Tag Archives: Danny Philippou

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Mother’s Little Helper

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Bring Her Back

by Hope Madden

Damn, son. The Philippou brothers know how to unsettle you.

Filmmakers Danny and Michael Philippou drew attention in 2022 for their wildly popular feature debut, Talk to Me. Before releasing the sequel, due out this August, the pair changes the game up with a different, but at least equally disturbing, look at grief.

Sora Wong and Billy Barratt are stepsiblings Piper and Andy. Andy, on the cusp of 18, is fiercely protective of his visually impaired little sister. When their dad dies unexpectedly, the pair finds themselves navigating the world of foster parenting until Andy can apply for legal custody and they can get their own place.

In the interim, Laura (the always welcome Sally Hawkins) has agreed to take them in. Well, she agreed to take in Piper, and kind of wound up saddled with Andy. Not to worry! The upbeat former counselor, whose own daughter had been blind, will find the room.

Hawkins is a dream. The film asks a great deal of her character, and she delivers on every request and more. There are countless facets to Laura, so many that a weaker actor would have had trouble delivering the depth necessary to connect them authentically. Hawkins doesn’t just manage the depth; she mines it effortlessly.

She’s surrounded by an extremely natural and charismatic young ensemble. Wong, in her first professional acting role, charms as a kid who never gives her disability a second thought. Barratt delivers heartbreaking tenderness under general adolescent dumbassedness and winds up being the character you root hardest for.

Jonah Wren Phillips haunts the film. Though he is utterly terrifying, there’s also something unmistakably sad in the performance that shakes you.  

Danny Philippou, who again co-writes with Bill Hinzman, grounds the film in character and upends tropes so often that on the rare occasion that Bring Her Back falls to cliché, it’s noticeable.

It’s a slow burn, a movie that communicates dread brilliantly with its cinematography and pacing. But when Bring Her Back hits the gas, dude! Nastiness not for the squeamish! Especially if you have a thing about teeth, be warned. But the body horror always serves the narrative, deepening your sympathies even as it has you hiding your eyes.

Australia has a great habit of sending unsettling horror our way. The latest package from Down Under doesn’t disappoint.

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Grip It and R.I.P. It

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Talk to Me

by George Wolf

Talk to Me doesn’t waste much time before escalating the conversation.

And while the shocking prologue isn’t the only reminder you’ll get of similarly structured films such as The Ring or It Follows, Australian brothers Danny and Michael Philippou carve out a timely teen horror update that is often chilling and consistently engaging.

BFFs Mia (Sophie Wilde from The Portable Door) and Jade (Alexandra Jensen) are eager to hang out with the edgy kids at the local parties. And lately, that means getting in the room with Joss (Chris Alosio) and Hayley (Zoe Terakes), because they let you talk to the hand.

Where did Joss get it? Was it the hand of a satanist, or maybe a long dead medium? Details are sketchy. But if you’re game, you grip it, say “talk to me” and take the ride. And everyone else, of course, films the experience.

The Philippou brothers (both direct, Danny also co-writes) worked in TV, YouTube videos and on the camera department for The Babadook before this first feature, and it’s a debut that shines with a confident vision. We’ve seen some of these threads before, but this fresh take is able to capture the current zeitgeist without any desperation for hipness.

Viral fame isn’t the lure here, it’s the high of glimpsing the other side and the enlightened feeling it gives you. But for Mia, it’s also the gateway to a very personal journey that could answer questions from her past while saving the life of Jade’s little brother Riley (Joe Bird).

The script smartly stays a step or two ahead of contrivance, and is able to find some impressive psychological depth as it touches on grief, trauma, and the anxieties of leaving childhood behind.

Plus, come on, the creepy “embalmed hand” gimmick is effective from the start. It gives the Philippou brothers a great anchor for building an aesthetic of ethereal dread while they score time and again with wonderful practical effects.

This is R-rated horror, refreshingly light on the jump scares and false alarms, leaning instead on a parade of visual images that can truly terrify. And even when we don’t see what the game players are seeing, the fact that we’ve already had a hellish glimpse feeds a devilishly fun game within our own imaginations.

Talk to Me somehow feels familiar, but uncomfortably so. It’s a horror show always eager to deface the rulebook, and leave you with a wonderfully organic sign that this game is not over.