Recurrence (2022)

Recurrence has the rare gift of making a familiar crime setup feel freshly lived-in, using Argentina’s stark northern landscapes as more than scenery—they become a pressure cooker where secrets don’t stay buried for long. Luisana Lopilato gives Pipa a worn, watchful intensity that sells every hard choice, and the film patiently tightens its grip as a “quiet new life” curdles into a tense, corruption-soaked investigation. The vibe is gritty and grounded rather than glossy, with a steady dread that comes from people, not jump scares, and it isn’t shy about the uglier edges of power and prejudice. Fair warning: it’s violent and thematically heavy, but if you like crime stories that feel morally thorny and atmospherically immersive, this one pulls you in and doesn’t let go.

Recurrence wants to be a gritty “past comes back to haunt you” crime thriller, dropping Pipa into a small-town mystery soaked in corruption, class privilege, and ugly violence. The problem is it often feels like it’s going through the motions: the plot turns are easy to call, the dialogue can sound stiff, and the pacing and clarity aren’t strong enough to make the investigation feel truly gripping. It also leans into harsh subject matter (including exploitation and brutality) without always giving it the weight or character depth that would justify how bleak it gets. If you’re only here for a straightforward, familiar mystery and you already like the Pipa character, you might coast through it, but if you want sharp writing, convincing performances, or a thriller with a clear point of view, this one is likely to waste your time.