BRING HER BACK (2025)

Danny and Michael Philippou are two newer filmmakers who came into the game under A24 back in 2022 with the release of their directorial debut, Talk to Me. It was met with mixed reception, but I, for one, am rather fond of it. It took the ever-so-exhausting premise of ghastly apparitions and possessions that has plagued the horror genre since the release of William Friedkin’s universally beloved, but not by me, The Exorcist (1973), and mixed it with the weight of psychological and emotional themes fuelled by its strong characters and their personal journeys while also providing a look at how Generation Z would go about using an artefact that operates as a legitimate means of piercing the veil into the eternal and contacting those who once existed in corporeal form.

Sure, Talk to Me didn’t do anything “new” with this trite cinematic gimmick, its additional themes, and its zeitgeist lens; however, this begs the question: does a film released within the current cinematic climate that may or may not be a predecessor to X always need to reinvent the wheel? No, it doesn’t. Films can be made in this space and have a premise that has been done to death (teehee) and still be compelling; it’s all about how the film’s narrative and characterisations are written and how well it all plays out.

Just look at film noir as a whole; how many films within this genre have been made with the same premises and have been considered timeless hits? The answer: too many! The heist of the century that turns sour; the lone hitman who compromised a contract and now has to defend themselves from X threat; the detective who takes on a case for personal reasons and finds themselves caught in the intricate web of crime and deceit; or even the protagonist who finds themselves caught in a moral dilemma that they want out of, but every decision made drags them further and further into the belly of absurdity. These premises are proof that uniqueness doesn’t always equate to success!

With that being said, what made filmgoers and movie lovers view Talk to Me differently in this regard? That I’m not quite sure of. However, those who loved it did so for the same reason as I did, and it warranted us all to follow the Philippou brothers and their future releases moving forward, granting them the heightened notoriety that most filmmakers strive for.

This brings us to the Philippou brothers’ sophomore release, Bring Her Back, in which they once again tackle themes of loss; the stagnation many suffer from during the grieving process due to their inability to accept one of the two truisms of life; and the longing for closure that those affected by the death of someone near and dear to them want ever so desperately to obtain that, in their current psychological state, they will go through any means of obtaining it. However, despite this venture into familiar premises, the Philippou brothers explore them through different avenues.

In Talk to Me, the protagonist was perpetually stuck in grieving due to a question that had rooted itself in her mind, causing it to recur over and over again, ad nauseam, but when introduced to quantifiable evidence of an afterlife and transcendental communication, she became desperate for closure to finally move on past this and go on with her life. Bring Her Back is the antithesis of this in that instead of striving for closure, it focuses on post-traumatic stress disorder brought on by the trauma of the absurd and the act of defying the natural cycle of life through means of revitalisation.

This premise isn’t “original” by any means, so if you’re someone who didn’t like Talk to Me because it wasn’t as ingenious as the conception of sliced bread, you’re more than likely not going to be compelled by Bring Her Back either; however, as I stated earlier, not all filmmakers should strive to reinvent the wheel with every film they make. A film can be great, even a masterpiece, if its premise is, at this point, rather novel. To me, what makes Bring Her Back attractive, similarly to Talk to Me, is its strong characters and how understated, yet simultaneously chilling, its use of the occult and the otherworldly presence brought about by its practice is, although, this time around, the writing isn’t nearly as tight as their debut.

Andy (Billy Barratt) and Piper (Sora Wong), brother and sister, come face-to-face with the absurd after stumbling upon their father’s corpse in the bathroom in their home. Piper is visually impaired—she can only see light and silhouettes—so the imagery of a fresh corpse covered in its own vomit didn’t burn itself within her mind like it did with her older brother Andy, who, from the ashes of this absurd aftermath, struggles with PTSD every time he enters a bathroom equipped with a shower.

The Philippou brothers explore trauma through their prowess in medium-specific visuals. Their approach in creating moments where delusion is perceived as reality is just as striking as it was in Talk to Me, but I’d argue more so now than before, and that comes from both their accumulated experience these past three years since their debut’s release and the profundity of both the occult and the otherworldly presence.

