It’s not every day you get to see a Sam Raimi movie that eschews the supernatural or impossible. Of his 17 directorial features, only five of them—including his latest, Send Help—focus solely on the corporeal and tangible, highlighting their characters’ perilous (and mostly foolhardy) attempts to control their destinies. These characters are often victims of their own foibles and shortsightedness, blindly attempting to reach their goals while facing insurmountable odds and roadblocks to achieve their victories. Whether derived from vengeance or personal gain, these victories come with a cost that is paid by losing love, their personal integrity, or their souls.
Here, we’re thrown onto a remote, deserted island in the Pacific Ocean, heaving mousy office worker Linda Liddle (Rachel McAdams) and CEO nepo bro-dude Bradley Preston (Dylan O’Brien) onto its shores after a disastrous plane crash leaves them as the only survivors. It’s like putting Agnes DiPesto from the 1980s show “Moonlighting” with Louis Winthorpe III from John Landis’ 1983 classic, Trading Places; two people from the same office but very different worlds converge, with no help coming and no societal rules to put either of them in their “place.”
These two couldn’t be more disparate if they tried. Damian Shannon and Mark Swift—the writing team who brought us the outstanding Freddy vs. Jason matchup—quickly establish Linda as someone who lives in her own head, which puts us instantly on the defensive. It feels like she’s in arrested development, ham-fistedly joining A/B conversations (that she should C herself out of—apologies to the late John Singleton) and unable to grasp any kind of social cues. Linda doesn’t fit the “image” of Corporate America, dressing more like a ’50s schoolteacher than an ascendant VP, a position the old CEO had promised her because of her high performance. She can flawlessly run the company numbers like nobody else, but she can’t connect with her peers or stand up for herself; one might think it’s a clear case of autism, but there are shades of abuse and trauma layered within her. It’s no mistake that her name is a homonym for “little,” compounding her stature and status within the company and, truth be told, life itself.
After her manager takes her work and passes it off as his own in a board meeting, injury is added to insult when the new CEO—Bradley, the old CEO’s son—installs said manager in the position promised to her. When she attempts to get to the bottom of this decision, Bradley turns on the corporate charm, slyly and underhandedly blaming her for not fitting in, dressing appropriately, and turning everyone off with her lunch smells. Rachel McAdams does amazing work here, turning completely away from her usual coiffed and smoothed-out characters and diving headfirst into Linda’s shoes (which, by Linda’s own definition, she wears more for function than look). Raimi and longtime cinematographer Bill Pope exacerbate this difference with uncomfortable close-ups of her while she forces herself into chatter, chews her food at her desk (which, according to Bradley, is a big no-no), and pleads her case to Bradley.
Relenting, he allows her to join a trip to Asia for a merger negotiation, during which her self-taped “Survivor” audition video is played and laughed at by Bradley and his VP lackeys. Shortly after, the private company plane is hit by a storm and plummets into the ocean, killing everyone on board except for Bradley and Linda, who wash up on a deserted island not far from the crash site. From here, the film becomes a two-hander in which Linda uses her survival skills to great effect while Bradley recuperates from a grievous leg wound. Isolated with none of the societal proprieties defining their roles, Linda cheerfully goes about exploring the island, erecting a shelter, helping Bradley recover, and scraping together food, water, and fire. However, the pampered Bradley is totally out of his element and wants nothing to do with this strange-o swooping around like she’s running a Sunday school at church.
Shannon and Swift carefully dole out bits of information and backstory on both sides that seem to be leading them to a working relationship, and that’s where the thick of the movie lies. Pope takes great care to separate them in his frames most of the time, further deepening the divide between them until the script demands unity, but only just; we get the feeling that Bradley has removed himself from having anything to do with Linda and is only getting along to play along. Raimi, in his “make everything as uncomfortable as possible” mode, maintains this standoffishness throughout, playing our biased preconceptions of two people needing to cooperate against us. We’re never given even footing with either character at all, and while the usual Raimi sick pleasure abounds, it’s amplified by personal and aesthetic choices that make even the hardest of viewers avert their gaze. This movie is straight-up tension from beginning to end, and we can almost see Raimi’s grin while saying “Cut!” after capturing some of the shots designed for maximum ick.
For instance, there’s a scene involving a surgical procedure that’s expertly shot, edited, paced, and given appropriately squishy sound effects that, no lie, turned my stomach. We never see what’s going on; Raimi chooses only to focus on Linda and Bradley’s faces, and it is one of the most horrific scenes I’ve ever seen. Some might liken it to the ear severing from Quentin Tarantino’s Reservoir Dogs, but I think this goes further than that. Raimi keeps tight on Linda and Bradley, with motion, facial expressions, and the scantest of vocal intonations, allowing our minds to run away with impressions of what’s being done. It is a potent, masterful scene, undertaken with brutal implications. At one point, Bradley says, “Monsters aren’t born; they’re created.” We almost don’t see the monster being created until it’s too late, and by the time we realize what’s happening, the movie is tilted irreparably toward a power balance being utterly destroyed, only for a new power structure to take its place.
Usually, movie studios wait until later in the year to drop some of their heavy hitters. As we’ve seen with 28 Years Later: The Bone Temple and Send Help, January seems to be evolving into a space where the unexpected has the chance to truly shine, grow wings, and take off. It’s hard to jive with a movie where, to cop a bit of internet slang, “Everyone Sucks Here,” but Sam Raimi and his team have pulled it off with precision and audacity. Rachel McAdams and Dylan O’Brien yank us into their characters’ predicament with realism and abject terror, guiding us through Linda and Bradley’s ordeal until the final truth is revealed. All we can do is drop our jaws at how quickly the tables turn at each chess move or betrayal. Linda’s favorite show’s tagline is “Outwit. Outplay. Outlast,” and Send Help shows the lengths to which Linda and Bradley will go to do just that. It’s an unbelievably effective look at two people pushed to extremes, with Raimi’s visual bombast not just enhancing, but powering this story of two people circling each other until only one remains.
p.s. Don’t worry, Raimi fans… the two things you’re supposed to see in EVERY Raimi movie are definitely represented.
