You'll Never Find Me (2024)

Score: 4 / 5

When a young, nameless woman knocks on your rural, isolated trailer in the middle of a nighttime thunderstorm, it's not for a good reason. Paul's well aware of this, quite alone and in what must be his usual rhythm when the knocking starts. It's pouring buckets outside, so he lets the mystery woman into his small home. As soon as the door shuts, however, the film forces our minds into overtime. Though we know almost nothing about either character, an intimate and riveting cat-and-mouse game has just begun. But who is the cat and who is the mouse?

That question plagues every scene of You'll Never Find Me, the debut feature from Australian filmmakers Indianna Bell and Josiah Allen. Playing off the fears of evil hiding behind a veneer of social politeness -- which we've seen dramatized before, and in various genres, though in this instance I'd say the opening sequence of Barbarian comes closest to the tone of this -- the film works best when it implicates us in its burning questions of which character deserves our sympathy. Or suspicion.

Playing off established horror tropes related to single-location stories, unwanted guests, home invasions, and the whole "you knocked on the wrong door" problem, the story is all about these two mysterious characters who slowly reveal their secrets. Thankfully, this is not in the vein of some so-called "elevated horror" of late that forces you to interpret tertiary meanings in endless debate or consideration afterwards; rather, here by film's end we have a pretty clear picture of all that has happened to get these characters to this fateful night and what it means for them. That feels perhaps rare these days, so watching it unfold is deeply satisfying. I won't tell you what happens, because it's worth experiencing for yourself.

In many ways, its twisty unraveling feels Hitchcockian, especially as we are locked into a fairly small trailer for the full 90-something minutes of its runtime. Only so much space for these characters to move around, dry out their clothes, and try to pass the time while lightning flashes outside. Paul seems a generous host, offering to take the woman's clothes to dry them by the heater, but is there a more sinister reason he might want to remove her clothes? She (credited only as "The Visitor," no name) is clearly concerned about his behavior, though she doesn't want to appear ungrateful for his hospitality. But why is she all the way out here, at night, in a storm, and how did she get past the locked gate, and why does she say she was at the beach when that is remarkably distant? And before you're able to accuse her of anything, Paul gets creepy again and all but insists that she use his shower to warm up.

Back-and-forth patterns, especially in screenplays, can make any audience feel a bit seasick. But Bell and Allen here, guided by Bell's intelligent and sharp writing, shape the film into an endlessly curious examination of where politeness and savagery intersect. The movie palpably breathes despite lengthy dialogue scenes by honoring its silences, the awkward and thoughtful pauses as each party of the potential conflict plays their respective side of an invisible chess board. Brendan Rock and Jordan Cowen perform their arduous tasks admirably, injecting surprising beats into quickly successive moments that could very easily have been phoned in and still effective. She's fidgety and anxious, but the flickers of fear aren't always recognizable, and it's rarely clear if she senses danger or opportunity. He's stoic and observant -- immediately he clocks her bare feet; no way she walked here from far -- but seems to be battling significant internal demons before she even materializes at his door.

Come for the twisty mystery and consistently unpredictable genre thrills. Stay for the juicy cinematography and acting. Her lies, his secrets... this is a nightmare best served cold.