In contemporary independent cinema, few filmmakers are as focused on emotional depth and psychological nuance as Sarah T. Schwab. With a storytelling approach that blends grounded human experiences with unsettling atmospheres, her work explores the fragile boundaries between reality and perception.
Her latest film, Crybaby Bridge, draws from haunting folklore and reframes it through a deeply personal, character-driven lens. Rather than relying on conventional horror tropes, Schwab leans into themes of isolation, generational trauma, and the illusion of control—creating a narrative that lingers long after the screen fades to black.
In this conversation, she reflects on her journey into filmmaking, the inspiration behind Crybaby Bridge, and her distinctive process of merging psychological tension with emotional storytelling, while also offering a glimpse into what lies ahead for her production company, Cardinal Flix.
HELLO SARAH T. SCHWAB, WELCOME TO WORLDAUTHORS.ORG! TO START, COULD YOU INTRODUCE YOURSELF AND TELL US ABOUT YOUR JOURNEY AS A FILMMAKER AND WHAT LED YOU TO CO-FOUND CARDINAL FLIX?
I always wanted to be a storyteller. I explored different forms – prose, journalism, theater – but everything shifted in 2016 when I got my first break working as a set buyer/set dresser on the short film “A Tree. A Rock. A Cloud,” directed by Karen Allen (“Raiders of the Lost Ark”). I had the privilege of working under the tutelage of Oscar-nominated production designer Kristi Zea (“Silence of the Lambs”). Watching these two extraordinary women, along with an incredibly talented team, bring a beautiful story to life was a turning point for me. After the shoot, I knew this was exactly what I wanted to do. I went on to write my first short film “‘A’ My Name Is,” raised the funds, co-produced it with my production partner Brian Long, and directed it. It was a leap of faith into the deep end of the pool, but it laid the groundwork for everything that followed, including co-founding Cardinal Flix where Brian and I continue to develop and produce bold, character-driven stories.
WHAT WAS THE ORIGINAL INSPIRATION BEHIND CRYBABY BRIDGE, AND HOW DID YOU DECIDE TO USE THE FOLKLORE OF “CRYBABY BRIDGES” AS THE FOUNDATION FOR THIS STORY?
The idea for “Crybaby Bridge” started about five years ago in a pretty casual way. My friend and co-writer Emily Fouraker and I were hanging out when she said, “You know what would make a cool movie…?” She grew up in rural Pennsylvania with a local Crybaby Bridge legend near her childhood home, and that stuck with me immediately. What fascinated us was that Crybaby Bridge isn’t just one story, but rather a whole category of folklore. At the heart of it, though, they all share a haunting throughline: a young, often unwed pregnant woman, rejected by society, driven to a tragic end along with her child. That emotional and social undercurrent – the shame, isolation, and judgment – felt incredibly rich to explore. We knew right away we didn’t just want to retell the legend. We wanted to dig into the human story behind it and reframe it in a way that felt both modern and unsettling.
THE FILM IS DESCRIBED AS A MIX OF INTIMATE FAMILY DRAMA AND PSYCHOLOGICAL SUSPENSE. HOW DID YOU BALANCE THESE GROUNDED EMOTIONAL ELEMENTS WITH THE FILM’S SUPERNATURAL ELEMENTS?
Some of my favorite films – “The Innocents” (1961), “The Shining” (1980), and “Black Swan” (2010) – all play with the same question: is the monster external, or is it coming from within? That tension between psychological reality and outside forces is what intrigues me. With this film, I didn’t want to separate the intimate family drama from the supernatural elements, I wanted them to feed each other. Samantha, gracefully played by two-time Emmy-nominated actress Sydney Mikayla, is in a fragile place: she’s adopted, she’s pregnant, she’s being bullied, and she’s uprooting her life at sixteen. That’s a lot for anyone to process, let alone a teenager. So the supernatural isn’t an “add on,” it’s a reflection of her inner state. The Crybaby Bridge legend becomes a way to externalize what she can’t articulate: fear, grief, and a loss of control. For me, the balance comes from blurring the line between what’s real and what’s psychological so that the audience is constantly questioning whether they’re witnessing something supernatural, or something disturbingly human breaking through.
ISOLATION AND TRAUMA ARE CENTRAL THEMES FOR THE CHARACTER SAMANTHA. WHAT WAS YOUR PROCESS FOR DEVELOPING HER CHARACTER AND ENSURING HER EXPERIENCE FELT AUTHENTIC?
At fifteen, I became curious about witchcraft after watching “The Craft” (1996). I was drawn to these outcast girls who went from being mocked by their peers to being feared. That was power I didn’t feel like I had in high school. I started going to the library, reading everything I could find on the subject (nothing extreme like animal sacrifices or the sort, just innocent candle magic and love spell books). Word gets around in a small town, and a friend’s mother went through my backpack during a sleepover and found one of those books. I was quickly uninvited from that friendship, and within a few weeks I was banished from seeing all my close friends. That experience of sudden abandonment and isolation stayed with me. It’s not the same as what Samantha goes through, but I understand that feeling of being pushed away, misunderstood, and feeling alone as an only child. When I was developing that character, authenticity came from staying close to my emotional truth, and then making it her own.
