Following the death of their father, a brother and sister are introduced to their new sibling by their foster mother, only to learn that she has a terrifying secret.
RackaRacka’s first horror outing, “Talk To Me”, was a very spirted proof-of-concept and made the best use out of the effective hyperactivity and giddy live-wire energy that made the brothers so famous on YouTube. Taking a bog-standard nuts-and-bolts narrative and presenting its possession formula in a mature, deft manner that takes advantage of a tight and tidy runtime without truly overstaying its welcome, it quickly cemented them as quick learners and naturals at the elevated arts of horror.
And their second feature, “Bring Her Back” continues to illustrate why.
Despite being noticeably less anarchic and jolting with the same raw, deranged energy as its predecessor, Michael and Danny Philippou are still entrancing with a confident direction that only just feels like a maturation. A steadier hand, tauter leash on controlled chaos, and elevated patience speaks to their growing artistic temperament to make the audience beg for the next squeeze while the rambunctious spirit of their debut lingers beneath the surface.
Narrow, secluded and congested but with a dour atmosphere that permeates the setting, Vanessa Cerne’s background as a set decorator helps mold a solid production design, one that overwhelms and pelts you with the kind of suffocating assault on the senses that conspires to keep you trapped as well as the characters. Encroached by weaponized domesticity with an earthy vibe, a collage of psychic discomfort is framed with a elemental messiness that isn’t quite impeccable but utilizes as many nooks and crannies as possible to double down on the environmental aura. Aaron McLisky returns as the cinematographer from Talk To Me and he doubles down on the colorfully cluttered Impressionism that coats the production design while Geoff Lamb’s editing is sharp as a scalpel, with every every cut weighted via near-surgical precision.
Without even needing to tap into the story, those factors alone supercharge the tone’s already oppressively bleak emotional spectrum. A downer of the highest order, darkness induced audience apathy seeps out of every pore, always teetering on the brink of existential nihilism and yet this disturbing perverse allure of witnessing how low these characters can sink keeps you hooked like a fish on a hook. Its brisk pacing knows to jump straight into it without preamble, which helps combat any potential ennui and straightens out the tight runtime, visual effects and prosthetic work are disturbingly stomach-churning and gnarly, a crackling field of tension—both resolved and unresolved— coheres as well as compels and many of the scares double down on this claustrophobic intimacy with a psychological grip.
The few basic jump scares that appear are passable on their own, Cornel Wilczek’s composition stands as the sole musical highlight—his infernal score shifting in and out of focus elevates what would otherwise be a basic ambient soundscape, the sound design’s textured landscape is just as squelchy and disgusting, and it goes without saying: the MPAA's R-rating feels like a quaint understatement—a warning label slapped onto a psychological chainsaw.
Our ensemble cast doesn’t have a single weak link between them; every actor and actress regardless of screen time, fully sells the wounded and wary knowledge that comes with surviving a protracted, unspoken conflict with decent dialogue and checkered characters so wrecked with trauma it becomes easier to understand and rationalize their more flawed decisions thanks to the emotional weight they provide. Doesn’t mean they’re all properly developed though.
I’m both relieved and impressed with how well the young cast managed to measure up to Sally Hawkins indomitable, live-wire performance but between debutant Sora Wong’s natural snarkiness and resilience, Billy Barretts desperate grasping-at-straws portrayal of a teen spiraling into protective mode on the cusp of adulthood and Jonah Wren Phillips physically demanding transformation that would make a circus performer wince, I found Jonah the most impressive of the three.
Just like their debut, the narrative threadline here mines the well-worn territory of bereavement and trauma, wrapping its supernatural elements around the core of human suffering and then stapling it on the cover of an otherwise crumpled playbook. The execution is where that deviation finds just enough of an edge to warrant commendable deftness because as niche as body horror is to pull off, it is possible to find the finesse in that very niche. What becomes of this plot is a giant Russian nesting doll of labyrinthine high concepts underneath onion layers of desperation, gaslighting, denial and misleading the blind, purposefully made distorted and fragile to generate an unpleasant, static synergy. Some attempts compliment the psychological better than others but the end result barely pulls everything together and refuses to collapse; this De Sade-meets-surrealist-music-video approach doesn’t try to be subtle or hide its more banal storytelling tropes and yet most events that transpire here garners an equal and opposite reaction.
Massive restraint is shown in its ability to showcase the oblique gravitational pull of gore, action and emotions through vivid simplicity and the ambiguity the story smothers itself in barely allows them to follow the rules it steps up loosely without ever explaining why they exist or fully breaking them.
Unlike Talk to Me, grief is the horror instead of grief causing the horror, most specifically the type of unresolved grief where others inability to move on or escape childhood trauma festers into horrifying coping strategies. The duality between abusers seamlessly pulling a convincing poker face between loving some and inflicting pain on others gets even worse when the perversion of parental love into destructive, malevolent acts is directly at fault. So when mourning bubbles over and complicates that, everything feels alien and unnerving in its inescapability gets even worse when the perversion of parental love into destructive, malevolent acts is directly at fault. So when mourning bubbles over and complicates that, everything feels alien and unnerving in its inescapability and said portrayal here speaks a lot towards possession, identity erasure, fears of bodily autonomy being violated and obfuscation among other things. References towards the real-world abuse of kids in the foster care system and how few resources people have to get help aren’t as prevalent as other such themes but the manner in which they’re integrated into the crux of this narrative gives it some pulse. One of many concrete factors where the film doesn’t pull its punches, it’s unflinching commitment to the personal reality of these themes are commendable.
That being said, the emotional catharsis it wants to strive for is handicapped and partially muted due to certain underdeveloped threads being flat-out aborted. Not only that, the propensity for shock factor and supernatural child endangerment over narrative cohesion will be a huge turn-off for many and I understand why. RackaRacka constantly capitalizing on Piper’s sight issues in order to leave her helpless is indicative of them treating her more like a plot device than a person with her own agency but they understand that at the end of the day; some plot twists come off rather rickety and I found the finale here to be more underwhelming than Talk To Me’s denouement.
I get the implication on what its meant to represent but the execution feels….jarring.
Declaring eternal dibs on ‘feel-bad horror film of the year’, Bring Her Back seizes that bloodstained crown with a parade of psychic wounds, emotional carnage and melancholic nihilism that occasionally entangle itself in its own ambitions, labyrinthine high concept and propulsive shock value. Still, it further cements their horror pedigree with a damn solid sophomore effort.
