I can't remember the last time I finished a film feeling so broken and rage-filled that I wanted to scream at my TV, unplug it from the wall, and bury it. Bring Her Back isn’t just horror. It’s punishment. An unrelenting, claustrophobic descent into domestic trauma, possession, and the psychological rot that festers in the aftermath of unimaginable loss. If Talk to Me was a clever teen horror with emotional undercurrents, then this is its full-grown, emotionally mangled parent—drenched in grief, manic with delusion, and weaponised through the performance of a woman I thought I’d never fear: Sally Hawkins.
There are films that frighten, and then there are films that leave a scar. The latest vision from Danny and Michael Philippou, "Bring Her Back," is of the latter, rarer breed. It is a work of such profound psychological violence and artistic integrity that it transcends the genre to become something else entirely: an autopsy of a soul rotting from the inside out. This is not horror as entertainment; it is horror as an act of merciless excavation, and it is, without question, a masterpiece.
The film's most devastating act of cinematic sacrilege is the casting of Sally Hawkins as Laura. This is not merely clever counter-casting; it is a calculated desecration of a cultural icon of warmth. Hawkins, an actress who has built a career on embodying gentle empathy and quiet resilience, is weaponised here with breathtaking cruelty. The Philippou brothers take our collective affection for her and twist it into a garrote. Every soft-spoken word from Laura’s lips lands with the weight of a veiled threat, every kindly gesture feels like the prelude to an unspeakable violation. Her performance is a stunning, horrifying alchemy, transmuting the gold of maternal devotion into the lead of damnation.
The anger you feel toward Laura isn't the enjoyable, superficial anger you feel for a cartoon villain. Instead, it's a much more profound and disturbing fury that stems from a violation of one of our most basic human expectations: that a home, and especially a mother figure, should be a source of safety and protection. Laura takes that sacred concept of sanctuary and twists it into the very source of danger, which taps into our deepest fears and provokes a powerful, instinctive rage.
Into this corrupted home step two recently orphaned siblings, Andy and Piper. They are not simply lambs for the slaughter; they are the film’s fractured moral compass. Andy, the older brother, is the unwilling witness, the anchor to a reality that Laura must systematically annihilate. Her campaign against him is a masterwork of psychological demolition, a series of exquisitely cruel torments designed not just to harm, but to erase his credibility and sanity. Piper’s blindness, far from a simple character trait, becomes a potent and terrifying metaphor. She exists in a world of curated sensations, susceptible to the false warmth Laura projects, unable to see the monster lurking behind the gentle voice. She represents an innocence on the precipice of obliteration, and the dramatic irony of her situation is almost too much to bear.
Then there is Oliver, the silent boy who becomes the canvas for Laura's monstrous grief. The body horror on display here is relentless, but it is never gratuitous. It is the externalised scream of Laura’s internal agony. Oliver is not a character so much as a living effigy for her loss, his body a testament to the insatiable violence of her sorrow. As he is compelled to commit acts of grotesque self-destruction, we are not just witnessing a demonic possession; we are watching a spirit being hollowed out to make room for an all-consuming obsession. Each crack of his teeth, each wound upon his skin, is a physical manifestation of a love that has become a cancer. In the film’s most chilling paradox, the more physically monstrous Oliver becomes, the more achingly human he seems in comparison to the pristine, smiling evil of his captor.
The Philippou brothers direct with the unflinching precision of a surgeon performing an operation with a rusty scalpel. Their gaze is steady, clinical, and utterly unforgiving. There is no comfort to be found here, no release valve of humour or hope to ease the excruciating pressure. They force us to look, to bear witness to every harrowing detail, trusting that the power of their craft will justify the cruelty of the experience. It is a tremendous gamble that pays off in full. One can only stand in awe of the technical and artistic command on display—the razor-sharp screenplay, the flawless performances, the suffocating sound design—while simultaneously feeling violated by it. It is akin to admiring the terrible beauty of a tidal wave as it rushes to shore; the artistry is undeniable, but the intent is pure destruction.
The film delivers relentless psychological torment, constantly escalating the anguish for both characters and viewers. Just when you think it can't worsen, it does—repeatedly. The extremes to which the filmmakers and Sally Hawkins' character go are staggering. Had the film not concluded as it did, the cumulative impact would have been overwhelming. While the ending remains undeniably bleak, traumatizing, and terrifying, it offers a fractional reprieve, making the viewer's recovery marginally less arduous. It's remarkable to consider it could have been even darker, a path mercifully avoided given the profound disquiet it already evokes. The Philippou brothers unequivocally prioritized discomfort; audience feelings were irrelevant. This is a profoundly dark film, exploring the bleakest corners of the human condition and disturbing themes.
This is neither an easy nor an enjoyable watch. This comes from a reviewer who has unhesitatingly given it a perfect score. One doesn't leave "Bring Her Back" feeling entertained. Instead, the overwhelming sensation is sheer terror, a disoriented "What just happened?" that lingers long after the credits.
For horror enthusiasts, re-watching a film is often a given. However, "Bring Her Back" presents a formidable challenge. The visceral anger and primal rage it elicits make a second viewing daunting. It taps into something raw and unsettling rarely evoked by conventional cinema. Crucially, the film never justifies Laura's horrific actions. This unwavering refusal to rationalize her depravity is a strength; any attempt to do so would have been an infuriating disservice. While grief is acknowledged as a powerful, destabilizing force, the film steadfastly refuses to offer it as an excuse for the unspeakable. Laura's descent into savagery begins early, and beyond a certain point, there is no redemption, no palatable explanation for her monstrousness.
To watch "Bring Her Back" is to subject oneself to a crucible. It is a film that asks profound questions about the nature of love and loss, and dares to suggest that the former, when twisted by the latter, can become the most potent and terrifying force in the universe. It strips away every layer of comfort and convention, leaving the viewer raw, shaken, and irrevocably changed. This is not a film one simply "likes." It is a film one survives. And in that survival, one recognizes the arrival of a vicious, vital, and truly unforgettable work of art.
10/10
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