Silence Says More Than Screams Ever Could

Read Time:5 Minute, 11 Second

MOVIE REVIEW
Jackknife
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Genre: Drama
Year Released: 2024, 2025
Runtime: 1h 27m
Director(s): Adam Jack
Writer(s): Adam Jack
Cast: Tivon Charles, Payton Mills, Erica Sherwood, Douglas Vermeeren, Thain Wesley, Dillon Parnell, Marc Rico Ludwig, Red Carlsen, Evan Lewis Dolinski, Michael James.
Where to Watch: Set for worldwide release on April 29, 2025

RAVING REVIEW: Sometimes tension doesn’t announce itself—it builds, like a storm you don’t realize is coming until it’s already overhead. That’s the approach JACKKNIFE takes from the outset, wrapping its suspense in atmosphere and understatement instead of theatricality. It’s a story anchored in a singular moment, but the real focus lies in everything that unfolds after. The film takes a more introspective approach, examining how trauma lingers and how society responds when survival comes at a cost.

The plot hinges on a single act of self-defense. It’s fast, jarring, and all too plausible, not some stylized set piece but a sudden break in an otherwise quiet day. That disruption becomes the catalyst, sending two siblings down a path defined less by what they did and more by how others perceive them after. The film isn’t interested in dwelling on the violence itself—it’s far more concerned with the aftermath, the kind people don’t see, and the kinds they choose to ignore.

Tivon Charles and Payton Mills play the siblings at the heart of the story, and they bear much of the impact. Their dynamic is understated, drawn from body language and small gestures rather than dialogue-heavy backstory. Charles, in particular, brings a sense of internalized pressure, portraying a character who seems caught between instinct, confusion, and fear of being misunderstood. Mills, meanwhile, brings quiet determination to her role. Her character doesn’t need to be loud to be compelling. There’s power in how she reacts rather than how she speaks.

Erica Sherwood adds depth to the narrative as their mother, showing how trauma isn't isolated to a single moment or person. Her presence shifts the scope of the story outward, emphasizing the emotional ripple effect. The portrayal of a parent who wants to shield her children from a world that doesn’t always offer that protection is one of the film’s strongest elements. It’s through her that we get a clearer view of just how heavy the fallout can be, even when the intent is to move forward.

Douglas Vermeeren’s antagonist isn’t used in the typical genre fashion. Instead of being the looming presence that drives the conflict, he serves more as a trigger. His character symbolizes a threat that’s both specific and broader—danger as random and rooted in real-world anxieties. The real tension comes not from what he does, but from how the world responds to what the siblings were forced to do in return.

The natural setting isn’t just a backdrop—it reflects the characters’ unease. The woods are open but suffocating, beautiful but isolating. Wide angles emphasize how small the characters feel in the wake of what has happened, while close-ups reveal the fear and uncertainty just beneath the surface. There’s a visual honesty here that adds to the sense of realism without veering into melodrama.

The film’s restraint is one of its best qualities. It doesn’t chase easy answers, nor does it paint its characters in black and white. Instead, it leans into the complexities that come with survival, especially when compounded by judgment and systemic biases. There’s no big speech, no tidy conclusion—just an invitation for the audience to sit in the discomfort and consider what they would do in the same situation.

That said, the film doesn’t nail every element. Some of the secondary characters feel underwritten, more functional than fully realized. Their inclusion often feels tied to moving the story along rather than enriching the emotional world. In a film so focused on its central trio, these underdeveloped characters can momentarily distract you from the experience. They’re not distractions, but their presence could have added more depth had they been given the same care as the leads.

There’s something admirable about a film that resists over-explaining itself. JACKKNIFE takes that route, avoiding didactic messaging or oversimplified moral conclusions. It trusts the audience to think, to interpret, and to feel. That level of respect for viewers is rare, especially in genre filmmaking that often spoon-feeds its ideas. Here, the ambiguity is the point.

The story doesn’t wrap up with a bow—it ends with questions still lingering and wounds not fully healed. But that choice aligns with the narrative’s goal. Life isn’t neat, and trauma doesn’t resolve itself in 90 minutes. The film understands this and leaves just enough unsaid to ensure the viewer keeps thinking about it long after the credits have rolled.

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[photo courtesy of BREAKING GLASS PICTURES]

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