Send Help

Bradley invites Linda to tag along on a merger-exploring trip to Bangkok, ultimately hoping to relocate her because he can’t stand the sight of her, repulsed anew by the traces of tuna she leaves on his hand after shaking it. But when the plane malfunctions—initiating maybe the most entertaining crash scene of all time—Linda and Bradley, the sole survivors, find themselves washed up on the shore of some tropical paradise, setting the stage for a ferocious new power struggle. Outside the office, the odds are no longer in the big boss’s favor, for this girl’s a Survivor nut and wannabe contestant, and, based on the books lining her shelves, is fully prepared for becoming a resourceful castaway. She excels in her corporate department of Planning & Strategy, while her spoiled-brat superior likely never had to lift a finger for anyone. Plus, the crash left him with a leg injury that keeps him incapacitated. They agree to work together… at first.

The places Send Help ends up going are over-the-top absurd, but who’s looking for reality? Especially today, the idea of regularly escaping it is welcome, even essential, as is the thought of being trapped on a gorgeous, remote Thai island—even with your archnemesis. Linda certainly thrives there more than in her regular, lonely life, where her best friend and roommate is a cute little cockatiel named Sweetie. She will be the obvious favorite over her loser boss, but dark revelations will naturally complicate our allegiances. Linda’s early announcement that Blondie’s “One Way or Another” is her go-to karaoke song reveals volumes.

Despite some (intentionally?) questionable CGI, the film’s technical elements—like its two lead performances—are spectacular, with frequent Raimi collaborators Bill Pope lensing, Danny Elfman scoring, and Bob Murawski editing. Is Send Help the feminist revenge story I was hoping for? No. But it’s a hugely enjoyable, twisty, gross-out island (mis)adventure and a pure crowd-pleaser. All the audience members who had their faces planted in their phones during the trailers never reached for them again, and even cheered on multiple occasions—those blood-soaked boar-hunting, voluminous toxic-vomiting, and potential-penectomy scenes are worth celebrating—and most of the theater burst into excited applause at the end. They say young people have no attention span for films anymore, but Raimi is a clear antidote for this. Let’s hope he is back for good this time.