Bone Lake – Film Review

Mercedes Bryce Morgan’s Bone Lake is the kind of horror-thriller that lures you in with a deceptively simple premise—a romantic getaway gone wrong—before unraveling into a labyrinth of deceit, sexual tension, and violence. Written by Joshua Friedlander and starring Maddie Hasson, Alex Roe, Andra Nechita, and Marco Pigossi, the film aims to blend the relationship dissection of Gone Girl with the claustrophobic psychological dread of The Invitation. The result is a movie that is both gripping and frustrating, often compelling in its performances and atmosphere but uneven in tone and execution.

The setup is disarmingly familiar: Sage (Maddie Hasson) and Diego (Marco Pigossi) arrive at a remote lakeside house to celebrate a new chapter in their relationship. Sage, the more pragmatic partner, has just accepted a stable job to allow Diego to pursue writing full-time. Their dynamic, established early on, feels natural—there’s affection and comfort, but also subtle cracks. Morgan lingers on small moments, the silences between them, the faint unease when Diego hesitates to make eye contact.

Their weekend is interrupted by another couple, Will (Alex Roe) and Cin (Andra Nechita), who claim to have also rented the same house. What begins as an awkward encounter soon evolves into an uneasy social experiment. The foursome agree to share the space, and the early scenes of shared meals and lakeside swims evoke a sunlit tranquility that feels doomed from the outset. Cinematographer Nick Matthews captures the surrounding wilderness with an unnerving stillness—Bone Lake feels both inviting and cursed, a mirror of the characters’ shifting dynamics.

As the couples interact, subtle manipulations begin to surface. Will’s charm masks something sinister, while Cin’s bubbly exterior carries a palpable malice. Roe and Nechita excel in walking this delicate line between allure and threat, gradually invading Sage and Diego’s psychological and physical boundaries. What makes these early interactions so effective is the ambiguity—Morgan doesn’t immediately reveal whether Will and Cin are dangerous or merely eccentric.

The film’s middle stretch becomes a slow-burn exercise in power and seduction. Sage and Diego find themselves trapped in a psychological tug-of-war, each uncertain whom to trust. Friedlander’s script plays with shifting perspectives—sometimes aligning us with Sage’s growing paranoia, sometimes with Diego’s frustration and confusion. There’s an underlying commentary on intimacy and vulnerability, how quickly the foundation of a relationship can crumble when subjected to external manipulation.

However, the writing occasionally leans into melodrama. Moments that should feel psychologically charged instead veer toward soap opera theatrics, especially in certain exchanges that rely too heavily on exposition. Still, Hasson and Pigossi anchor the chaos with grounded performances. Hasson, in particular, carries the emotional burden of the film—her portrayal of Sage oscillates between fragility and ferocity, giving the story its beating heart.

Where Bone Lake thrives is in its atmosphere. The film’s first hour is taut and eerie, feeding off the tension of cohabitation and the suspicion that danger is hiding in plain sight. The sound design—a symphony of creaking floorboards, distant ripples of water, and muffled laughter—amplifies the unease. Morgan has a knack for using space: the lake, the house, the locked rooms, each a container for secrets and suppressed emotions.

Unfortunately, as the story escalates, the film loses its grip on the delicate tension it so effectively builds. The final act pivots sharply from psychological horror into full-blown survival mode, with revelations that feel more sensational than earned. The film’s twisty backstory aims to shock, but instead risks undermining the more interesting thematic exploration of control, lust, and trust that had been carefully constructed.

Even so, Morgan’s direction keeps the film visually and emotionally engaging. Her framing often traps characters within reflections, doorways, and narrow hallways—a visual metaphor for their internal confinement. The lake itself becomes an ominous presence, shimmering deceptively as violence festers beneath. There’s a poetic, almost mythic quality to the imagery, reminiscent of The Invitation’s balance between realism and nightmare.

If Bone Lake succeeds in keeping viewers engaged through its rougher narrative patches, it’s largely due to its cast. Maddie Hasson delivers a quietly riveting turn as Sage, a woman whose instincts and insecurities collide in increasingly dangerous ways. She navigates the character’s emotional complexity with restraint, allowing fear and rage to simmer just below the surface.

Marco Pigossi brings a nuanced, understated performance as Diego, capturing both the frustration of a man emasculated by circumstance and the fear of losing control—of his partner, his identity, and his safety. Their chemistry feels authentic, which makes their unraveling all the more painful to watch.

Alex Roe, often cast as a brooding romantic lead, takes an intriguing turn here as the unnervingly charismatic Will. His presence dominates every scene, blending seduction and menace in a way that’s both magnetic and deeply uncomfortable. Andra Nechita’s Cin complements him perfectly—her sugary demeanor masks a cruelty that becomes increasingly disturbing. Together, Roe and Nechita craft antagonists who are far more interesting when left mysterious than when their motivations are later explained.

There’s a constant tension in Bone Lake between what it wants to be—a cerebral study of intimacy under pressure—and what it becomes—a stylized exercise in violence and shock. The film occasionally sacrifices emotional logic for visual flair, and its revelations stretch plausibility. Yet even in its missteps, there’s something admirable about Morgan’s ambition. She’s clearly interested in dissecting how relationships fracture under scrutiny, and how desire can become destructive when power dynamics shift.

The cinematography and soundscape elevate the experience beyond standard genre fare. Karu’s lens transforms the idyllic setting into something oppressive, while composers Roque Banos and Ben Cherney‘s haunting score pulses beneath the surface like a heartbeat gone irregular. Every element seems designed to unsettle. Still, the film’s attempt to fuse eroticism, psychological tension, and slasher tropes doesn’t always harmonize. The tonal swings—from sexually charged dialogue to brutal violence—can feel jarring, leaving the viewer uncertain of whether to feel seduced or sickened.

Bone Lake may not fully succeed in balancing its psychological intrigue with its more visceral thrills, but it’s never dull. Mercedes Bryce Morgan’s confident direction, combined with strong performances and an unsettling atmosphere, make it a memorable entry in the recent wave of intimate, relationship-driven horror films. It flirts with greatness in its first half before succumbing to excess in its final act, but it remains a fascinating experiment in tone and tension.

For viewers who appreciate slow-burn dread and don’t mind a few leaps in logic, Bone Lake offers plenty to admire—particularly its sharp visual sense and haunting performances. It’s a film that flounders in its final strokes, yet its imagery and unease linger long after the credits roll.

Bone Lake is a visually gripping, uneven descent into the toxic undercurrents of love and fear. It doesn’t quite stick the landing, but it leaves an impression—like a dark reflection rippling across still water.