early, since no press reservations were available to preserve seating for contestants. There’s no real line yet, but a few people are congregating around the AMC lobby, clearly waiting for the event reps to arrive. Some have come with friends, others are flying solo like me. (The marathon was only announced the day before, so there’s a lot of overheard talk about folks deciding to do this on a whim.) At least one person has shown up in… some kind of cosplay? They’re wearing a bloodied white button-up shirt. I’m not sure who “bloodied white button-up shirt guy” is in Until Dawn, so the look mostly reads as a generic nod to the concept of Halloween.

6:00 PM: PR and event hosts arrive—everyone lines up to get wristbands and a firm recommendation from one of the hosts to either turn your phone off completely or, better yet, stash it in your car. Otherwise, the temptation to check the time during your tenth straight hour of Until Dawn might be too strong. Everyone signs a waiver to participate. It lists the rules, outlines the prize, and warns that sitting in a movie theater for that long may cause “physical and mental strain.” Sounds fake, but okay.

There are about 30 or 40 people in line. Everyone’s friendly, and there’s a collective, self-aware understanding of how stupid this whole thing is. Still, I can tell this crowd didn’t come to play. A girl I talk to in line tells me this isn’t even close to the longest she’s spent in a theater—she did the 30+ hour Marvel marathon for Avengers: Endgame, which is more than double the time we’ll be spending here spent watching superhero movies that are also basically the same movie on repeat, the same as this event. These are some real masochistic freaks—clearly stiff competition.

Also of note: our special wristbands get us unlimited concessions all night long (between screenings, of course). Free popcorn, candy, and drinks—apologies in advance to the poor AMC employees working the overnight shift to serve snacks to a bunch of maniacs. Before we’ve even started, I’m already strategizing: I want to munch on popcorn, especially since chewing is something to do as the night wears on, but I don’t want that to make me thirsty, which leads to more water, which leads to more bathroom breaks. And remember: no stepping out during the movie. I contemplate my approach as I step into my overnight home—auditorium four.

6:30 PM: It’s a mid-sized auditorium, about a hundred recliner seats that I will not lie back in once during the night. Everyone’s making fast friends. Spirits are high, an enthusiastic vibe that’ll be tough to maintain come hour seven. The theater fills to about 70% capacity—horror enthusiasts, Until Dawn fans, film students, and a few press folks who are just watching it once and observing the madness. I’m seated a couple of chairs down from a Snapchat influencer who sets up his phone stand in front of the title card and films himself striking a few poses. Respect, dude.

6:55 PM: We’re settling in. The hosts go over the rules: no phones, no sleeping, no leaving the theater during the film. And if security says you’re disqualified, you don’t argue—you “have some dignity,” as one host puts it. It sets the tone: they’re watching, and they’re serious. Phones go away, the lights dim, and we all prepare to watch Until Dawn for the first of six times.

8:40 PM: As you can imagine, the first screening goes off without a hitch—aside from the ominous knowledge of what’s to come. Watching Until Dawn within the inescapable context that we’ll be watching it again and again adds a kind of dark poetry to my first reaction: it’s… fine. Perhaps the worst kind of movie to be stuck on a loop with—too competent to mock, too mid to admire—but at least it moves at a decent clip.

David F. Sandberg, ever the solid studio horror journeyman, brings his usual strengths: an eye for unnerving visuals and a sharp sense for well-timed jump scares, which help lift the film where the script falters. Written by Gary Dauberman and Blair Butler, the story follows five college-aged friends trapped in a time loop, forced to die again and again at the hands of various horror-movie archetypes. It’s a fun high-concept setup, though its changes from the source material highlight why adapting a “playable horror movie” into an actual movie was probably doomed from the start.

The Until Dawn game was built around irreversible choices—if a character died, they stayed dead, and the story adapted. The film flips that premise entirely: here, the characters get infinite do-overs until they get it right. It uses some of the game’s broad iconography and adds new elements, but ultimately plays like a movie that just happens to be called Until Dawn. Peter Stormare reprises his role from the game, seemingly to reassure us that this isn’t completely phoned in as an adaptation.

There are some genuinely great sequences—Sandberg remains a reliable craftsman when it comes to practical effects and monster design—but the film lacks greater heft. The characters are thinly drawn, and the film never quite earns its more poignant gestures toward grief, suicide, or the acceptance of death. Those themes are buried under the genre machinery, flattened into the broad expectations of studio horror. It can be a fun ride, but not a moving one like it seems to want to be.

