Horror often asks for a lot of empathy and understanding from its audience. It begs us not to roll our eyes when someone drops a weapon that might give them the upper hand or when they run upstairs and not out the perfectly safe backdoor. Some films, like The Strangers or Night of the Living Dead, create narrative reasons for questionable behavior, which works as we ride with the characters. But then there’s Talk to Me, which paints a painful portrait of someone going through it. Mia (Sophie Wilde) does a lot of which an audience might disagree, but the film excels because it makes her hurt palpable and, more importantly, understandable. Talk to Me avoids making cliché tropes feel real because it builds its foundation on heartbreak, loneliness, and the things we do to make ourselves feel better when everything feels hopeless.
Exploring trauma and grief through horror isn’t a new concept these days. One might say our cup runneth over with flicks about terrible things happening to people suffering emotionally because of their past. Talk to Me functions differently. Unlike The Babadook, the monster isn’t a metaphor. Nor does it just focus on our main character solving a mystery that might answer the spookiness around them. Instead, Danny & Michael Phillippou drop us into Mia’s life shortly after losing her mother. She’s emotionally vulnerable and desperately looking for happiness, even for a fleeting second. Wilde and the script tap into the hurt and isolation that comes from having one’s world flip upside down. Scream also presents a main character who tragically lost her mother, but the film only briefly touches upon how that experience affected Sidney Prescott. The pop psychology came from a mean high school cheerleader, who said she learned it watching daytime talk shows, so yeah, it’s not a 1:1 comparison.
Talk to Me, beyond its scares, gore, and pints of blood, wrestles with someone’s state of mind when a cherished connection gets severed at the drop of a dime. That’s why Mia’s relationship with her father, the “logical” bond she might gravitate towards, feels strained and distant. On the real, It’s not her dad’s fault. Mia wants her mother and pulls back from her only living parent simply because he’s not her. She’s dying—no pun intended—for any other connection since this one brings her no joy. That’s why she does the “talk to me” challenge; she wants acceptance and belonging since she lost the only person who, in her eyes, provided that safe haven. And that’s also the reason the evil things latch onto and manipulate her every step of the way.
It’s not uncommon that anyone suffering finds solace in outside sources. We dive headfirst into things that make us happy, like movies, video games, music, comic books, and people. Some choose drugs, alcohol, or anything considered a more harmful vice. But even supposed harmless distractions come equipped with warning labels about addiction. Mia forms an unhealthy dependence on the mysterious hand at the film’s center because it provides her what she craves: a connection to her mother. The demon talking to her on the other end convinces her, through a motherly disguise, that no one else has her best interest in mind. It cuts her off from her best friend, surrogate family, and even her father by plucking her deep-seated fears like a guitar string. Talk to Me’s most touching and horrifying scene involves Mia’s ghostly mother holding her in bed.
The image says everything about dependency, pain, and longing, along with the age-old adage about carefulness and wishing. But it’s heartbreaking watching this 17-year-old find solace in something so terrible for her. That said, it makes sense from her perspective or of anyone grieving a loss that heavy. It’s tough letting go without thinking about missed opportunities with the deceased. Or accepting that those conversations put on hold for later will never happen because, sadly, “later” never came. Even at such a young age, Mia anguishes over the sentences left unsaid, the secrets her mother kept, and the nagging feeling that she didn’t do enough to save her.
Horror delves into misplaced guilt, usually through adults, like in The Changeling or Smile. Talk to Me places those feelings on a 17-year-old’s still-developing shoulders and watches her spiral. It feels natural when Mia breaks the “talk to me” cardinal rule or takes the hand home rather than something that happens because the script demands it. It’s no different than watching a friend or family member go through their personal hell and make awful choices while completely understanding why. Yes, it’s frustrating, but only because we want the best for them. Talk to Me makes the audience care for Mia and want better for her, just like that family member or friend.
For anyone who remembers what Mia’s shoes felt like or currently walking a similar path, Talk to Me ends on a dour note. All that sadness and dread bursting at the movie’s seams erupt. And not in Mia’s favor. We don’t know if she made peace with her mother’s death or even if she forgave herself, but we at least understand why she made her choices. Mia never comes off as someone making stupid decisions despite knowing better; she’s a fully fleshed-out human child doing her best in a situation where her best is all anyone can ask for. We all cope with loss differently, and yeah, it’s not always healthy. “Talk to Me” is more than a title; it’s a plea. Mia misses the person for whom she never said goodbye and wants her back at all costs.
Talk to Me works because it asks its audience one complicated question: If given the same chance at just one more conversation, who among you can say without a doubt that you wouldn’t do the same thing?
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