KEVIN BREZNAHAN DELIVERS A VERY NUANCED PERFORMANCE IN THE FILM. WHAT WAS IT LIKE COLLABORATING WITH HIM TO BRING HIS CHARACTER TO LIFE?
“Nuance” is the perfect word for Kevin Breznahan’s work. In “Crybaby Bridge,” as Steve, he brings a quiet complexity. On the page Steve could easily be read as a “warning voice” character, almost like the mythological prophetess Cassandra – someone who speaks about looming gloom and doom only for their words to fall on deaf ears. This can easily slip into exposition. Snore. Nothing about Kevin’s performance feels like an easy delivery just to inform the audience. His performance doesn’t tell you what to feel. It lets the unease build on its own. He is a naturally gifted actor, and a wonderful collaborator. His performance riveted up the tension, which is exactly what I hoped Steve’s character would do.
AS A WRITER AND DIRECTOR, HOW DO YOU APPROACH BUILDING TENSION AND ATMOSPHERE TO KEEP AN AUDIENCE ENGAGED IN A PSYCHOLOGICAL THRILLER?
What’s so great about being both the writer and director is that I’m already seeing the film in my head while I’m writing it. I’m thinking about the way a scene will be shot, the pacing and atmosphere, the importance of how characters speak to one another, or when they don’t, and ultimately how the story will live after edit. This allows me to scribble outside the lines when I’m writing the structure because I already understand where the tension will grow and then be released. When it comes to building suspense, I obsessively study filmmakers whose voice I am pulled to like Ari Aster (“Midsommar”), Emerald Fennell (“Saltburn”), and Yorgos Lanthimos (“Bugonia”).
What they all do so well is establish a world that feels grounded and familiar. Then they start placing small, almost imperceptible breadcrumbs that don’t immediately signal danger, but slowly erode your sense of safety. By the time you realize you’re off balance, it’s too late! The story has thrown you off a cliff. (What’s the phrase? “Death by a thousand cuts?”) That slow conditioning of the audience is what I find extremely powerful in psychological storytelling. It’s not about a single deadly blow, but an accumulation of micro slices. When done right, the audience doesn’t just watch the descent, they feel like they’ve walked into it willingly.
WHAT DO YOU HOPE AUDIENCES TAKE AWAY FROM THE FILM, ESPECIALLY REGARDING THE THEMES OF CONTROL AND GENERATIONAL TRAUMA?
Combining something supernatural like the Crybaby Bridge legend with something as grounded as trauma was one of the biggest challenges of the film, especially on an indie budget where every choice carries a lot of weight. In my mind, the supernatural was never separate from Samantha’s emotional reality. It was always meant to reflect it. I tried to build layers where the audience would question what’s happening to her versus what’s happening within her. Samantha is already in a state of fractured control because of her circumstances. What I hope audiences take away is how brittle our sense of control really is, especially when people are young and still forming who they are. Any kind of unspoken trauma can show up as a distortion, disorientation, or a feeling that your own reality can’t be fully trusted. I want the film to linger in uncertainty: was Samantha being haunted, was this her unraveling, or were those two things always the same?
WITH CRYBABY BRIDGE NOW AVAILABLE ON VOD AND PHYSICAL MEDIA, WHAT IS NEXT FOR YOU AND CARDINAL FLIX?
We are slated to shoot my next psychological thriller, “Recluse,” this fall in Scranton, PA. The story follows an introverted high school orchestra teacher with severe arachnophobia who is struggling to function in her daily life. She’s bullied by both students and colleagues, and over time, begins exposure therapy in an attempt to reclaim control of her life. But what starts out as treatment slowly shifts – her fear of spiders begins to transform into something closer to reverence that ultimately unlocks a dormant darkness within her. The story is very much about inner transformation and asks the question, “What happens when fear isn’t eliminated, but redirected?”
On a personal level, I’ve always been interested in arachnophobia after I developed it after (ironically) watching “Arachnophobia” (1990) as a kid. In my early twenties, my best friend asked me to travel with her to Southeast Asia. I wanted to go, but I also knew there’d be spiders there the size of my hand. In order to prepare for the trip, I rewatched “Arachnophobia” repeatedly as a way of self-directed exposure therapy. That’s where the idea stemmed from. Writing the film was also a kind of exposure because I had to look up a lot of creepy photos and facts. I’m not completely fear-free, but it’s somewhat manageable. I made a promise to myself that if I ever made “Recluse,” I would hold a full-grown tarantula on set. No matter what, I’m sticking to it because the idea of confronting fear head-on is at the core of the film. And it’s at the core of being a filmmaker.