As for the crowd, morale is high. People are ready to go in again. It’s still early, and the regret hasn’t settled in yet. The folks that showed up just to see the first screening have cleared out, so now it’s just the true Until Dawn heads ready to ride out the night. We get a 15-minute break between each screening—I hit the bathroom, and settle back into my seat for the 9 PM showing.

10:00 PM: An hour into my second watch of Until Dawn, I’m struck by how weird it feels to watch a movie back-to-back, especially one I don’t feel any particular affection for. It somehow plays both faster and slower the second time around. Knowing what’s coming makes it easier to gauge how much runtime remains, which weirdly makes things feel like they’re moving quicker. But at the same time, the stretches I already found dull the first time now feel interminable. Time compresses and drags simultaneously.

10:20 PM: I’m realizing just how much these screeching, abrasive jump scares are going to wear on me as the night goes on. There’s a very sudden one that happens as one of the film’s humanoid demons loudly shrieks in the faces of our group of kids. It’s a good scare, just not one that I’m particularly prone to see play out in full six times in one night.

10:45 PM:  I’m surprised by how quickly the second viewing passed. I think that’s partly thanks to how the film is paced. There’s a lengthy setup while the characters figure out what’s going on, and then the movie rushes through its night-by-night structure. Without spoiling too much, there’s a time jump late in the film that fills us in on events we didn’t see, both for the characters and the audience. Placed about three-quarters of the way through, it makes the whole structure feel lopsided—like we’re stuck in a long preamble before the real premise kicks in, and then suddenly we’re at the finale.

I really wish the movie had focused more on the different types of horror it flirts with during that skipped-over stretch. We get a brief but effective glimpse of what are essentially horror micro-scenarios—each distinct, each unsettling—and it’s the best part of the film. Sandberg thrives here, jumping from subterranean dread to cosmic terror with flair. This could’ve been the movie’s sweet spot, but instead, it’s a detour.

Alongside the structure, I gave a bit more attention to the performances this time around. While none of the actors stand out as especially memorable horror protagonists, they’re given an earnest dynamic—relying on one another and acknowledging each other’s struggles—that most of them convey effectively. I only wish the script had paid slightly more attention to this, particularly in the case of Belmont Cameli’s character, Abe. His role as an outsider who’s quick to throw anyone expendable under the bus creates compelling tension and reinforces the bond among the core group of friends. Unfortunately, this arc never gets a proper resolution, ultimately abandoned to push the plot forward—a recurring issue with Until Dawn’s writing.

At this point, I’m feeling okay, and so is the crowd. It’s still early, and we haven’t hit the burnout wall yet. No one’s been disqualified or tapped out voluntarily, except for one person who accepted the admittedly diminutive consolation prize of a $25 Fandango gift card and left. That said, the reps issue a warning—they’ve noticed a few people getting dangerously close to nodding off. I take that as my cue to lock in.

11:45 PM: There’s a strange kind of time dilation that sets in during something like this. It reminds me of how years seem to pass faster as you get older—each one becomes a smaller fraction of your life. After six hours of Until Dawn, the movie’s 100-minute runtime starts to feel almost insubstantial, slipping away like the sand in the film’s prominent hourglass prop.

12:00 AM: I just witnessed the first boot of the night with my own eyes. Someone near the front got caught sleeping—one of the reps tapped his shoulder, snipped off his wristband, and he stood up, defeated, and shuffled out the door. Brutal.

12:15 AM: I’m starting to think that a marketing stunt built around the idea of “See how long you can stand watching our movie” may not be quite the slam dunk the studio imagined it to be.

12:30 AM: Something surprising I’ve come to realize is that every movie should be shown as a 12-hour all-night marathon with no phones allowed—this is the most respectful theater-going crowd I’ve been a part of in months.

12:45 AM: We’ve reached the point where the breaks between screenings feel like a spiritually necessary sweet release. I haven’t come close to getting booted for sleeping yet, but it’s officially past my bedtime, and I’m getting tired of watching this movie.

12:50 AM: It has just Until-Dawned on me that we’re only halfway through. Time to break out the big guns: popcorn, Buncha Crunch, and a Pibb Zero. We’re taking this all the way. The next screening starts at 1:00 AM.

1:25 AM: In case you’re wondering, it’s the fourth consecutive viewing of Until Dawn where your brain just starts to drift. My eyes glazed over, and I felt my mind detach—like a stress response. It was as if my brain decided it couldn’t reasonably focus on this movie anymore, and just took me somewhere else. I was watching it, but not really watching it.

2:00 AM: It’s officially getting hard to stay awake. I’ve started sitting up straighter and bouncing my legs to keep my blood moving. I can’t be thrown out for falling asleep. It would be humiliating. 