The subtle insinuations of the occult and entities beyond our comprehension aren’t as firmly planted within public consciousness, like in Talk to Me, what with vindictive apparitions who hunger for living spirits and all, and more so lean into what people have been clamouring for from the Philippou brothers: creativity.

The occult in Bring Her Back is evocative of practices seemingly indicative of ancient occultism, ones whose aesthetics I’ve often seen associated with Eastern folklore. There aren’t any magic concoctions or enchanted relics; what exists is more physical and antiquated—something so far removed from our time that its presence alone is enough to arouse fear of the unknown. Its approach in corporeal revitalisation and the eldritch presence involved is where its ingenuity lies, especially the latter.

At first, this eldritch entity seemed easily identifiable in a broad sense on the surface; however, there were some visual details that, when meditated on further, made me question whether its nature was what it was. In ceremonial magic, occultism, and the like, the magic circle is a space marked out by practitioners, as they believe the newly marked surface would create a potency of energy that is appropriate for a sacred space and/or a form of magical protection. This circle is typically physical, drawn with a material like salt, flour, or chalk.

Laura (Sally Hawkins) is Andy and Piper’s eccentric foster mother whose daughter had passed from accidental circumstances, and when the two newly adopted protagonists arrive at her home, it’s shown that it resides inside a white circle. Putting these two details together marks Laura as the antagonist of the film, who, based on the film’s title, is attempting to bring her daughter back to life with the help of a presence that comes and goes within Laura’s home throughout the duration of the film.

The Philippou brothers show small glimpses of this presence that are obscured visually through reflections off broken glass or through layers of beading water accumulated on the outside of a glass screen door. This may be presumptuous of me to state, but most people would assume that this presence is demonic in nature; I know I did. However, based on the purpose of the magic circle, it begs the question: what demonic presence would reside within a magic circle? They’re meant to keep unwanted forces out, not in. They’re meant to create a sacred place, one where one or many can service and/or worship a deity, not something blasphemous.

Could it be that this being is something holy? If so, the subtleties in its presence and the actions it takes don’t align with what society perceives as “holy,” but this perception is of our creation—a social construct, if you will. With that being said, what if angels and demons, or more broadly speaking, beings sacred and impious in nature, don’t exist? What if they’re just entities with abilities that can alter the order of existence, and these constructs are just a means to make the incomprehensible comprehensible to satiate our own need for comfort through understanding?

This creative direction of the occult that the Philippou brothers take is rather tasty. I find myself, even as I’m writing this, positively titillated at the idea that this incomprehensible entity (something that challenges all forms of theological, mythological, and folkloric ideas that man has devised throughout history) is providing Laura a means to combat something comprehensible—the loss of a loved one. That the flesh needs to rely on the unknown not for power, nor greed, but for reprieve because they’re unable to accept an absurd truth.

This idea is made even more titillating via the Philippou brothers’ prowess in creating striking cinematic imagery, as it facilitates the eldritch nature of this seemingly worshipped force. And so much so that there has been some talk regarding it: how off-putting it is. Some have stated that they felt squeamish and almost left the theatre. At first glance, I saw this as a classic example of promotional rhetoric disguised as reactionary proclamations that has been practised since, funny enough, The Exorcist.

I normally scoff at claims like these, but this time around, they weren’t lying. I wasn’t squeamish exactly, but I was put off and felt uncomfortable at some of the film’s imagery. It’s intrusive towards the senses and seemingly real; the Philippou brothers’ use of practical effects is top-notch here. However, despite the culmination of the Philippou brothers’ creativity regarding the occult, the premise of the film, its use of imagery to facilitate its focus on PTSD stemming from loss, and the profundity of the eerie and weird that is the presence in this film, its impact on me was compromised due to what I feel are important elements of its writing.

In Talk to Me, the film starts with the protagonist, her family, and her friends mourning the anniversary of the protagonist’s mother’s passing, which is then followed by the protagonist’s relationship with her closest friend and her family and the contrast in quality with the protagonist’s relationship with her own father. We’re tossed immediately into the fray of loss, anguish, and absurdity that its impact grabs hold of the viewer and thrusts them into the film’s world. This unconventional approach to starting a film is bold but effective, reminding me of Akira Kurosawa’s approach with Stray Dog (1949) in that it immediately thrusts you into the fray with a police chase and a missing gun.

