Until Dawn : Movie Review

Note: I have not played the video game upon which Until Dawn is based; I didn’t even know there was a video game until the credits rolled.

Straight up, I love time loop films. No matter if it’s a comedy, Lovecraftian horror, family film, action, or the fantastic Star Trek: The Next Generation episode “Cause and Effect,” depictions of time loops will never not fascinate me, especially when the characters can learn from their previous attempts to solve their loop problems. (A bit of personal trivia: The first time loop I remember seeing was a short sequence in 1988’s A Nightmare on Elm Street 4: The Dream Master.) Now, David F. Sandberg of Lights Out fame (both his original short and its full-length expansion) has taken the PlayStation 3 game Until Dawn and inserted time loop mechanics into its survival horror scheme, and it’s every bit as fun as you’d hope it would be. And a little scary, too.

It starts off as any decent horror movie should: Isolate five or six young people in a secluded, creepy location and watch what happens. Here, four college-age kids are helping their friend Clover (Ella Rubin) find closure after her sister Melanie (Maia Mitchell) suddenly disappeared exactly one year prior to the start of the film. Not only is Clover mourning Melanie’s absence, she’s also still mourning their mother’s passing, which gave rise to Melanie spreading her wings and flying the coop. Along for the ride are childhood friend and ex-boyfriend Max (Michael Cimino), couple Nina (Odessa A’zion) and Abe (Belmont Cameli), and Megan (Ji-young Yoo), a young woman with psychically sensitive leanings. (Or so she thinks.)

This fivesome is rife with spunky personalities; writers Gary Dauberman and Blair Butler make our ears pop with the kind of youthful patois unburdened with life’s responsibilities. After all, they’re on a road trip, and we have to get to know them quickly before they fall into the evening’s merriment, right? It’s enjoyable hearing them define themselves and each other, and Dauberman and Butler wisely stay away from putting too much stock in annoying or self-aggrandizing personas, thus endearing all of them to us. They’re earnest and willing to help Clover get through this tough time in her life, going so far as to drive and accompany her to the location where Melanie sent her last video message—an out-of-the-way gas station.

It’s a setting straight out of your favorite horror movies; think Jeepers Creepers, The Cabin in the Woods, the underappreciated Friday the 13^th reboot, or even the original 1974 The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. This time, it’s a little more sunny, and the gas station’s clean and color-corrected to warm tones; one might call it welcoming. Even the proprietor’s friendlier than those we’ve seen in similar films, and he imparts something to Clover when she shows him Melanie’s picture: He saw her a year ago, right before she vanished in Glore Valley, a town where many, many people have similarly gone missing. So… we’ve got the group of kids. We’ve got the gas station. We’ve got the warning from the proprietor. All that’s left is to start killing the kids off one by one, right?

This, my friends, is where Dauberman and Butler’s screenplay and Sandberg’s horror mastery all go buckwild. It’s not so much a case of killing the kids off; it’s a case of how many times can they be killed and resurrected, a nod to its video game origins. Upon arriving at the Glore Valley visitor center, they find out in short order why Melanie and the others never came back, and the film shows off its narrative device. An hourglass turns over and starts dispensing its grains of sand; similar to how the comedy Palm Springs operates, after everyone in the group dies before the hourglass empties, it turns back over and the night starts again, but with everyone bearing a little bit of the damage done to them. (And then some, as Megan discovers.)

Here’s another brilliant kicker: It’s not always the same cause of trauma. Every time the hourglass turns over, a new scenario presents itself, and the kids have to keep figuring out how to stay alive until the hourglass runs out. They might be faced with a masked killer, humanoid monsters, zombies, clowns—any of a number of horrors. It’s a hell of a conceit, and Sandberg has the chops to make it all stick. He knows precisely when to knock us out of our seats with a radical jump scare or create a thick atmosphere of tension and foreboding, causing us to nervously tap our fingers on our armrests. Cinematographer Maxime Alexandre’s frames are drenched in darkness and shadows, potentially hiding the next thing about to strike at our heroes.

Dauberman and Butler don’t write anyone as stupid or frivolous; each character knows the hellacious gravity of the situation and actively respects the trap they’re caught in. Although some may have different tactics for survival—Abe is a little more on the self-preservation side than everyone else, whose repeated mantra stresses getting through as one—everyone has their hearts and heads in the right place. This film’s undercurrent is one of close-knit togetherness, which gets used both for and against them as Dauberman and Butler see fit. It’s nice to see a horror movie in which the victims rely on their smarts to get ahead without having victories come at the expense of stupidity or pushing others in front of whatever’s coming at them.

Sandberg and casting director Wittney Horton have assembled a group of actors that gels well, each bringing humor and wit to bear upon their characters. I can’t remember the last time I actively hoped for everyone in a horror movie to survive, but Ella Rubin, Michael Cimino, Odessa A’zion, Ji-young Yoo, and Belmont Cameli go to great lengths to get us on their side right from the start. There’s no self-important goonery happening; even though Cameli’s Abe is way too preoccupied with driving out of the area, Cameli has a way of stopping just short of the audience saying, “Oooh, you’re gonna be next!” at him. The usual Scream rules of sex, drugs, and “I’ll be right back” don’t apply here; all of them are altruistic kids with good intentions in a fight for their lives, and we want them to win.

But Until Dawn is a movie in which their lives end. Several times. With kills ranging from the horrifying to the laugh-out-loud funny. Like I said, David F. Sandberg knows how to make a horror movie, which includes making things go splat. This movie isn’t hesitant to be gory and get a little bit on you, but Sandberg doesn’t delight or dwell in it; even though there’s a ton of onscreen carnage, it’s all in service of moving on with the night. There aren’t any lingering shots of torture or agony; even a shot of someone’s leg caught in a bear trap is fairly innocuous on the gore scale. Sandberg dials back the visual squick in favor of thrills and intensity, but when he lets the eviscerations off the chain and bodies go boom, don’t be surprised if you bark out a nervous laugh or two. Although the script might assimilate bits and pieces of other horror films, Dauberman and Butler do it slyly enough to make the film feel fresh, and you can’t help but see the fun Sandberg’s having in the director’s chair.