This film is a dark jewel, a shimmering exploration of loneliness, desire, and the seductive pull of the digital void. It's a story of psychological unease that unfolds not in darkened basements or fog-shrouded graveyards, but in the sterile glow of a laptop screen, the echo of a disembodied voice on a video call, the relentless ping of a dating app.
Brendan Bradley gives a performance of remarkable sensitivity as Chris, a man teetering on the precipice of a breakdown. This is not the tired trope of the pathetic, emasculated male; this is a raw, unflinching portrait of a father, a husband, a person grappling with the crushing weight of modern life. The scene where he sits catatonic, tears silently streaming down his face as Ron Perlman's Dr. Zephyr delivers a chilling warning, is both heartbreaking and terrifying. Some might call Bradley's acting in these moments "droll" or "listless," or even a "phoned-in" performance, but they clearly weren't paying attention. The quiet intensity he gives, his nuanced portrayal, embodies what other actors and reviewers fail to grasp.
Rachel Cook's Adra is incandescent, enigmatic, everything a succubus should be. Cook gives us a creature of mesmerizing allure and primal magic, a haunting blend of innocence and danger, hope and despair, vulnerability and power. Her transformation in the movie's brutal, practical-effects-driven finale, from dream-lover to demonic power, is a feast for the eyes and captivates the viewer completely.
Director R. J. Daniel Hanna creates an atmosphere of creeping unease, using technology itself as a tool of terror. The intrusive buzzing of notifications, the pixelated glow of screens, the hushed intimacy of video chats: all become instruments in a symphony of dread and disturbance. The electronic score pulses, mirroring Chris's unraveling mental state.
What some have criticized as excessive dialogue is, in fact, another layer in the film's complex tapestry. Ron Perlman as the disgraced scientist adds another dimension to the film's exploration of loneliness and longing. His limited online interactions and detached performance make him a poignant, modern trope. The disjointed conversations emphasize social anxieties. Through masterful editing and darkly comedic moments, like Eddie receiving maternal guidance mid-flirtation (unaware his mother is on camera), the film skewers the absurdities of our digital world.
This is a film that will stay with you, a visceral experience not for the faint of heart. Is it excessive? Perhaps. But that is precisely where its power lies. Do we, seduced by the promise of connection and trapped by our screens, truly know the nature of the darkness lurking just beyond the screen, in ourselves, or those digital whispers promising a fulfillment that isn't remotely there?
