Joshua Giuliano delivers a stripped down, mean, and viscerally effective slice of survival horror
River catches you off guard from the very start.
Writer/director Joshua Giuliano opens the film by panning the camera through the aftermath of a vicious attack in the wilderness. We never witness the violence itself, but the accompanying audio allows us to hear everything that occurred. The effect is haunting. Our minds are often capable of conjuring images far more disturbing than anything even the most talented filmmaker could place on screen, and Giuliano immediately understands how to weaponize that. It is the first lesson in terror that River delivers, and from there the film steadily escalates its atmosphere of dread.
At the heart of the story are siblings Lucy (Jane Levy), Drew (Max Mattern), and their older sister Carla (Jessica Rothe). Reunited to memorialize their recently deceased father by spreading his ashes along the river he loved, the trio carries years of unresolved tension into the journey. Each sibling holds different memories and perceptions of their father, and those differences inevitably spill out. Giuliano wisely spends time letting us sit with these characters before subjecting them to horror. The dynamic feels authentic, with Drew frequently stuck between the clashing personalities of his sisters, Carla’s carefree attitude a counter to Lucy’s resentment and overbearing nature.
The friction reaches a boiling point after each sibling shares a eulogy. Soon after, an accident leaves their boat stranded in the middle of the river, and it is there that they realize they are not alone. On the shoreline stands a towering man (Dane DiLiegro), clad only in swimming trunks, his body covered in blood and his face concealed behind a mannequin-like mask. A female companion soon joins him. Their eerie presence becomes far more sinister when the siblings witness them murder a disoriented young woman on the shoreline. It soon becomes apparent that Lucy, Carla, and Drew are their next intended victims.
While the film draws from familiar slasher and rural-terror traditions, it consistently keeps viewers on their toes. Giuliano leverages recognizable genre tropes but frequently delivers the unexpected, constructing several genuinely memorable set pieces along the way. Once the threat reveals itself, the film relentlessly tightens its grip, never losing sight of the emotional stakes established in its opening act.
The river is a fitting metaphor for the film. Water often offers a sense of calm and serenity, yet beneath the surface lurk dangerous currents capable of turning deadly without warning. River embraces that same duality. Its lush wilderness is beautiful, tranquil, and inviting, but every frame carries the feeling that something dangerous lies just beneath the surface.
The wilderness setting becomes one of the film’s greatest assets. Cinematographer Nick Matthews captures West Virginia as both breathtaking and unsettling. Wide shots emphasize the siblings’ isolation and vulnerability, while derelict bridges, rolling hills, and dense greenery create an environment that feels beautiful yet quietly hostile. Even after the characters make it onto land, the sense of entrapment only intensifies. The landscape opens up physically while somehow feeling increasingly claustrophobic. The practical production also deserves recognition. Shooting on the water gives the film a tangible, lived-in quality that enhances the visceral impact of its most intense moments. The physicality of the performances, the characters’ responses to danger, and the evolving survival tactics all feel believable.
The audio-visual work is equally impressive. The aggressive, discordant score from Mondo Boys maintains a constant sense of unease, while the immersive sound design transforms the wilderness into a living presence. Natural sounds gradually become distorted as the killers close in, creating the feeling that their existence itself disrupts the natural order of the world around them.
These antagonists are particularly effective because of how primal they feel. Silent, relentless, and disturbingly ritualistic, they function as perversions of nature itself. Like the killers of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, The Hills Have Eyes, or the more extreme corners of French horror, they are embodiments of cruelty that transform ordinary people simply through exposure to their violence.
That transformation is what elevates Giuliano’s script beyond a simple survival story. Rather than inventing trauma for the sake of spectacle, the film mines pain that already exists within its protagonists. The siblings arrive carrying grief, resentment, and unresolved emotional wounds, and the escalating nightmare forces those emotions to the surface. By investing viewers in the family dynamic first, the horror lands with far greater force.
Levy, Rothe, and Mattern are outstanding throughout. The pairing of Levy and Rothe, both veterans of the genre, gives the film a strong emotional core. Levy delivers a fierce performance as a woman once again forced into the role of protector, channeling years of pent-up frustration and grief into increasingly desperate action. Rothe’s easygoing charm quickly endears Carla to the audience, making her plight all the more affecting. Mattern provides welcome moments of humor without undercutting the tension, becoming a sympathetic and vulnerable presence amid the chaos.
The violence, when it arrives, is brutal and uncompromising. Faces are pummeled, bodies are stabbed, limbs are hacked apart, and fire burns. Yet the brutality never feels detached from the film’s themes. In many ways, the violence serves as a physical manifestation of the emotional catharsis and grief that brought these siblings together in the first place.
Brutal moments are balanced by occasional bursts of levity, situational humor, and simple humanity, that allow viewers a brief release before the tension ratchets upward once again. It is an impressive balancing act, and one that keeps the film moving at a brisk pace. Editor Thom Newell further sharpens the experience, allowing scenes room to breathe just long enough before unleashing the next wave of terror.
River doesn’t reinvent survival horror, nor does it need to. Joshua Giuliano delivers a stripped-down, mean, and viscerally effective thriller built on strong characters, escalating dread, and relentless tension. Its smartest decision is investing viewers in this fractured family before putting them through hell. The result is a gripping experience that keeps audiences guessing while delivering some of the most effective rural horror in recent memory. Originally intended for streaming, River is now headed to theaters, and that’s tremendous news. This is a film that deserves to be experienced big, loud, and alongside a crowd. Buckle up for a wild ride.
