With the exception of a handful of palm trees and a wild boar or two, the beaches in Angus and Aberdeenshire have more to offer than beaches on Thai islands. For one reason or another, our own beach can be as lonesome as that depicted in “Send Help” (20th Century Studios), showing now at the Montrose Playhouse. A predictable movie conservatively remains glued to one genre while it changes location or its characters change costume; “Send Help” dextrously moves between genres, like a shape-shifter, while the costumes and location remain the same.
Bradley, played by Dylan O’Brien, is the management-consulting-firm boss who overlooks Linda, played by Rachel McAdams, for a promotion because she doesn’t wipe the tuna from her lips before meeting him on his first day in charge. “I’ve received a few complaints about you,” he says, perching on the edge of his desk to prove that he’s the boss. “Noxious odours. Tuna fish. The odours—they can be a distraction. Understand?” The conversation makes Linda uncomfortable. Later that day, holding back tears, she practises affirmations: “You are enough,” she says, “just the way you are.” She accompanies him and his laddish lackeys—men who are made ill-at-ease by capable women—on his private jet (“Let’s go boys!”); she, working, while the “boys” laugh juvenilely at an online-audition tape which Linda filmed to compete for a spot as a contestant on her favourite television show, “Survivor.” The plane crashes: Linda and Bradley wash up on that island off Thailand (where much of the movie is shot). This nippy, sophisticated set-up reverses gender norms: Linda is the outdoorsy, practical, good-with-her-hands survivor; Bradley is the golfing, old-fashioned jock with “very soft baby hands like fresh out of the factory.”
But it is the genre-bending shape-shifting which grabs and holds onto our attention. From comedy, to thriller, to romance, to horror, to mystery (more-or-less in that order)—the authoritative skill of the filmmakers is to use the frequent changes of mood between formally bounded scenes to move their masterpiece gradually but surely darker as it evolves. This is facilitated by alternating quickly between times of day, and established by weather and sunlight and by the blinding score by Danny Elfman for large orchestra, solo instruments (such as piano), and—as if that’s not enough—a huge choir (each of the members of which are credited by name at the end).
But the success of the film is fully conditional upon the charisma of, and chemistry between, its two stars. In a foretaste of what is to come, Linda seems glowing to be on the island alone with Bradley. As she gets a fire going for the first time, she celebrates by whooping, clapping, and skipping around. A long-lingering shot as she sits alone on the beach at dusk with her newly started campfire behind her transfers this warmth to her face (the score now leading us upwards with an upbeat, major-tone scale). Bradley is contemptuous. “How long do you think until we’re out of here?” he asks. And then, role-playing the boss while unable even to stand, “Have you tried making a distress signal, to put bamboo sticks in the sand to spell out “HELP’?” “Sorry,” Linda replies, “that wasn’t on my list of priorities.” “That should be your focus,” he says, “not being Suzie homemaker over here.” (This is a reference to her spick-and-span lean-to shelter and neatly presented meals.) As he bosses, she mocks. “You work for me,” he says. “What did you just say?” she replies. “You heard me,” he says. “You got a problem with that?” “We’re not in the office any more Bradley,” she says. Quite.
The wild boar appears early in the action, delivering one of the best scenes and some of the snappiest dialog in the film. “Are you gonna hunt a boar, Linda from Accounting?” Bradley says. “Strategy and Planning actually,” Linda replies. “Shouldn’t you know that?” The gory and even shocking scene that immediately follows culminates with the dying pig repeatedly vomiting copious volumes of fresh blood all over Linda’s face. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” she says, face spattered with blood. “I think I like it!” “You literally brought home the bacon,” Bradley says, snorting hysterically to impersonate the pig roasting over their fire.
The special effects, including the strung-out death throes of the boar, some of which are by Industrial Light and Magic, the best in the business, are sit-up-in-the-seat impressive. As the waves are rendered to be the same texture as the night sky above, the cinematography becomes as a nineteenth-century watercolour hanging in the Aberdeen Art Gallery which doubtless took years to paint. Elsewhere, the camera fills in narrative gaps. Take two back-to-back shots mid-film: first, of Linda spiritedly carrying two appetising, nutritious fish on a pole over her shoulder, Huckleberry Finn-style; second, of Bradley defiantly crunching a giant cockroach he plucked off a rock—bountifully confirming for the audience with which of these characters we would prefer to be stranded. Meanwhile, other shots are plain gorgeous: one, of Linda and Bradley chatting several evenings later, their faces lit by that campfire, begins with the camera stock-still—emphasising the waves, which are cresting in the background behind the stars. Finally, the camera moves inwards, closer, for emphasis; now trained on her from a spot just behind his right ear.
Ms McAdams and Mr O’Brien maintain a carefully judged, campy lightness during their exceptional performances which flourish in lockstep with the evolving narrative. How can Bradley, with whom nobody would choose to be stranded, keep a modicum of his manhood? By asserting his status. “Gotta make the tough call sometimes,” he says, “being the boss man.” “Save it,” Linda snaps.
Adam Poole
7th February 2026
If you are interested in viewing this screening, please book your tickets here
