Conner O’Malley Rocks as Coreys in New Short

If your name is Corey, stop reading this and run. Or at least that is the message received from Coreys, the latest short film starring (and written by) Conner O’Malley. A work of psychological horror with O’Malley’s trademark post-ironic flares, Coreys is the kind of film that belongs in festivals but, thankfully, is available now to watch online at no cost other than your time. 

O’Malley devotees have had quite a lot to celebrate this year. He made a short yet unforgettable appearance in Jane Schoebrun’s I Saw the TV Glow. In May, he released (again for free on YouTube) his first stand-up special, Stand Up Solutions, a work that not only received glowing reviews, but may have revolutionized comedy forever—good luck questioning the wisdom of big tech after watching. 

Directed by Dan Streit, Coreys begins at a Target. Corey (O’Malley) wanders off from the rest of his family to watch a video on his phone of another Corey (also O’Malley) partying hard in Las Vegas. The second Corey mocks the first for being a loser. The first Corey begins to panic—someone has stolen his identity. He flies to Las Vegas to confront the fan who posits himself as Corey. Their lives commingle in shocking ways after Corey calls Corey a poser. 

Coreys features O’Malley at his best: screaming. There is something so cathartic in listening to his deep, maniacal shrieks. He howls at the world, himself, his phone, the other Corey. As he does in many of his performances, O’Malley conveys so well the dark, nonsensical energy of both the world he creates and our actual reality. 

The opening shot of the film features family man Corey staring at a mannequin wearing lingerie. He then grabs a pair of dumbbells and gets a few reps in while standing in the sporting goods aisle. Lounging on a display outdoor patio set, he holds his phone to his face and watches Jack Ryan in some kind of violent scenario. A kind of crazed midlife crisis unlike any other ensues, capturing the unique brand of frantic masculinity that O’Malley so masterfully depicts, and thus deconstructs, in many of his videos. 

In a world where “Lynchian” gets tossed around too often, Streit, O’Malley, and their collaborators are the real thing. Reality and fiction bend and blend not just in the diegesis of the film, but also in the actual production. O’Malley as family man Corey goes up to presumably real people on the Las Vegas strip in search of the other Corey—it is just one of the many ways O’Malley subverts the tired cliches of our current media environment. And it’s funny as hell. The film is only fifteen minutes long, so just watch it already.