DON'T MOVE (2024) - Mark Reviews Movies

Don't Move, Netflix

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Review by Mark Dujsik | October 25, 2024

The makers of Don't Move seem to have set a specific and difficult challenge for themselves: Could they make a thriller in which the protagonist spends most of the story unable to move or speak? Indeed, Iris (Kelsey Asbille) does spend the majority of this film in a state of near or complete paralysis, making her a passive figure in this story. That doesn't eliminate the tension, however. It's not the sort we might expect from a tale about a woman trying to evade a man set on killing her, but it is tension nonetheless.

There really is no way for Iris to evade her pursuer after a certain point here, and that extreme degree of helplessness makes co-directors Brian Netto and Adam Schinder's film an intriguing experiment. They, along with a clever screenplay by T.J. Cimfel and David White, mostly pull off the test, too.

Initially, this material does appear as if it's going to be a more straightforward type of thriller. We meet Iris, grieving the accidental death of her son some months prior. In silence, she leaves the house without waking up her husband and hits the road for a hiking trail in a dense forest. Atop a rocky hill, Iris stops to look at a memorial at a tree stump and to finish carving her family's initials into the wood. Over to the side is a broken fence, which should be preventing people from walking to the uneven ground near a cliff. She walks over there, closes her eyes, and takes a few small steps closer and closer to the edge.

She's stopped, though, by a man who says it's a beautiful day and introduces himself as Richard (Finn Wittrock). The ensuing conversation tells us exactly what we need to know about these characters in the moment and nothing else. Iris' grief has become too much, because she simply doesn't feel anything. The stranger empathizes with her, because Richard, too, lost someone he loved many years ago and knows what it's like to want nothing more than to escape from everything—especially oneself.

Wittrock has a disarming charm about him in this scene, as he talks Iris away from the ledge without actually doing so, and it carries on as the two walk back down the path toward their cars. The man seems genuine and thoughtful and kind, even as Iris notices that he has strangely parked his car too close to hers. Iris realizes something is terribly wrong here too late, as she's stuck between the two vehicles and Richard blocks the only way out from the tight spot.

Obviously, he means her harm, and when she awakens from being rendered unconscious by a stun gun, Iris finds herself bound and lying across the backseat of Richard's car. He more or less tells her that he plans to murder her, and after she fights back with the help of a little knife, the plot seems to be set in a very specific motion. She'll run, and he'll chase her. She'll hide, and he'll search for her. The two will fight on occasion, as they do in a finely choreographed close-quarters struggle in the speeding car, and the conflict will come down to a battle of wits and wills amidst the backdrop of this remote forest.

Expectations are made to be broken—or at least they sometimes should be when dealing with a formula such as this one. Cimfel and White throw their wrench into the works of this familiar plot when Richard tells Iris that he has injected her with a heavy-duty tranquilizer. The effects will reduce her motor functions little by little and then completely, until she won't be able to hold that knife, dial a phone, walk, stand upright, and, finally, speak. How will she be able to get out of this situation?

There's a bigger question on our minds, however: How will the filmmakers be able to carry on with this plot once its main character is totally incapacitated? If she can't run, there's no chase to be had. If she's just lying out in the open, there's no hiding to be done.

This is a gutsy gimmick on the part of everyone involved, because it seemingly goes against the very basic storytelling conventions and necessities of this kind of movie. Obviously, the specifics of Cimfel and White create suspense sequences from Iris' physical limitations won't and shouldn't be revealed here.

In broad terms, it means our protagonist is as helpless as someone in a life-or-death situation can be, as well as meaning that she has to depend on anyone who might see her, such as a loner (played by Moray Treadwell) who lives in a cabin in the woods or a cop (played by Daniel Francis) who might not comprehend why something seems off about Iris in that particular scenario. Since she can't communicate—at least with her voice—with such potential helpers, Iris has to count on their intelligence, decency, and ability to deduce what's happening from the mystery in front of them. Wouldn't it be an added bit of tension if a proven charmer showed up or was present to offer some convincing story about Iris, too?

Perhaps the most surprising thing about Don't Move is how much that early character work does to set the stakes and the core of the various complications that arise. In Wittrock, the film has an eerily frightening villain, because his façade of compassion hides such depths of manipulation and a desire to control. Asbille's performance might not seem much of a showcase, but her eyes alone convey the dread, the rising terror, and the all-consuming will to survive this ordeal. Like the film itself, she does quite a bit with multiple restrictions.

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