One of the first names you see on the screen at the beginning Don’t movea nifty but rather simple murder-in-the-woods thriller now streaming on Netflix is Sam Raimi, whose production company is one of the forces behind the film. Raimi started out directing lo-fi horror like the original Evil Dead trilogy before working his way up to major hits like the Tobey Maguire Spider-Man films and most recently the MCUs Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness. But instead of using his clout to attach executive producer credits to huge blockbusters or even arthouse passion projects, Raimi pays tribute to his roots and does an honest job of producing many low-to-mid budget genre films like Fede Álvarez . Don’t breathethe crazy Adam Driver dino vehicle 65or in this case, a small-scale horror film straight on Netflix.
These types of small-scale film projects are a time-honored, important, but under-discussed area of genre filmmaking, falling somewhere between the no-budget bootstrapped indies and the boutique brand identities of the likes of Blumhouse and A24. Producers like Raimi make cheap films with young directors and small casts, sell them to studios or streamers for a profit and then move on to the next one. It reminds me of the work of the legendary Roger Kormanwho left no stone unturned on his path to producing literally hundreds of genre films in a career spanning 70 years.
Corman treated films as a commodity – a cheap commodity at that – and made few masterpieces, but his fast-budget films launched the careers of everyone from From Martin Scorsese to James Cameron and Jack Nicholson. Film history wouldn’t be the same without him.
When I say so Don’t move is the modern equivalent of a Corman film, which may make it sound messier or more exotic than it actually is. It’s not some future cult classic. But it’s a deft, efficient piece of filmmaking that does exactly what it’s supposed to do, no more, no less, to exploit one great idea: the fear of being trapped in your own body, unable to move or speak .
Iris (Kelsey Asbille) is a grieving mother who goes for a walk in a remote forest without her phone. She meets a stranger (American horror story‘s Finn Wittrock) who shows her kindness, but then kidnaps her. She escapes, but as she holds her captor at knifepoint, he reveals that he has injected her with a paralyzing drug that will take away her fine motor skills, then her legs, then her ability to speak; by the time it takes full effect, she can’t do anything but blink.
That is instinctively frightening, but difficult to dramatize. How do you keep the plot moving when your main character can’t? Writers TJ Cimfel and David White and directors Brian Netto and Adam Schindler have some crafty answers to this riddle, including crafting a situation in which Iris, with the extremely limited actions available to her, is forced to turn to her captor for salvation. Out of the heat, back into the frying pan.
There’s a painful, inherent tension in this moment, as well as several other moments where Iris stares savingly in the face and can’t do anything about it. As her abilities slowly return, it seems that the tension of the film begins to dissipate – but here again the filmmakers find ways to balance this and maintain the tension in the film. Don’t move‘s path from fear to catharsis on a steady, propulsive track.
Don’t move is a slick, workmanlike film, but there’s nothing exceptional about the way it’s put together, and the filmmakers don’t make much effort to extract any depth or resonance from its clever design. Where Corman would have applied a lurid, sensational gloss to a functional programmer like this, the 2024 version instead gestures toward a kind of down-to-earth, prestige-like emotionalism: Iris is haunted by the death of her child, and her would-be killer gives perverse money. her a reason to live again. This gives Asbille something to hold on to in her portrayal, but the story only pays lip service to the idea.
Don’t move isn’t actually a film about the crippling effects of grief, even if the writers once thought it was. It’s, well, a movie about how scary it would be not to be able to move, just like the title says. And sometimes – like when firing up Netflix on a Friday evening after an exhausting week – that kind of efficient delivery on expectations is all you really need.
Don’t move now streaming on Netflix.