One of the most talked about releases of the year: the Philippous’ new horror focuses on violence and extreme tension and is on HBO Max

The brutality of “Faça Ela Voltar” does not work as a device to shock the public, but as the backbone of a narrative that views violence with the coldness of a diagnosis. In the first few minutes, the routine of Daniel, played by Jonah Wren Phillips, and his half-sister Ruby, played by Aisha Wilkinson, is abruptly displaced after their father’s death. The displacement is not reduced to an initial mourning: the arrival at the house where they will live under the guardianship of a new guardian creates an environment in which every gesture and every silence act as warning signals. The figure of Helen, played with vigor by Sally Hawkins, generates a tension that cannot be explained immediately, but whose logic progressively imposes itself.

The film takes the viewer along an uncompromising path, in which the feeling of threat grows as Daniel tries to understand the dynamics of that new house. Ruby’s poor vision makes this investigation even more unsettling. She notices mood changes, noises and absences that Daniel tries to rationalize without success. The director of photography uses narrow spaces and low light to structure an environment in which perception is always partial. This choice is not intended to embellish the narrative; it reinforces the emotional instability of the characters, especially the children who try to decipher a world they do not master.

The violence that is imposed later does not act as a gratuitous climax, but as the natural unfolding of a long process of manipulation, led by Helen. Hawkins constructs the character as someone whose apparent fragility serves as a facade for rigid authority. The actress, known for more affectionate roles, uses this background to create a disturbing contrast: the type of person who knows exactly how to occupy emotional space and bend it to her will. As the story progresses, the house turns into a cloistered setting in which Daniel and Ruby need to decide whether to obey or confront, aware that any mistake could be fatal.

Danny and Michael Philippou’s direction works with a rigor that distinguishes itself from most contemporary horror. The brothers eliminate shortcuts, refuse the temptation to make the public’s journey easier and invest in a construction that emphasizes difficult moral decisions. Violence involving children does not appear as an empty provocation, but as an expression of asymmetrical power relations that, in real life, leave deep marks. At several moments, the narrative relies on silences and pauses that force the viewer to fill in uncomfortable gaps. That’s where the film demonstrates maturity: it doesn’t try to explain everything, but it also doesn’t hide behind freely produced ambiguities.

The plot progression reaches a point where supernatural elements enter the scene without altering the internal logic of the film. The ritual recorded in ancient images suggests a tradition whose meaning is not fully clear, but this absence does not compromise general understanding. The supernatural works as a catalyst for existing tensions. Daniel, marked by an unstable past, becomes the ideal target for forces that exploit human weaknesses before manifesting themselves explicitly. Ruby, in turn, tries to balance caution and courage, aware that her sensory limitations do not reduce her ability to perceive the true dimension of the threat.

The accumulation of physical and emotional violence creates an effect that goes beyond immediate fright and discomfort. The film works with the idea that certain family environments can become places where children’s vulnerability is deliberately exploited. This approach makes the narrative even more compelling, because the aggression is not episodic; it is part of the routine and undermines any possibility of stability for Daniel and Ruby. When the outcome approaches, the tension is not resolved through a heroic gesture or a revealing explanation, but through a movement that combines loss, resistance and the weight of choices that are not easily undone.

“Faça Ela Voltar” achieves impact precisely by avoiding emotional shortcuts. The film is sustained by its ability to expose cruelty without glamor and its refusal to turn its characters into disposable parts. The horror here is not an exercise in style; it is a demonstration of how external and internal forces shape subjectivities in moments of absolute fragility. This perspective guarantees the film a unique place within the genre, not because it wants to reinvent it, but because it treats it with the necessary seriousness so that its implications go beyond the movie theater.