2:50 AM: Everyone in this theater can now say they’ve watched Until Dawn four times in a row—and we’re about to make it five. I’m seriously starting to wonder if I’ll make it, or if I should just tap out. But then I look around at the strangers beside me, their morale still surprisingly intact despite the mounting fatigue. I can’t let them down. I go buy a hot dog and return to my seat. The 3:00 AM screening is imminent. 

3:05 AM: I’m sitting straight up, practically on the edge of my chair, to stay focused. It’s too comfortable if I lean back. I expect this second-to-last screening to be the most difficult: I don’t have the benefit of knowing it’s the last one, but still about to pass out. For what it’s worth, AMC has pretty good hot dogs. 

3:10 AM: There’s a joke early in the movie where a character thinks the song Wonderwall is called Water Wall, and I still don’t get it. I’ve heard it five times now. Still nothing.

3:30 AM: My eyes are fluttering involuntarily. I’ll blink and realize five seconds have passed—or I’ll suddenly notice I have no idea what’s happening on screen, like I’ve missed an entire sequence. My brain is flirting with dream logic. I’ll start thinking nonsense thoughts—tiny, surreal slippages—before jolting back to reality. If security looked over here at the right time, they could probably make a case to boot me. 

4:00 AM: Is there a God? Will they show themselves to me? 

4:45 AM: This is it. The final break. No one else has gotten ejected, and only a handful have opted to quit the challenge. Everyone showed up to this experiment prepared and committed. There’s a renewed energy knowing it’s almost over. Everyone starts gearing up for one last round.

5:15 AM: I’m long past the point where I can form any additional, coherent thoughts about this movie—it’s just images and noise flying by in front of me. At this point, all my energy is being expended into simply staying awake.

5:45 AM: The crowd has started clapping and reacting to the big moments. We may now all know this movie better than we know even our favorite movies. Maybe better than we know ourselves.

6:45 AM: The immediate relief of this being over is euphoric. I’m suddenly ten times more awake than I’ve been in hours, running purely on the adrenaline of knowing I never have to watch Until Dawn again. But it’s not over yet. There’s still $5,000 on the line.

7:00 AM: I have to assume the studio anticipated so many people surviving the night. My theater still has 37 people left, and the rep says other cities had between 15 and 30. The original plan was simple: the last person standing gets the prize. But now there’s a contingency—trivia. Whoever wins the quiz wins the money.

7:30 AM: The rep starts calling out multiple-choice questions from the front of the theater. We jot down answers on scratch paper. The questions are basic—character names, plot points, production trivia. If you paid even half attention during one of the six viewings, you should be fine. But with nearly 40 people to grade, it drags on, stretching Until Dawn into the actual dawn of a new workday.

They finish grading, and our 37 is whittled down to 20, including me.

7:35 AM: Next up: short answer questions, meant to narrow us down to a single winner. These are still relatively easy—which is why it’s all the more crushing when I miss one of the easiest questions in the entire batch. Something about the weapon used by a prominent killer in the movie. I knew the answer. But I put the wrong thing. I’ve been awake for 24 hours. My brain is fried.

I’m eliminated. The final eight move on. I’m ashamed.

In silence, I pack my things and walk out of the theater. No ceremony. No prize. Just the echo of Water Wall in my ears and a half-hour drive home through morning traffic.

In retrospect, it’s kind of funny that this entire marketing stunt leaves its participants both completely exhausted by the movie it’s meant to promote and, in many cases, quietly bitter that they didn’t win $5,000 for their efforts. It’s an event engineered to create negative associations with the very thing it’s trying to celebrate. But I know it’s not the movie’s fault. Until Dawn didn’t ask me to watch it six times in a row. It didn’t make me stay awake for 24 hours. It didn’t rob me of five grand. I did all of that to myself. And maybe the real prize was right in front of me all along. 

There’s a notion in Until Dawn that if you don’t survive the night, you’ll become a part of it. 

I survived the night. And it is now a part of me. 

As for the film itself, it falls squarely in the middle of your typical multiplex horror fare—you could do better, but you could also do worse. While the context in which I saw it has left me with a lingering distaste, it’s also the only reason I’ll remember it at all. For everyone else, it’s just another drop in the bucket of routine studio horror. The film and the experience have a kind of cursed symbiosis: I didn’t particularly enjoy either, but they intensified one another in oddly meaningful ways. In the end, spending an entire weeknight trapped in a theater with the same middling movie on a loop was exactly as miserable as it sounds. I would probably do it again. 

Sony Pictures and Screen Gems will release Until Dawn only in theaters on April 25.