Bring Her Back takes a more traditional approach by introducing its characters first, then going into the moment where Andy and Piper stare the absurd directly in the eyes, landing them both as orphans before being adopted by Laura. However, despite the Philippou brothers’ intention to adopt a more conventional approach, they fail to provide the necessary narrative depth. The introduction of the protagonists and the death of their father occur within the first five minutes of the film; then it continues on this trek towards adoption and arriving at their new home in less than ten minutes collectively.

This series of events happened so fast that I thought my neck was going to break. It’s almost as though they want that same immediate start as Talk to Me, where the film hits the ground running, but their choice in how they want the film to be set up can’t facilitate that need. Maybe I’m spoiled by Ryūsuke Hamaguchi’s Drive My Car (2021), but if the Philippou brothers wanted to go for a more conventional approach in creating tragic protagonists, then some time needs to be made to establish Andy and Piper as siblings outside of their code word “grapefruit,” which is used to challenge something the other says to test if it’s truthful or not, if you want the viewer to become more invested in them, though I will say this detail was really cute and authentic to what siblings tend to do. Wanting X but approaching it as Y won’t yield these results. This should be obvious, but apparently not.

Then secondly, and lastly, the relationship that Andy and Piper develop with Laura, which eventually turns sour through her nefarious scheming, isn’t as developed as it should be. Once again, the issue here is that not as much narrative wealth is created to properly explore this element of the narrative, though it’s more than what was used in its setup, much more. This area in the film’s writing is more so summarised than neglected, so when incidents occurred between them, they still felt believable to a degree; I just felt it needed more to better sell it.

The culmination of these two issues negatively impacted each sequential, wicked moment in Laura’s plan and the grand reveal during the film’s climax, making its overall impact feel undercooked. Despite everything else that works in this film, including its acting, which Sally Hawkins kills, by the way, it’s not enough to fully make up for its shortcomings; Bring Her Back needs more time in the oven, if I’m being honest. I still enjoyed it a great deal, but it’s not near the same level of tightened writing that their debut film, Talk to Me, had, and that’s upsetting to me.

It’s difficult to really pinpoint why the Philippou brothers approached Bring Her Back the way they did writing-wise. Could it be a lack of experience in developing more densely written characters, or is it the fault of A24? After the success of Daniel Scheinert and Daniel Kwan’s Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022) and it being their highest-grossing film, A24 has slowly been straying away from the niche films that made them who they are with releases such as The Witch (2015), Moonlight (2016), Lady Bird (2017), and The Lighthouse (2019) and started leaning towards creating work more suitable for the current cinematic climate.

Currently, Alex Garland is in charge of their “art-forward” blockbuster films, such as Civil War (2024) and Warfare (2025), and will be releasing a screen adaptation of Hidetaka Miyazaki’s Elden Ring. Then there are the more sport-centric films coming out about X athlete’s or performer’s life, such as The Iron Claw (2023) and the upcoming The Smashing Machine (2025), as well as their horror films trying to capture the success that was Ari Aster’s Hereditary (2018) over and over again, but without the meat and potatoes that made it what it was.

I’ll be frank and blame A24 for the issues I have with Bring Her Back. I doubt that two aspiring filmmakers who created something as simple yet tightly written as Talk to Me would fail to do the exact same thing with their next film, given the time and resources they have now. There must have been interference of some kind. Regardless, Bring Her Back, while a little rough, is thoroughly enjoyable. Here’s hoping either the Philippou brothers stand up for their future releases under A24 or they leave them, like Robert Eggers did, to pursue more independently focused work.

AUSTRALIA | 2025 | 104 MINUTES | 2.76:1 | COLOUR | ENGLISH

Cast & Crew

writers & directors: Danny Philippou & Michael Philippo.
starring: Billy Barratt, Sora Wong, Sally Hawkins, Jonah Wren Phillips, Sally-Anne Upton, Stephen Phillips & Mischa Heywood.