Never Let Go

 

Alexandre Aja's Never Let Go is a modest tale of possession and evil that doubles (triples?) as a story about family ties (literally) and faith, truth and trust.

Halle Berry stars as the mother of twin boys Sam and Nolan (Anthony B. Jenkins and Percy Daggs IV, respectively) and the three have taken refuge in their cabin in a forest where "evil" waits to take possession of them. The cabin is secured by a blessing that keeps the demons at bay. Or does it?

On their daily foraging excursions, the three tie around their waists a thick rope that is secured to the cabin's foundation. Momma says the connection protects them from spirits that only she sees.

As provisions run out and foraging produces less and less -- they're reduced to eating tree bark -- Nolan questions more and more his mother's stories. His doubts turn an already perilous situation into a fiery nightmare.

Oscar-winner Berry, who is also one of the movie's producers, is a steady anchor in a picture that asks relatively little of her as the lead. She is the veteran in what is ostensibly a three-character flick.

Berry has a couple of wonderful scenes -- one midway through in which she offers her sons insight into the kind of threats that lurk around them, although she doesn't say why, only that the evil got to them.

The other I won't spoil by giving away too much, but it involves a heartbreaking decision that could mean the difference between life and death. Berry nails it, solidly.

Sam and Nolan (two strong performances from child actors) actually dominate the last third of the picture, as the cabin walls no longer offer them safety and they face harsh truths their Momma has kept from them.

The narrative in Never Let Go is pretty sparse in background and context even though the mythology upon which the movie's central conceit -- the rope -- feels fresh, to me. Aja's production design is suitably pasty and claustrophobic, his demons and ghouls restrained compared to big budget horror shows.

But that's no matter because the movie's greatest appeal, to me, is its depiction of familial, especially filial, devotion, and how love can both heal and harm.