A Slow Burn Fueled by Frustration

Read Time:4 Minute, 51 Second

MOVIE REVIEW
Restless
–

Genre: Drama, Thriller
Year Released: 2024, 2025
Runtime: 1h 29m
Director(s): Jed Hart
Writer(s): Jed Hart
Cast: Lyndsey Marshal, Aston McAuley, Barry Ward, Kate Robbins, Denzel Baidoo, Ciara Ford, Tom Keller, Declan Adamson, Matt Emery, Juliet Guiness, Kate Webster
Where to Watch: available digitally May 23, 2025

RAVING REVIEW: Not all horrors rely on shadows in the hallway or things that go bump in the night. The kind that grows louder with every beat of the noise coming through the wall, builds with every hour of lost sleep, and eats away at your peace of mind until there's nothing left but frustration and fatigue. That’s the fuel driving RESTLESS—a psychological thriller that doesn’t need jump scares to leave you unsettled.

At the center of the story is Nicky, a woman whose life has already been hit by enough personal losses to make her crave stability. Between a physically demanding job as a caregiver, the recent deaths of her parents, and the absence left behind by a child who’s moved away, her world has become defined by silence. She fills it with routines that resemble rituals—classical music, home baking, and meditation. Everything about her life is built to restore calm. And that’s exactly what gets ripped away.

The disruption comes in the form of Deano, a new neighbor who takes over the house next door, once occupied by Nicky’s parents, and begins throwing nightly parties with music that doesn't just interrupt sleep but penetrates every part of her carefully curated tranquility. His presence is loud, arrogant, and unrelenting, and his disregard for community norms makes him more than just an inconsiderate neighbor—he’s a walking, talking representation of the chaos she’s trying to avoid.

Much of the film’s strength lies in its use of sound to communicate stress. Nicky’s inner world is marked by soft tones, gentle music, and ambient noise that ease the body and mind. Deano’s world, in contrast, blares through the wall like a living threat—aggressive music that becomes inescapable. The contrast is not just thematic but literal. How the sound is designed pushes the viewer into the same fragile state as its lead. You hear what she hears, and it’s exhausting. It’s an auditory breakdown, playing in sync with the visual tension that builds around her.

Lyndsey Marshal anchors the film with a performance that balances subtlety with emotion. She doesn’t scream her way through this movie—she simmers. Her portrayal of a woman gradually unraveling is sharp, capturing the slow disintegration of someone desperately trying to hold it together. Whether she's staring into space or struggling to contain her irritation in the presence of others, Marshal creates a version of Nicky who feels instantly recognizable. She could be someone you know. Maybe, in the right circumstances, she could be you.

RESTLESS isn’t only interested in personal conflict. It pulls focus to broader societal issues, particularly how institutions often fail people in moments of crisis. Nicky reaches out for help multiple times, but whether it's the police, the council, or the people around her, the responses range from unhelpful to indifferent. That recurring dismissal amplifies her isolation and subtly critiques how bureaucratic systems tend to operate: slow to act, quick to excuse.

Still, not everything lands. The film's final stretch wraps up faster than expected, resolving the central conflict with a conclusion that feels too tidy given the carefully built tension that precedes it. The ambiguity that worked so well throughout is traded in for clarity, and in doing so, the film sidesteps the opportunity to leave its audience sitting in discomfort.

The story also leaves one wishing there were deeper explorations into the themes it skirts, particularly around expectations and how women’s anger is perceived. The narrative hints at the idea that if captured in a single outburst, Nicky could be instantly branded and dismissed without context.

RESTLESS sits at the intersection of social critique and character study, with moments of dark humor and tension-fueled set pieces. Its most effective tool is its ability to make you feel what Nicky feels—uneasy, trapped, and increasingly detached from the world’s indifference. It taps into a universal frustration and dares to ask how far someone might go when pushed to their limit. It doesn't quite nail the landing, but the path there is engaging, uncomfortable, and occasionally all too familiar.

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[photo courtesy of QUIVER DISTRIBUTION]

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