Montage, the cinematic technique of assembling disparate shots into a cohesive narrative, is central to The Last Broadcast’s ability to craft a convincing pseudo-reality. The film mimics the structure of a documentary, blending interview segments, archival footage, reenactments, and raw video from the ill-fated expedition. This patchwork approach creates a sense of authenticity, as the viewer is presented with what appears to be a collection of primary sources rather than a scripted fiction. The opening sequence, for instance, introduces David Leigh (David Beard), a filmmaker ostensibly piecing together the events surrounding the murders. His narration, paired with grainy VHS footage and talking-head interviews, establishes a rhythm of revelation and reflection that mirrors real investigative journalism.

The power of montage in The Last Broadcast lies in its ability to manipulate temporal and spatial coherence. Scenes shift abruptly between the polished voiceover of Leigh, the amateurish cable access show Fact or Fiction, and the chaotic handheld footage from the Pine Barrens. These transitions are not seamless; they are deliberately jarring, reflecting the fragmented nature of evidence in a real investigation. By juxtaposing these elements, Avalos and Weiler simulate the process of sifting through raw data to construct a narrative—a process that feels organic and unscripted. The montage thus becomes a meta-commentary on storytelling itself, suggesting that reality is not an inherent truth but a product of editorial choice. A key example is the sequence where Leigh analyzes the recovered footage frame by frame, zooming into pixelated images to uncover clues. This meticulous breakdown invites the audience to participate in the construction of meaning, reinforcing the illusion of a shared discovery. Yet, as the film later reveals, this very process is a deception orchestrated by Leigh himself. The montage, then, is both a tool of immersion and a sleight of hand, demonstrating how editing can shape perception under the guise of objectivity.

Unlike many horror films that lean on supernatural entities to evoke fear, The Last Broadcast eschews the mythic Jersey Devil as an active force, grounding its terror in human agency. The Jersey Devil, a creature rooted in New Jersey folklore, serves as a narrative catalyst—an obsession that drives Steven Avkast (Stefan Avalos) and his crew into the wilderness—but it never materializes as a tangible threat. This restraint is a deliberate choice, aligning with the film’s pseudo-documentary ethos. By keeping the supernatural at bay, Avalos and Weiler shift the focus to the psychological and social dimensions of the story, amplifying the horror through ambiguity and realism.

The film’s climax reveals that the murders were committed not by a monstrous entity but by Leigh, the documentarian himself, who staged the events to craft a sensational narrative. This twist subverts audience expectations conditioned by traditional horror tropes. The Pine Barrens, shrouded in fog and shadow, become a backdrop not for spectral terror but for human betrayal and obsession. The shaky, low-fi footage of the crew’s final moments—marked by screams and disorientation—derives its dread from its plausibility, evoking the visceral fear of real-world violence rather than fantastical intervention.

This avoidance of the supernatural also reinforces the film’s thematic concerns. By rejecting the Jersey Devil as an explanation, The Last Broadcast suggests that the true monsters are human constructs—whether they be the killers among us or the stories we tell to make sense of chaos. The montage reinforces this realism, presenting the events as a puzzle solvable through evidence rather than mysticism. The absence of ghostly apparitions or demonic forces keeps the viewer tethered to a material world, where the horror stems from the banality of motive and the fragility of trust. Perhaps the most striking achievement of The Last Broadcast is its critique of media as a tool for manipulation, a theme woven into its narrative and formal structure. The film operates on multiple layers of media representation: the cable access show Fact or Fiction, hosted by Avkast and Locus Wheeler (Lance Weiler), represents grassroots media; Leigh’s documentary signifies a more polished, authoritative voice; and the raw expedition footage serves as an unfiltered artifact. Together, these layers expose how media shapes perception, often distorting truth for narrative gain.

The Fact or Fiction segments, with their low-budget aesthetic and earnest enthusiasm, parody the sensationalism of fringe television. Avkast’s plan to broadcast live from the Pine Barrens, soliciting viewer input via IRC chatrooms, reflects an early digital-age optimism about participatory media. Yet this idealism curdles into tragedy, as the quest for attention leads to the crew’s demise. Leigh’s documentary, by contrast, adopts a veneer of objectivity, using voiceovers and expert testimony to lend credibility to his investigation. The revelation that Leigh is the murderer shatters this façade, exposing his work as a self-serving fabrication. The montage, once a tool of discovery, becomes evidence of his manipulation, as he edits the footage to obscure his guilt.

This critique extends to the audience, implicated in the media ecosystem. The film’s found-footage style invites viewers to trust its authenticity, only to reveal that trust as misplaced. The final sequence, where Leigh’s manipulation unravels, mirrors the viewer’s own journey from credulity to skepticism. By embedding this twist within a media-saturated narrative, The Last Broadcast anticipates the post-truth anxieties of the internet era, where distinguishing fact from fiction becomes increasingly fraught.