Cypher's trickery begins with its title.

As the film explains to us, "cypher" has multiple meanings, two of which are relevant to director Chris Moukarbel's pseudo-documentary project. The first has its roots in battle rap culture, referring to a gathering of rappers freestyling in a circle. This is the definition that corresponds most directly to Cypher's subject matter — at least, at first. The film, which won the award for best U.S. narrative feature at the 2023 Tribeca Film Festival, documents the career of rapper Tierra Whack, from her rise to prominence in the Philadelphia rap battle scene to her world tour.

However, Cypher presents a sinister twist on your standard music documentary that steers the film more into The Blair Witch Project territory. Moukarbel and his crew learn of a strange conspiracy that may target Tierra, at which point the second definition of cypher comes into play. In addition to its connection to the rap world, "cypher" can also mean a secret, encoded way of writing. Cypher itself becomes a kind of puzzle, posing riddles about fame, the entertainment industry, and who's really in control of the film's narrative.

Cypher takes advantage of classic documentary tropes.

Cypher works so well in part because of how it lulls you into a false sense of security with its documentary filmmaking. The film opens with classic doc-style talking heads from Tierra and members of her team such as her manager, producer, and hair and makeup artists. Also lending realism to the project is the film's shakier handheld camerawork, as well as small moments where Moukarbel and film producer Natalia Leigh Brown ask questions off-camera.

Wielding these formal elements, Cypher is able to present itself as a straightforward music documentary because its subject is a bonafide star in her own right. Tierra is not a rap persona invented for a mockumentary, she is a Grammy nominee with stamps of approval from the iconic likes of Beyoncé and Rihanna. Cypher leans into Tierra's actual story, featuring footage from her freestyles on shows like "We Run the Streets" and music videos from her debut album Whack World. Clips from her TikToks and live shows help further cement Cypher as a (seemingly) legitimate music documentary, while helping viewers get to know Tierra's inventive musical stylings.

Much of Cypher's sourced footage comes from real events and videos you can find online, so by the time strange things start happening to Tierra — like a particularly intense fan encounter — you've fully bought into the reality of the film. From that altercation onward, Cypher kicks up the paranoia to 11, pushing you to wonder who's really in charge of the documentary. Is it the filmmakers, or some other nefarious force?

Cypher plays with conspiracy theories, with thrilling results.

After meeting Tierra fan Tina Johnson Banner (who cryptically tells the rapper, "Don't let them use you,"), Moukarbel and Brown begin receiving ominous e-mails and links to video essays about a secret society known as the Oculists. Rumor has it that these Oculists regularly select rising stars for ascension, and Johnson Banner is convinced that Tierra is their next target for some form of ritual.

The premise is reminiscent of conspiracy theories surrounding the Illuminati claiming members of the music industry sell their soul for fame. Discussions between Tierra's team and the documentarians touch on this topic, asking whether it's possible to attain a massive level of stardom without giving up part of yourself. It's an especially interesting (and meta) question given that a documentary is supposed to capture the authenticity of its subject, yet Cypher blends truth with fiction to become a "pseudo-documentary."

Cypher continues to build suspense with Johnson Banner's mysterious disappearance and as strange gifts start showing up for Tierra and her team members. But the most chilling aspect of Cypher's conspiracy theory rabbit hole is the appearance of an Instagram account full of videos of Tierra in moments when she thinks she's alone and unobserved. From backstage clips of the rapper getting ready to CCTV footage of Tierra hanging out in her hotel room, it's clear that someone other than the documentary team is keeping close tabs on her every move. The found footage fits right in with Cypher's documentary style, making for a cohesive twist as well as an effective commentary on how constant surveillance often accompanies fame.

With stalker alarm bells ringing, Cypher begins to interrogate itself. Are Moukarbel and Brown telling Tierra's story their own way? Or has their documentary's focus been manipulated by shadowy outside forces? Who's really steering Cypher? It's a question Moukarbel and Brown pose themselves as the film moves farther into darkness. Yet as Brown points out, "That's the beautiful thing about documenting something: You have to let the story unfold."

Letting Tierra's plight unfold is exactly what Moukarbel and Brown do. The resulting tension between the real and unreal makes for an absolutely unnerving and fascinating viewing experience. That fascination dims a bit as Cypher heads into a predictable climax that unfortunately doesn't match the film's prior levels of suspense and uncanniness. However, the film's very last scene (and shot) resurrects all those questions of narrative power and authentic stardom. It's enough to prompt an immediate rewatch of this fiendish puzzle of a film, which proves a rewarding marriage of music documentary and found footage thriller.

Cypher was reviewed out of its world premiere at the Tribeca Film Festival.