The allure of revenge is a cornerstone of storytelling, yet films often grapple with its corrosive nature. From ancient myths to modern blockbusters, the pursuit of payback is frequently portrayed as a destructive path. But what happens when a film wholeheartedly embraces the vengeful impulse, offering little in the way of cautionary reflection?
“Send Help” plunges into this territory, introducing Linda Liddle, played by Rachel McAdams, a woman systematically undermined by her callous manager, Bradley Preston (Dylan O’Brien). Linda isn’t seeking grand ambition; she simply desires professional recognition, a fair chance within the corporate structure. Instead, she faces a relentless barrage of petty cruelties and blatant disrespect, a scenario bordering on legal grounds in today’s workplace.
The slights accumulate: public humiliation over her eating habits, whispers about her personal hygiene, exclusion from social events, and the theft of her hard work. Preston consistently dismisses Linda, favoring unqualified candidates and openly displaying his contempt. These aren’t minor inconveniences; they are calculated acts designed to diminish and demoralize.
These initial injustices are crucial, as they establish the foundation for Linda’s eventual actions. The film hinges on the believability of her mistreatment; it needs to feel like genuine workplace discrimination, not a contrived plot device. Director Sam Raimi deliberately exaggerates the unfairness, setting the stage for a dramatic escalation.
Raimi, known for his over-the-top style in films like “Evil Dead” and “Spider-Man,” doesn’t shy away from portraying Linda as somewhat hapless. She confides her hopes to her pet bird while watching reality television, presented as evidence of her social isolation and unremarkable life. Her wardrobe and mannerisms are deliberately designed to emphasize her perceived ordinariness.
However, this initial portrayal shifts dramatically when a fateful business trip to Bangkok takes a terrifying turn. A violent storm crashes their plane, leaving Linda and Preston stranded on a deserted island. The dynamic instantly transforms, flipping the power structure on its head.
Suddenly, Linda’s hidden resourcefulness emerges. She possesses the survival skills necessary to thrive in the wilderness, providing food, tending to Preston’s injuries, and building shelter. But her assistance comes with a condition: complete control. She asserts her dominance, responding to Preston’s complaints and condescension with unwavering authority.
A troubling question arises: if Linda was so capable, why didn’t she simply leave her toxic job? Her newfound abilities, including the chilling ease with which she hunts and prepares a wild boar, feel incongruous with the timid office worker we initially met. The island setting, while visually striking, often feels confined and relies heavily on CGI.
The film dangerously equates Preston’s offensive, yet non-lethal, behavior in the office with Linda’s increasingly despotic actions on the island. She revels in her newfound power, relentlessly berating and belittling him. Her actions become disproportionate, even actively hindering their chances of rescue. A disturbing scene involves the use of venom to drug Preston and a mock castration, delivered with chilling detachment.
The film’s sympathetic portrayal of Linda, despite her escalating cruelty, creates a moral ambiguity. We are meant to see her actions as justified retribution for the injustices she suffered. However, the extremity of her revenge elicits a visceral reaction, prompting some viewers to side with Preston, the intended villain.
A more nuanced film would have explored the psychological toll of Linda’s vengeful path, or at least acknowledged the overreaction to her workplace unhappiness. Raimi seems to accept her descent into madness, but frames it as a sign of empowerment, a triumph of “girl power” over “toxic masculinity.”
While some may find this message empowering, it raises a disturbing question: is any transgression excusable in the pursuit of revenge? The film offers no easy answers, leaving the audience to grapple with the unsettling implications of its narrative.
Ultimately, “Send Help” doesn’t simply tell a story of revenge; it forces us to confront the uncomfortable truth about the seductive power of retribution and the potential for even the most wronged individuals to succumb to darkness.
