BIRTHRITE - Mark Reviews Movies

Birthrite, Brainstorm Media

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Review by Mark Dujsik | August 7, 2025

Director Ross Partridge gives us one blatant jump-scare in the early stages of Birthrite. It's only memorable because the moment feels so out of place at the time, and in retrospect, Partridge almost seems to be subtly jabbing the tactic and its abundance in horror movies.

The rest of the film is quiet, meticulously paced, and creates an air of dread by way of its characters, its central mystery, and some cleverly implemented dramatic irony. The story here isn't unique or, for that matter, much, but watching a horror tale and expecting something novel or intricate is an increasingly losing prospect. We should take what good we can get from them.

There's plenty that is good in Patridge's film, written by Patch Darragh and Erin Gann. Most of it comes down to the gradual escalation of how things could and do go wrong in this relatively simple story, which revolves around a couple who just want to make a nice, comfortable life for themselves. They're Wren (Alice Kremelberg) and Maya (Juani Feliz), who have been dating for some time and are expecting their first child. Wren is pregnant, and she unexpectedly receives a kind of fast-track means to obtaining that pleasant, contended life for herself and her partner.

Her aunt has died and left Wren her house in the country. It's the perfect time for the two to move out of the city, since Wren would love to raise their child in a sizeable house, as opposed to a cramped apartment, and Maya has started working more remotely. The sleepy little town nearby has everything they could need, mainly a local midwife named Rosalie (Jennifer Lafleur), who worked for Wren's aunt for decades and seems more excited about the prospect of the two moving here than Maya.

All of this appears close to perfect, as a montage shows Wren, who starts teaching piano to local kids, and Maya, who gets a dog for the home and her walks in the woods, making a life together in the house. It's so idyllic that one might believe they're not watching a horror film at all, save for an opening scene that makes it plainly clear that we are watching one. Some kind of ritual, involving a bonfire and a baby and a shadowy figure with horned head, unfolds in the forest. Life for Wren and Maya seems so good that maybe the aforementioned jump-scare, in which Wren is startled by a pigeon in the attic that appears with a loud musical sting on the soundtrack, is just a way to remind us not to become too comfortable.

The refreshing thing about Patridge's approach to this material is that the director doesn't rely on or, indeed, even implement that tactic or other similarly cheap ones. The main characters and their relationship are quickly but solidly developed, from Wren's mental health issues, which have subsided with medication that she's no longer taking because of the pregnancy, to Maya's hesitation to have a "perfect" family life, because her own family has pretty much disowned her.

It's just the two of them, even if Rosalie is helping to prepare Wren for the birth, local hunter Paul (Michael Chernus) becomes fast friends with Maya after they meet at a local bar, and librarian Quentin (Owen Campbell) knows a lot about the persistent rumors of witchcraft and a demonic presence in the area. Since it is a horror tale, those support systems aren't a guarantee, because there is something weird happening in the woods and in town. Someone has to be behind and helping it, and anyone who gets in the way, obviously, won't be long for this story.

The big mystery here, after Wren dreams of or actually ends up in the woods one night, is the mysterious disappearance of the pregnancy. A doctor assumes the pregnancy was just a delusion on Wren's part, but she and Rosalie are certain Wren was pregnant, although Maya starts questioning whether the ultrasound photo was legitimate or she actually felt something kicking in her partner's abdomen.

A potentially less successful approach to this premise might play with and up that uncertainty, coupled with Wren's shaky mental state. The filmmakers here, though, stick to the story's inherent strengths, making it more about how Wren and Maya deal with those lingering questions as they try to keep their relationship together. Sure, that shadowy figure and maybe another or two are at work in the backdrop, rising from hidden spaces or emerging from corners with pointed antlers to make bloody work of anyone who gets too close to the truth.

Such scenes aren't the point of the story, however, just as trying to jolt the audience with someone popping into frame with a loud blast of music isn't the film's method. The most disturbing scene of the film is a shot that pulls away from a revelation of a character's true nature and involvement in the conspiracy, as said character speaks an incantation. The moment is so quiet, subdued, and, well, plainly enacted that it's more unsettling than the sudden shock of a jump-scare could accomplish.

That's the method throughout Birthrite—to lull us into some degree of comfort, before picking away at it in little bits until it becomes clear how helpless these characters are and how hopeless things have become without them comprehending it. The approach works, making this a chilling and effective little horror tale.

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