No One Will Save You Movie Review
The Art of Making Friends as an Adult
Making friends as an adult has been challenging. Between working a 9–5, taking care of three pets, and having a baby on the way, there’s almost no time to set aside to meet new people. To grab beers with and shoot the shit about trivial things. Film, games, that crazy thing Joe at work said. And that sucks.
I wouldn’t consider myself extroverted by any means. Most of my favorite hobbies — watching movies, reading — are solidarity activities.
Yet, I still crave friendship. The ability to get together on a semi-regular basis with likeminded people over coffee. To swap stories and ideas. To riff and laugh.
I feel like this phenomenon of trying to connect with other adults is something that colleges should teach. How as we get older, schedules with one another never truly lineup. No matter how hard we try, whether we’re tired or we actually have a prior commitment, it’s just impossible to find 20 minutes to hang with one another.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I’m not trying. I’ve stepped outside of my comfort zone. Joined meetups for ultimate frisbee. Responded to urgent calls on Reddit for DnD players for last minute fill-ins. And even tried Bumble BFF, where I was charmingly asked on many 3am dates!
Still, despite my best efforts, I’m struggling to even acquaint myself with other human beings. I wonder if it’s something I’m doing wrong. If I’m boring. Coming off as unlikable.
I’ve been thinking about my childhood best friend a lot lately. We were pretty much inseparable. Constantly sleeping over at each other’s houses. Going on vacation. Until we had a falling out around junior year of high school. It was about a girl, of course. Stupid stuff. No one was in the wrong. He’s got a family now. I see pictures of them on Facebook every now and then. They look happy. I would love to reconnect. For everything to be water under the bridge. But it feels like too much time has passed. That the person I knew as a kid, 10+ years ago, is not the same person anymore.
And that brings me to Hulu’s recent horror-thriller sensation: No One Will Save You. A nearly-silent, 90-minute film that was dumped on another streaming service by Disney, with little-to-no advertisement. A film that I only found out about because of the non-stop praise on Tik Tok and Twitter. How everyone, including Guillermo del Toro himself, said it was the best thing I would watch this weekend. And they weren’t wrong.
At face-value, this is a pretty standard alien invasion flick. But that couldn’t be farther from reality. Not only do the invaders look terrifying, with their clubbed-curly toes and spider-like transformative nature, but they’re also highly intelligent. Often working together as one single organism, chittering and warbling (thank you, Hulu, for the descriptive captions) in synchronized yelps to hunt down Brynn.
The sound and creature design was literally out of this world. And this movie begged to be seen on the biggest screen, popcorn and soda in hand, seat rocking from the theater’s speakers.
Not only was I sweating and clenching in anticipation, I also was truly rooting for Brynn to pull through. To survive. To beat these bastards.
I gasped at No One Will Save You’s chaotic reveal: that Brynn accidentally killed her friend Maude with a rock while they had a fight.
In recent years, horror has done an outstanding job with using trauma as a way to express grief. And even though I’ve never ended a friendship as drastically as how Brynn has, I still felt bad for her. How she’s lived all these years alone. Isolated from society. Unconnected from peers and her community. Forced to face life without support. Without people to share memories with. To share moments. Thoughts. Ideas.
It’s the last scene that will stay with me the most: Brynn dancing, surrounded by people who are also smiling ear to ear, as the aliens saucer high above, the invasion assumingly in full force. Even though life is turned upside down, Brynn is finally happy. With a group of peers who embrace her.
Even though the ending is ominous, I couldn’t help but think: damn, she’s lucky. I wish I were her.
Shawn Berman runs The Daily Drunk and Pop Bites. He can be followed on Twitter and IG @sbb_writer.