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Until Dawn is the kind of horror film that pulls one in with a chilling premise and holds one with tension, gore and the creeping dread of repetition. Directed by David F Sandberg and inspired by the cult-favorite 2015 video game, the film does not merely adapt the original narrative—it expands and reimagines it, setting its own rules in a universe where death is never the end and fear is a cycle you cannot escape.
The story follows Clover, played with compelling restraint and emotional depth by Ella Rubin. She returns to Glore Valley one year after her sister Melanie mysteriously vanished. Alongside a group of friends, each embodying familiar horror archetypes, Clover hopes to find closure.
Instead, the group stumbles upon an abandoned visitor centre where a masked killer begins eliminating them one by one. In a jarring twist, death is not final. Every time a character dies, they wake up again at the beginning of the same night and forced to relive the terror in an endless loop. As the resets continue, the threats evolve—first a slasher, then supernatural entities, wendigos, witches and other monsters pulled from the depths of folklore and the shadows of the psyche.
This is where the psychological undertones of the film start to unfold. The repetition is not just a narrative gimmick; it functions as a metaphor for unresolved trauma and the cyclical nature of grief. Clover’s internal torment over her sister’s disappearance manifests as a loop she cannot break. Each reset raises the emotional toll.
As fear takes hold and trust deteriorates, the characters are forced to confront not just physical threats but also their mental unraveling. Sandberg weaves in themes of guilt, denial and the paralysis of unprocessed loss. Some of these ideas are more hinted at than explored.
Peter Stormare returns from the video game to play Dr Alan Hill, an enigmatic psychiatrist who appears in eerie, fragmented sequences suggesting that the entire ordeal may be a form of psychological manipulation or experiment. His presence is both unsettling and grounding. His ambiguous dialogues adds layers to the horror—hinting that what one sees may be part of a larger design, a clinical exposure of the human mind under extreme stress. These scenes, however, are underused. While they add intrigue, they do not fully clarify the mythos, leaving some viewers unsure whether the loop is supernatural, scientific or purely symbolic.
As fear takes hold and trust deteriorates, the characters are forced to confront not just physical threats but also their mental unraveling. Sandberg weaves in themes of guilt, denial and the paralysis of unprocessed loss. Some of these ideas are more hinted at than explored.
The ensemble cast, including Michael Cimino, Odessa A’zion, Ji-young Yoo, Belmont Cameli and Maia Mitchell, delivers energetic performances that help carry the film’s brisk 103-minute runtime. While their characters are not deeply developed, they are given enough material to feel distinct and emotionally reactive, which keeps the viewer engaged even as the narrative is repetitive. The chemistry between the actors adds authenticity to the group dynamic, though most viewers will find themselves more invested in Clover’s psychological journey than the group as a whole.
Visually, Until Dawn is impressive. The film is steeped in shadowy, misty tones that capture the isolating dread of the wilderness. Sound design is used to excellent effect, with each reset building tension through subtle shifts in ambient noise, silence and sudden punctuations of horror. The creature effects are practical and unnerving. The film’s escalating violence is both creative and intense, earning its R rating with gruesome kills and disturbing imagery.
In the third act, however, Until Dawn begins to lose its grip. As the narrative rushes toward resolution, the emotional weight of the time loop begins to feel repetitive rather than revelatory. The promise of psychological depth is there, but it is left largely untapped. The final reveal, while visually satisfying, is narratively thin, offering more style than substance. Some of the film’s most intriguing questions—about the nature of the loop, the role of Dr Hill and the emotional significance of Clover’s trauma—are left unanswered, even shrugged off.
Despite these shortcomings, the film manages to stay entertaining throughout. It’s stylish, atmospheric and genre-savvy, drawing from a wide palette of horror influences without feeling derivative. While critics have been divided—some praising its creative kills and others lamenting its lack of emotional resonance—audiences have generally responded favourably. After its theatrical run, the film shot into Netflix’s global top ten, proving that there is still a hunger for horror that blends slasher tropes with something more surreal and introspective.
At its best, Until Dawn is a haunting metaphor for the way grief can trap us, how trauma repeats until it’s confronted and how survival sometimes means facing the darkest parts of ourselves. At its weakest, it’s a loop that wears thin—a film that flirts with profundity but ultimately settles for familiar thrills. Still, for fans of the genre and those curious about horror with a psychological edge, it is a compelling watch. The film does not quite earn all the weight it sets out to carry, but it delivers just enough terror, mood and mystery to keep you watching—right until dawn.
The writer has a degree in psychology with a minor in mass communication. She can be reached at ukmaryam2gmail.com