Bring Her Back [Review]
A lot has been made about the "horror movie as metaphor for grief" trope that’s so popular right now. Films like Hereditary, Nope, The Babadook, Smile, and to some degree Longlegs come to mind. But let’s be real—this is an overreaction. Every year, hundreds of horror movies come out, and the vast majority have nothing to do with grief. It just feels like a way for people to dismiss the actual subject matter of the movies they’re watching. (This happens a lot on the internet.) Bring Her Back, though? It’s a tristesse on grief—an unflinching look at how, if we stop fighting, grief will drown us.
Grief is a cage. The bars are wide enough to walk through, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. When I lost my Nana, it felt like I was suddenly submerged in dark water—barely able to keep my head above the surface, choking on wave after wave of saltwater. I was alive, but I wasn’t. Every day felt like I was asleep, like I was moving through a haze. Days, weeks, months would go by, and I felt no difference. It’s been a year, and I’m just now able to recognize the world around me.
The film comes from the Philippou Brothers, Danny and Michael, who brought us the 2022 horror banger Talk to Me—a movie with the rare distinction of actually giving me nightmares. (And as someone who uses horror movies as bedtime stories, that’s saying something.) Bring Her Back tells the story of siblings Andy (Billy Barratt) and Piper (first-time actor Sora Wong), who, after their father’s death, are placed with a foster mother (Sally Hawkins) until Andy can legally gain custody. Andy is fiercely protective of his younger, visually impaired sister, especially since their new foster mom, Laura, makes it very clear she’s intensely interested in Piper. Things get even weirder when they meet Oliver (Jonah Wren Phillips), a selectively mute boy in the house who stares blankly, unresponsive to everything around him. As the story unfolds, Andy realizes something’s deeply wrong with Laura—but he’s powerless against her weaponized therapy-speak and her position as a "trusted adult."
If you loved the visceral horror of Talk to Me, you’ll feel Bring Her Back. The characters are deeply human—their strengths and weaknesses laid bare in a way that makes them sympathetic, even as the story brutalizes them. No one is spared. Laura, grieving the loss of her own visually impaired daughter, has let her sorrow twist her into something monstrous: a desperate, grieving animal. Sally Hawkins’ performance is heartbreaking in the most frustrating way—you understand her pain while being utterly repulsed by how she’s chosen to cope. Her being carries the weight of neglected bereavement; her hair piled high, her smile stretched into something more like a flesh-made mask.
Billy Barratt, as Andy, wears his grief in the shadows under his eyes, his boyish face hardened by loss. Like so many men, he channels his pain into working out—but he’s also branded as "troubled" for an incident that happened when he was eight. He carries that label like an albatross around his neck. Meanwhile, Sora Wong is a standout as Piper, a girl who depends on her brother to describe the world—only to realize, too late, that his lies were meant to protect her. Wong’s performance is remarkable, especially for a debut in such an emotionally grueling film (one I’d firmly place in the "Feel Bad Movie" category). The places she had to go—both emotionally and physically—speak to a talent I need to see more of.
I was a troubled kid. Not a secret. I was "gifted" (their word, not mine) but also angry, prone to outbursts. I challenged authority, rebelled in ways that made people fear for me and of me. I cycled through hospitals, group homes, programs—places where not every adult had my best interests at heart. They knew how to appear warm, how to earn trust from other adults before manipulating and abusing the kids in their care. When you’re labeled "at-risk" or "mentally ill," advocating for yourself is nearly impossible. You’re pathologized—a diagnosis on paper, not a person. And while good people do work in these systems, it’s hard to tell them from the bad ones. That’s where the real terror sets in: If the adults can’t be trusted, who do you turn to?
Watching this movie, I kept thinking about the thousands of kids who lose their only stable support system and get thrown into a child welfare system full of sharks and parasites. They’re left to navigate paperwork, financial responsibility, and emotional hell—alone. There have been countless stories of the way that the foster care system has failed children. The system, at least in America is woefully overwhelmed and the amount of people who are in it just for the money is unknown. The stories of sexual, physical, and emotional abuse is enough to fill several books, but what about the children that go into the system and never come out? According to the Child Crime Prevention & Safety Center, about 840,000 children are reported missing each year. The Office of Juvenile Justice and Delinquency Prevention estimates another 500,000 go unreported. Where are they? Who’s caring for them? What’s being done to them? Are they swimming—or sinking?
Bring Her Back is an incredible sophomore effort from the Philippou Brothers, who’ve gone from YouTube comedy to some of the most emotionally raw filmmakers in horror. When the credits rolled, the audience sat in total silence—just letting the horror and heartbreak wash over them. That’s the mark of great filmmaking. It’s not just about disgust or shock; it’s about making you feel something real. I can’t wait to see what these sickos come up with next. (Though maybe they could ease up on psychologically torturing teens for, like, one movie.)
5/5 Chickens
Playing in theaters now.
