We need more directors willing to take risks with films like Get Out.
So there she is, miles from any road, cut off from civilization in a Gothic mansion with bad wiring, an innocent baby upstairs, the telephone out of service, the rescue party up to its hubcaps in mud, and a homicidal sex maniac nibbling on her earlobe. A girl with a problem.
Her name is Amanda and she is the baby-sitter. She baby-sits in such out-of-the-way places that her father must have to deliver her in a Land Rover. England is a small island. For a Gothic mansion to be as isolated as this one, the grounds must violate the three-mile limit. And not even a gamekeeper to hear a scream.
Too bad, because Amanda is a crackerjack screamer. She keeps thinking she sees a sinister face through the windowpanes. It has wide eyes and a humorless grin. It rattles locks and taps its fingernails on the glass. Who could it be? Surely it couldn't be Brian, Helen's former husband, who was locked up in a mental prison after trying to strangle Helen and kill the baby? Surely not. Because Brian is safely locked up miles away. That's why Helen is out on a date tonight with her new fiance.
Well, we have been down this lonely, twisting road before. We have felt the creepers brush against our face, and we have heard the sound of panting in the forest, and we have heard the twigs snap and the pebbles rattle. We don't have to be Jimmy the Greek to give 10-to-1 odds that Brian is moping around somewhere out there in the night.