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When Farrah Thorne is abruptly uprooted from Oakland and
relocated to the rural town of St. Helena to assume
ownership of an inherited vineyard, she finds herself
trapped in a psychological horror—where the town’s tight
grip on power and property masks something far more
insidious.
The film explores the issues of classism that can exist in spaces of privilege like Napa. It's a film about survival in a world that can be unaccepting of you, examining themes of greed, identity, and manipulation. The film explores how people from different backgrounds exist in and perceive the same space. We’re following two families as they navigate their disparate worlds, while they’re dealing with the social and economic pressures that come with land ownership.
At its core, it taps into the heart of the Black Horror Renaissance, exploring social disparity against the deceptive background of picturesque Napa Valley.
Growing up in the small agricultural town of East Salinas, California, I’ve always felt a deep, unspoken connection to this story. I was surrounded by vineyards, yet they felt distant—close enough to see, but never truly accessible. That tension between proximity and exclusion is something I’ve carried with me, and it’s part of what drew me to Greetings from St. Helena. I knew this was a project I could grow with—a chance to explore a world I was always adjacent to, but never fully inside.
The movie theater was my sanctuary. Like many horror fans, I was captivated by ghosts, monsters, and flesh-eating zombies. But it was the films with human antagonists that haunted me long after the credits rolled—stories where the horror came not from the supernatural, but from the quiet, everyday cruelty of people. Whether it was the chainsaw-wielding terror of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, the chilling family dynamics of Get Out, or the eerie conformity in Midsommar, it was always the human capacity for manipulation and violence that shook me to my core.
It took me years to understand why. Then I read James Baldwin’s reflections on The Exorcist, where he wrote:
“I can say only that Satan was never like that when he crossed my path. His concerns were more various, and his methods more subtle.”
That quote stuck with me. Baldwin’s words helped me realize that what truly unsettles me isn’t overt horror—it’s the subtleties of human behavior. Mannerisms, microaggressions, the soft-spoken ways people wield power or exclusion. These are the behaviors that, for much of my life, have made me feel like an outsider even within my own community.
Greetings from St. Helena is rooted in those nuances. It’s a psychological horror film and a commentary on class and privilege, set against the polished backdrop of Northern California wine country. At its core, it’s about perception—how two people can live in the same place and experience completely different realities, shaped by history, access, and power. This film explores how the most chilling horror often hides behind a smile, a handshake, or a warm glass of wine—and how that quiet terror can be just as destructive as anything supernatural.
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