Relay – Film Review

David Mackenzie, the Scottish filmmaker behind Hell or High Water and Outlaw King, returns with Relay, a cerebral thriller that trades sprawling landscapes for claustrophobic city streets and quiet exchanges conducted in code. Written by Justin Piasecki, the film stars Riz Ahmed, Lily James, and Sam Worthington in a tense, layered story about secrecy, morality, and the blurred lines between protector and manipulator.

At its core, Relay is a film about trust in a world where every word, every handoff, every misstep could mean ruin. Mackenzie frames this paranoia not through car chases or explosive set pieces but through meticulous maneuvering—coded calls, drop-offs, disguises, and surveillance. The result is a thriller that feels both grounded and disorientingly modern, steeped in the reality of whistleblowers, corporate corruption, and shadow intermediaries who profit from silence.

Riz Ahmed plays Ash, a mysterious figure who operates as a middleman between whistleblowers and powerful corporations. He never reveals his identity, preferring to communicate exclusively through the telecommunications relay system—a choice that is both ingenious for his line of work and thematically rich. The anonymity of the system, built on trust and law-bound confidentiality, becomes a lifeline. Ahmed inhabits Ash with the quiet precision audiences have come to expect from him, portraying a man at war with his own conscience as much as with the mercenaries tailing him.

Ahmed’s performance is the heartbeat of Relay. His Ash is deeply human—haunted, exhausted, yet fiercely sharp. He moves with the weariness of someone who has carried too many secrets for too long, a man whose clever disguises and operational brilliance barely mask the cracks forming beneath. It’s a controlled, riveting turn that anchors the film even when its pacing occasionally falters.

Lily James brings depth to Sarah Grant, a whistleblower whose life spirals into paranoia after uncovering damning corporate research. James sheds her usual romantic and period-piece persona, crafting Sarah as someone caught between fear and courage, uncertainty and resolve. The film smartly avoids painting her as a simple victim; instead, Sarah embodies the conflict of someone who wants to do the right thing but also longs for escape from the relentless pressure.

Opposite Ahmed and James is Sam Worthington as Dawson, the leader of a counterintelligence team hunting for leverage at any cost. Worthington plays him with a measured calmness, never veering into caricatured villainy but exuding quiet menace. His portrayal captures the cold pragmatism of someone who sees morality as an inconvenience in the pursuit of power. Supporting players Willa Fitzgerald and Matthew Maher round out the ensemble effectively, the latter injecting a touch of moral ambiguity that lingers.

What sets Relay apart from other corporate espionage thrillers is its use of the telecommunications relay service as both narrative engine and metaphor. The device through which Ash communicates—his lifeline of anonymity—becomes the very system that keeps him vulnerable. Mackenzie and Piasecki lean into this dynamic, using modern communication infrastructure as a battlefield where silence, mistrust, and misdirection reign supreme.

The mechanics of the plot are intricate without tipping into convolution. The film relishes the details of how documents are hidden, how surveillance teams misdirected, and how Ash choreographs escapes in plain sight. These sequences are less about spectacle than about tension: the slow tightening of a noose around Ash’s neck as each move brings him closer to exposure. Mackenzie proves again that he can create suspense not from explosions but from glances, pauses, and the unnerving sense that someone is always watching.

Relay opts for a muted palette. Shot largely in New York and Pittsburgh, the film trades bright skylines for dimly lit alleys, nondescript apartments, and the sterile interiors of corporate offices. The cinematography reflects the world Ash inhabits: functional, cautious, unglamorous. While this stripped-down approach fits the film’s tone, it occasionally risks flatness. There are moments when one wishes Mackenzie pushed the visual style further, using shadows or reflections to mirror the themes of secrecy and duality.

Still, the atmosphere is immersive. The sound design is particularly effective—phone clicks, the hum of surveillance equipment, the distorted cadence of voices carried through relay calls all build a pervasive unease. Mackenzie knows when to let silence do the work, drawing out moments where characters sit in tension, waiting for a move that may or may not come.

Beyond the mechanics of espionage, Relay asks deeper questions. What happens when those tasked with protecting truth are also complicit in its suppression? Ash is a man who profits from secrecy while knowing firsthand the damage silence can cause. Sarah, meanwhile, wrestles with the line between moral responsibility and personal safety. Even Dawson, ruthless as he may be, operates within the logic of survival in a corporate war zone.

Thematically, the film touches on guilt, redemption, and the fragility of trust. The anonymous relay calls become metaphors for human connection—how we reveal fragments of ourselves while keeping others hidden, how communication can be both intimate and alienating. In an era where whistleblowers often face intimidation and erasure, Relay feels timely, exploring how information can be both weapon and shield.

Where Relay stumbles is in its pacing. The film runs long, and while the intricacy of the setup is compelling, certain stretches feel repetitive. Multiple sequences of Ash outmaneuvering surveillance blur together, their tension diluted by familiarity. The film also leans heavily on exposition in places, explaining systems and logistics that could have been more effectively shown through action.

That said, Mackenzie keeps the stakes clear. Even when the rhythm falters, the core tension—Ash’s need to stay anonymous while protecting his client—remains strong. The finale delivers a payoff that is both thrilling and thematically resonant, even if it doesn’t quite achieve the cathartic punch of Mackenzie’s best work.

Ultimately, it’s the performances that elevate Relay. Ahmed commands every frame, his internal conflict palpable. James provides the emotional counterweight, her fear and determination keeping the story grounded. Worthington, often criticized for one-note roles, finds nuance in Dawson, his menace sharpened by restraint. Together, they form a triangle of mistrust and shifting alliances that sustains the film’s suspense even when its mechanics slow.

Relay is a thriller that thrives on subtlety rather than spectacle, trading shootouts and car crashes for coded conversations and silent observation. It’s a film about secrets—how they’re kept, how they’re traded, and how they eat away at the people who carry them. While its pacing issues and muted visual style hold it back from greatness, Mackenzie’s craftsmanship and the strength of the performances make it a compelling watch.