Resurrection (2022)

Resurrection is the kind of psychological horror that doesn’t just startle you—it tightens its grip scene by scene, until ordinary rooms and polite conversations feel charged with danger. Andrew Semans directs with a cool, controlled confidence, but it’s Rebecca Hall who makes the film unmissable: she turns Margaret’s composure into a fragile mask, and you can practically hear it cracking as the past creeps back into frame. The writing is sharp and unnervingly specific, building dread through implication and power dynamics rather than cheap shocks, and when the movie finally tips into its climax it’s audacious, nightmarish, and hard to shake. It’s not for viewers who want clean answers or gentle thrills, but if you like horror that feels intimate, adult, and genuinely unsettling, this one is worth the plunge.

Resurrection wants to be a slow-burn psychological nightmare about trauma resurfacing and the way an abuser can still control your life from a distance, and on that level it’s admirably committed. Rebecca Hall is ferocious and painfully believable, and Tim Roth brings a calmly menacing presence that keeps the early stretch genuinely unsettling. The problem is the film’s tension doesn’t consistently build so much as stall, and it leans so hard into ambiguity and escalation that the final act can feel like a provocative idea stretched past its breaking point rather than a satisfying payoff. If you like grounded thrillers, clear answers, or horror that earns its shocks through tight plotting, this may leave you annoyed; if you’re up for a talky, discomfort-driven descent with a big swing at the end, it might land for you.