Bed Rest – Film Review

Bed Rest, directed by Lori Evans Taylor in her feature directorial debut, attempts to merge psychological terror with supernatural scares while exploring the emotional toll of pregnancy loss and maternal anxiety. Starring Melissa Barrera as Julie Rivers, a pregnant woman confined to her bed under doctor’s orders, the film had the potential to deliver a harrowing, character-driven horror experience. However, despite its promising premise, the movie stumbles through uneven execution, derivative scares, and an over-reliance on clichés, resulting in a lukewarm and forgettable offering.

The film opens with Julie and her husband, Daniel Rivers (Guy Burnet), moving into a large, secluded house in a suburban neighborhood. The couple is starting anew after Julie’s past miscarriage, and their anticipation for the arrival of their baby is underscored by a lingering sense of unease. Julie’s happiness, however, is short-lived when complications in her pregnancy force her into strict bed rest.

What begins as a physical restriction soon turns into an emotional and psychological struggle. Confined to the upper floor of the house, Julie starts experiencing strange occurrences—a creaking floorboard, ghostly whispers, and spectral figures haunting her periphery. As her isolation deepens, so does her belief that something sinister is lurking in the house. Is it the manifestation of her trauma, or is Julie truly in danger from supernatural forces?

The central mystery revolves around Julie’s unraveling psyche as she uncovers the house’s dark history and attempts to protect her unborn child from the looming threat.

Barrera delivers a committed performance as Julie, effectively portraying a woman caught between maternal hope and the despair of her past. She imbues Julie with vulnerability and determination, grounding the character in emotional authenticity even as the script falters around her. Her portrayal of Julie’s growing paranoia and fear is the film’s most compelling element, and her ability to carry scenes of isolation and terror speaks to her talent as an actor.

Bed Rest touches on poignant themes of grief, motherhood, and trauma, particularly through its depiction of Julie’s struggle to reconcile her current pregnancy with her past loss. These moments resonate emotionally, giving the film an undercurrent of depth that is often absent in conventional horror fare. When the script leans into these human elements, it briefly hints at what the movie could have been: a haunting psychological exploration of maternal fears.

The house where most of the story unfolds is appropriately eerie, with its creaky floorboards, shadowy hallways, and vintage design. The set design amplifies Julie’s sense of entrapment, and the camera work occasionally succeeds in capturing her growing isolation and dread. The use of muted lighting and somber tones complements the film’s themes, creating a suitably unsettling ambiance.

From its opening scenes, Bed Rest relies heavily on familiar horror tropes: a haunted house with a tragic history, a woman whose mental state is questioned, and ghostly figures that appear and disappear with predictable timing. The narrative borrows liberally from other, more successful films such as The Others (2001), The Babadook (2014), and Hereditary (2018), but it fails to offer a fresh perspective or compelling twists.

The central mystery unfolds in a manner that feels uninspired and contrived, with key revelations telegraphed well in advance. The film’s third act, which attempts to tie together Julie’s trauma with the supernatural occurrences, feels rushed and lacks emotional payoff, leaving viewers unsatisfied.

The film’s pacing is erratic, with long stretches of slow, repetitive scenes interspersed with brief bursts of action or scares. While the initial buildup of tension works to an extent, the movie drags in its middle act, losing momentum and failing to sustain interest. The repetitive nature of Julie’s experiences—waking up to strange noises, seeing apparitions, and receiving cryptic messages—quickly grows tiresome, diluting the impact of the scares.

For a film marketed as a horror story, Bed Rest is notably lacking in genuine terror. The scares are formulaic, relying on jump scares and eerie sound effects rather than building sustained dread or psychological unease. The ghostly figures, while visually unsettling at first, are overused and eventually lose their impact. The supernatural elements feel underdeveloped and fail to complement the film’s more psychological aspects, resulting in a disjointed tone.

The supporting cast, including Guy Burnet as Julie’s husband Daniel and Edie Inksetter as a nurse, are given little to do beyond serving as plot devices. Daniel’s role as the supportive yet skeptical husband is one-dimensional, and his lack of agency in the story makes him feel like an afterthought. Similarly, other characters who could have added layers to the narrative—such as neighbors or healthcare workers—are either underutilized or stereotypical.

While the film’s exploration of grief and motherhood is commendable, it ultimately scratches the surface of these themes without fully delving into them. Julie’s psychological struggle is overshadowed by the supernatural elements, which feel tacked on rather than integral to the story. The film misses the chance to create a richer, more nuanced portrayal of maternal anxiety by prioritizing surface-level scares over character development.

Lori Evans Taylor shows flashes of potential in her direction, particularly in her ability to create a moody, oppressive atmosphere. However, her script suffers from a lack of originality and depth. The dialogue is functional at best and clunky at worst, with characters often speaking in clichés or exposition-heavy lines. The film’s resolution, which attempts to merge emotional catharsis with supernatural horror, feels unearned and abrupt, leaving a sour taste.

The cinematography by Jean-Philippe Bernier is serviceable but unremarkable, with standard framing and predictable shot choices that fail to elevate the material. The visual effects, while adequate for the budget, lack the polish needed to make the supernatural elements truly chilling.

The sound design is a mixed bag, with some effective use of creaks, whispers, and ambient noise to heighten tension. However, the overuse of loud, sudden stingers for jump scares becomes grating and diminishes the film’s overall impact.

The editing by Liz Calandrello struggles to maintain a consistent rhythm, contributing to the film’s uneven pacing. Transitions between scenes often feel abrupt or poorly timed, further disrupting the narrative flow.

Bed Rest is a film that promises much but delivers little. While Melissa Barrera’s performance and the atmospheric setting provide occasional highlights, the movie is ultimately undone by its predictable storytelling, lackluster scares, and shallow exploration of its themes. Horror fans looking for something fresh or emotionally resonant will likely find themselves disappointed.

For those willing to overlook its flaws, Bed Rest may offer a few fleeting moments of intrigue, but it largely fails to leave a lasting impression. In the crowded landscape of modern horror, this film struggles to justify its place, settling instead for mediocrity.

A missed opportunity to blend psychological depth with supernatural horror, Bed Rest ends up being more forgettable than frightening.