In Talk to Me, Danny and Michael Philippou proved their potential. In Bring Her Back, they cement signatures littered with black clouds, broken hearts, and unrelenting bleakness. Not quite a shock considering Talk to Me’s emotional shackles, but Bring Her Back doubles down on festering misery. The problem is, Talk to Me abides by structured rules, whereas Bring Her Back languishes in ambiguity. The Philippous show instead of tell, which strips away narrative cohesiveness. Creepy and squirm-in-your-seat in spades, but also scattered and lost in translation between sadness and screams.
Danny and co-writer Bill Hinzman tear families to shreds and stitch the survivors together in Bring Her Back. Sight-impaired Piper (Sora Wong) and her older, protective brother Andy (Billy Barratt) enter the foster system after their father’s untimely demise. New mother Laura (Sally Hawkins), a child-care worker and counselor, seems splendid—but something’s off about Oliver (Jonah Wren Phillips), an orphaned boy living under her roof. As Piper and Andy acclimate to Laura’s secluded in-the-woods lifestyle, Oliver’s behaviors become more alarming—standing in the middle of a drained pool, clutching innocent animals to Laura’s discomfort, unable to speak.
On the strength of vibes, Bring Her Back bludgeons its audience with upsetting, sorrowful terrors. The sight of Piper and Andy’s dad lying naked on the bathroom floor, spitting up death juices, or glimpses of Oliver—this shuddersome, shaved-head mute—gazing into the distance like there’s an invisible entity. Cinematographer Aaron McLisky flexes his talents in a visually forward movie, knowing when to pull close or pan wide for mass effect. It’s more than eerie children, though. The Philippou brothers use kitchen knives like sick bastards, illustrate death’s hideous decay, and incorporate cult-like video clips that insinuate a satanic pact. There’s plenty to fear, but laxer execution blurs intentions.
It’s the composition of it all that wanes. Focus trades from Andy to Piper to Laura, fighting for center stage. We know something evil is afoot, but the Philippous don’t care to investigate further than some grainy intercut footage à la Sinister. We’re not supposed to know—sadness is the monster—but that’s not as compelling when introduced concepts feel like frayed ends. There’s a darkness that engulfs decent people trying to overcome insurmountable hardships, but nightmares are never all-encompassing. As Laura’s intentions manifest into a repugnantly vile reanimation scheme to bring “her” back—Catherine—there’s a spinout quality to what’s instructed by little details like chalk borders and Oliver’s locked bedroom door. Themes are diabolically grim, but the Philippous choose interesting elements to leave unsaid while sinking into the melancholy mayhem that overtakes the screen.
Performances are a bright spot in an otherwise shadowy film. Sally Hawkins has this hermity charm about her, but an equal investment in distrusting traits, keying into the depths a mother will plunge to cure the unthinkable. Sora Wong is adorably authentic as a partially sighted sister, confident in her independence, yet organic as she explores her surroundings (by touch), and we grimace at what she cannot see. Then there’s Billy Barratt, who soft-yet-hurtfully portrays the burden of being the overprotective brother who eats his feelings so lil’ sis doesn’t have to be afraid. It’s hard to say there’s a standout because all three crush their designated spotlights, which is the trademark of a bonded ensemble. Not to forget Jonah Wren Phillips as the constant question mark of a definitly-not-right child who sells some goddamn magnificent body horror clips.
There’s plenty in Bring Her Back to marvel at. The Philippous have created something gutty and monstrous, thorny and horrible, that revels in the suck of life’s unpredictable trials. Horror-forward visuals accomplish their goal, escalating in stomachability and violence, yet storytelling lacks a togetherness that feels too bounce-about and ultimately unrefined. It’s an experiment in sitting with cryptic awfulness, and how little is required to know for us to feel the infliction of sneaking maleficence. Hardly a failure, but a steadier guiding hand could have gone a long way.
Movie Score: 3/5