Send Help

It begins in very recognizable territory: a company where the person doing the actual work is not necessarily the one receiving the credit, while others occupy comfortable positions thanks to someone else’s effort. That initial imbalance could have supported a straightforward workplace satire, but Sam Raimi uses it as the starting point for something much more playful, unpleasant and perverse. What becomes interesting is not simply the corporate criticism itself, but what happens when a relationship built on hierarchy, contempt and convenience starts losing the rules that normally sustain it.
Rachel McAdams carries the film with enormous force. Her character works precisely because Raimi does not construct her as a perfect victim or as a heroine designed to be likable at every moment. There is frustration, intelligence, pride, resentment and an ability to adapt that allows the film to keep playing with our perception of her. McAdams can move from discomfort to comedy and from there into something much fiercer without making it feel as though she is playing three different characters. Dylan O’Brien, meanwhile, understands the tone very well and avoids turning his character into an overly simple caricature. The uncomfortable tension between them keeps the film alive even when the screenplay becomes increasingly outrageous.
What I enjoyed most is exactly that mixture of tones Raimi handles so well. There is black comedy, tension, deliberately awkward situations and then sudden bursts of violence that are far more graphic than one might initially expect. The blood does not feel as if the film has abruptly changed genre; it becomes a natural extension of the physical, cruel humour that has always accompanied Raimi’s work. He knows that grotesque imagery can be frightening and funny at the same time, and once again he enjoys pushing a situation until the viewer is no longer sure whether to laugh, look away or do both.
The film also works as a small war over class and power. The workplace opening establishes who commands, who obeys, who receives credit and who carries the burden, but the screenplay is mainly interested in how fragile those positions really are. A hierarchy can seem completely natural as long as everyone accepts the rules supporting it. Once circumstances stop automatically favouring whoever has always held the advantage, other abilities begin to matter. That is where the film finds much of its nastiness, because it does not present power as something moral, but as something circumstantial.
Danny Elfman fits that tone perfectly. His score has the playful, sinister and slightly excessive quality that works so naturally with Raimi. It does not attempt to make every moment solemn; often it emphasizes the absurdity instead. Visually, the film also avoids grim realism in favour of a twisted adventure where survival, black comedy and physical horror coexist quite comfortably. Certain shots and camera movements constantly remind us that this is a director who genuinely enjoys playing with cinematic form.
The weakness is that the screenplay does not always match that energy. Some of its ideas about workplace exploitation, gender, resentment and privilege could have been explored much more deeply, but the film almost always chooses entertainment over stopping to examine them. Not every decision feels equally convincing either, and there are moments when Raimi is clearly willing to sacrifice logic in exchange for a funny scene or a strong effect. If you accept that bargain, the film becomes much easier to enjoy; if you expect genuinely incisive social satire, it may feel somewhat shallow.
Even so, I found it far more entertaining than many films attempting to combine this many genres. It has pace, personality and two central performers who understand the game perfectly. McAdams stands out in particular because she finds a different register within a career not usually associated with material this messy, physical and unpleasant. There is something especially satisfying about watching her enter Raimi’s universe and answer his exaggeration with an equally committed performance.
I do not think Send Help says anything especially new about bosses, employees or power relationships, but it knows how to turn those ideas into gleefully nasty entertainment. It begins by smelling like a corporate comedy, becomes infected with survival, black humour and violence, and ultimately feels unmistakably like a Sam Raimi film: uneven, excessive, playful and far more interested in having fun while getting its hands dirty than in behaving elegantly. On those terms, it works very well.