Sam Raimi needs no introduction. As one of horror’s defining auteurs, his work on The Evil Dead helped shape the genre, and across decades, whether dabbling in superheroes, westerns, or studio blockbusters, he’s never quite lost his distinct voice. Send Help feels like a natural extension of that career, a smaller, concept-driven film that lets Raimi flex his instincts for tone, tension, and mischievous excess.
In lesser hands, Send Help could’ve easily collapsed into a generic romantic comedy with a high-concept hook. Instead, Raimi elevates a deceptively simple script into something far more idiosyncratic. The film leans into camp, embracing heightened violence and absurdity while using those elements to interrogate the themes bubbling underneath. Raimi’s direction ensures the movie never feels anonymous. Even its quieter moments carry the sense that something unhinged might erupt at any second.
The film’s anchored by strong lead performances from Rachel McAdams and Dylan O’Brien, both of whom are clearly having fun while still grounding the story emotionally. Their chemistry is essential, especially as the film takes a serious look at gender dynamics and power imbalances that remain pervasive in modern society. Through McAdams’ Linda Liddle in particular, Send Help captures a very specific and deeply relatable fear that many women experience in adulthood, lending the film an emotional weight that might otherwise be lost amid the chaos.
That thematic ambition, however, is a double-edged sword. While the film’s willingness to challenge norms is arguably its most compelling feature, it can also feel overcorrective. Raimi’s past work, including the critically acclaimed The Evil Dead and widely influential Spider-Man trilogy, has been retrospectively criticised for its handling of female characters. Send Help seems acutely aware of that history, at times to its detriment. In prioritising the perspective of its female lead, the film flattens nearly every male character into an irredeemable caricature, leaving them hollow and difficult to care about. It raises an uncomfortable question. If the roles were reversed, would the film be accused of promoting misogyny?
Despite these shortcomings, Send Help has a lot going for it. Raimi remains a fascinating filmmaker, the gore and violence are as inventive and entertaining as ever, and the film’s commentary, while occasionally heavy-handed, is undeniably well-intentioned. It may not strike a perfect balance, but it’s a bold, messy, and often thrilling reminder of why Raimi’s still worth paying attention to.
