Run Rabbit Run (2024)

Run Rabbit Run is the kind of psychological horror that gets under your skin not with jump scares, but with the slow, sickening feeling that something in a seemingly ordinary home has gone subtly, terribly wrong. Anchored by a fierce, finely calibrated performance from Sarah Snook, it turns motherhood and certainty into pressure points, letting dread seep in through quiet moments, watchful camerawork, and an atmosphere that feels clean on the surface and haunted underneath. Director Daina Reid keeps the tension taut and intimate, making every glance and pause feel like a clue you’re not ready to understand yet. It’s not for viewers who want big shocks or clear-cut answers, but if you like your thrillers elegant, unnerving, and performance-driven, this one is absolutely worth the ride.

Run Rabbit Run wants to be a slow-burn psychological horror about motherhood, control, and the stories we tell ourselves to survive, with Sarah Snook doing the heavy lifting as a tightly wound professional losing her grip. The problem is it leans hard on familiar “creepy child” beats and well-worn dread-building tricks, so the mystery often feels like it’s circling the same ideas rather than escalating in a truly surprising way. You’ll also notice hints of bigger themes—grief, guilt, inheritance—dangling just out of reach, but the script doesn’t dig deep enough to make the payoff feel earned. If you like restrained, moody tension and can forgive a thin story for a committed central performance and a few unsettling moments, you may be satisfied; if you want originality, sharper plotting, or a more developed psychological punch, this probably isn’t for you.