Keeper is a film built on secrecy. From its soft tiptoeing around a remote cabin in the woods to its intentionally quiet promotional rollout, the latest “bad trip” collaboration between NEON and Osgood Perkins signals that this is a horror movie hiding something. So, be warned, there will be (very) mild spoilers ahead:
Perkins has a distinct, wet, dripping, weepy style, and Keeper fits neatly into this established visual patterning. And mystery can be exciting when earned, under the right circumstances. The issue here is that all the misdirection leads to a thin, uncertain story reaching for depth on a subject it never demonstrates much grasp of. It’s a frustrating experience, watching a proven, talented filmmaker wrap a hollow narrative in the fabric of profundity.
Still, credit where it’s due: Perkins is a striking director with unique visual sensibilities. The Monkey, Longlegs, and The Blackcoat’s Daughter all demonstrate his ability to craft visually exciting, confidently controlled horror. The recurring problem here is the writing. His original scripts tend toward clunky, pretentious, structurally shaky choices. Keeper continues the trend of assuming ambiguity equals depth. And this time, the film is too small and too contained to adequately hide the weakness of its script behind strong cinematic style.
Yes, Keeper regularly gestures toward ideas about partnership and the unseen hazards of intimacy. The promotional framing of the film suggests a psychologically dense horror story about intimacy and identity. But on screen, those ideas barely exist. Symbolism accumulates but never resolves, and metaphors arrive with weight but no follow-through. This is clearest in its protagonist—an “artist” repeatedly described as special and different, without any real exploration or proof of why. What does it mean that this woman is an artist? Why are we seeing her art? Who is she, and why she does she look like someone else? If soap operas like The Vampire Diaries and Dark Shadows can use similar tropes effectively, then clearly, it can be done.
That said, Tatiana Maslany gives the film far more than the script ever offers her in return. Her character is essentially a two-dimensional perfect partner archetype. Liz lacks agency, failing to recognize dangers that should be obvious, and the doppelgänger storyline is introduced with gravity and basically abandoned. The arc never develops or pays off. Maslany often seems to be acting in a richer, more emotionally grounded version of this story, proving again that she’s one of the most talented performers of her generation. Unfortunately, in contrast, her excellence also occasionally exposes how half-baked this chocolate cake actually is.
Something else that I just can’t shake is how much Keeper shares DNA with Men, one of the most misguided horror films of the last five years sharing similar themes. Both are intimate arthouse horrors filled with half-formed metaphors about gender and heterosexual power dynamics; both attempt to represent domestic violence or the horror of womanhood through abstraction rather than understanding. And both were made by directors who seem to have little grasp of the emotional or social dynamics they’re trying to depict.
The result for both are hollow, misguided attempts at saying something meaningful about being a woman—examples of how these subjects demand less talking from male filmmakers and far more listening. Yes, all filmmakers have every right to explore stories beyond their lived experience, but more often than not, the outcome is awkward. Keeper’s traditional horror finale is exactly that: awkward and ill-advised.
This leads to my main concern, which comes in the final act, where the film turns toward imagery and implications that clearly invoke domestic violence and the collective faces of women who have endured it. This metaphor, if I grasped it correctly, has been used before with far more care and understanding—notably in Natasha Kermani and Brea Grant’s Lucky, a film made by women who approach the subject with obvious insight. Keeper reaches for that same symbolism without the grounding to earn it, resulting in something that feels misjudged at best and in poor taste at worst.
In the end, Perkins remains a compelling director, but his weaknesses as a writer continue to overshadow his visual talent. In a small, contained story like this—without scope or world-building—those flaws become impossible to ignore. Maslany delivers a stunning lead performance, but the script never meets her halfway.
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