Dream Big, Film Small
Sleep paralysis can be terrifying—frozen in bed, unable to move, with shadowy figures lurking just out of sight. It’s the kind of nightmare that practically begs for a good horror movie. Unfortunately, Echoes is not that movie. Directed by Nils Timm in his feature debut, this 2014 supernatural “thriller” turns a promising concept into an 88-minute Ambien advertisement.
It stars Kate French as Anna, a screenwriter with a sleep disorder and the emotional range of a damp tissue. Her boyfriend Paul (Steven Brand) is a vaguely sinister Hollywood agent with a house made entirely of glass and bad decisions. They retreat to the desert so she can relax, which, as horror tradition dictates, guarantees the exact opposite.
If Echoes were a dream, you’d wake up halfway through and apologize to your subconscious.
The Desert of Diminished Expectations
The film opens with Anna struggling to write, which feels painfully on-the-nose because, judging by the script, so was Nils Timm. We get a parade of clichés: flickering lights, ominous whispers, mysterious bruises, and—my personal favorite—characters wandering around saying “Hello?” into empty rooms like it’s a national pastime.
When Paul suggests they escape to his desert getaway, you can almost hear the tumbleweed sigh. The house, a sleek glass monstrosity surrounded by miles of nothing, looks less like a retreat and more like the kind of Airbnb you’d regret booking the moment you see the host’s smile.
Once they arrive, Paul immediately leaves (as any sensible person would), and Anna is left alone to confront her visions—and the audience is left to confront their patience.
Sleep Paralysis: The Movie About Napping
Sleep paralysis should be terrifying. Instead, in Echoes, it’s filmed like a low-budget perfume commercial. Every “vision” sequence unfolds in dreamy slow motion with overexposed lighting and enough lens flare to make J.J. Abrams file a restraining order.
Anna writhes, gasps, and sweats as shadowy figures whisper sweet nothings from the corner of the room. The first time it’s eerie. By the fourth, it’s like watching someone wrestle an existential crisis under a weighted blanket.
When she finally checks the security footage and discovers herself committing murder—yes, herself—you’d think that might kick the story into gear. It doesn’t. Instead, the movie hits snooze on its own plot.
Kate French: Trapped in a Waking Coma
Let’s be clear: Kate French isn’t the worst part of Echoes, but she’s definitely among equals. Her character spends most of the film doing one of three things: 1) breathing heavily, 2) wandering aimlessly, or 3) Googling her own sanity.
French’s performance feels less like “woman descending into madness” and more like “actress realizing she’s in a tax write-off.” Her dialogue is limited to soft murmurs like “What’s happening to me?” and “I’m not crazy!”—the cinematic equivalent of white noise.
Steven Brand as Paul might as well have “Suspicious Boyfriend” tattooed on his forehead. His entire character arc is “be attractive and slightly untrustworthy.” When he’s not gaslighting Anna, he’s offscreen doing something allegedly important, like reminding us that agents are bad.
Kevin Brewerton pops in as “The Cop,” which is both his character’s title and his level of depth. He seems perpetually confused, which is relatable because so was I.
A Plot So Thin It Could Be a Screen Saver
Once the hallucinations start piling up, Echoes tries to convince you that something meaningful is happening. Anna finds cryptic messages, hears ghostly voices, and learns that the house may hold a dark secret. Spoiler alert: it does, but the reveal lands with all the impact of a damp tortilla.
Without giving too much away, the “big twist” involves murder, betrayal, and a ghost who apparently skipped haunting school. It’s not scary, shocking, or even coherent—it’s just there, like a screensaver you forgot to turn off.
The movie desperately wants to be The Sixth Sense meets The Others, but ends up as The Lifetime Channel Presents: Insomnia – The Reckoning.
Visuals by Vaseline
Timm, who also served as cinematographer, clearly has an eye for framing. Unfortunately, it’s the eye of someone who just got LASIK and regrets it. Everything is bathed in soft focus, oversaturated whites, and endless reflections off the glass house. It’s like the movie was filmed inside a skincare commercial for the afterlife.
The desert setting could have been atmospheric—a lonely stretch of sand and silence amplifying Anna’s paranoia. Instead, it feels sterile, as if the entire production took place inside an IKEA showroom.
And while we’re on visuals: the CGI “ghosts” (if you can call them that) look like leftover effects from a 2003 web series about haunted Wi-Fi.
Jump Scares Without the Jump
Horror lives or dies by tension. Echoes has neither. It mistakes repetitive imagery for dread and slow pacing for depth. You could replace every scare with a screensaver of a cat and the emotional effect would be identical.
When the music swells and the shadows move, you don’t grip your seat—you check your phone. The sound design does its best to help, layering in whispers, creaks, and the occasional “boo,” but it’s like trying to scare someone with a kazoo.
Even the climactic confrontation—where Anna uncovers the truth about the house and her visions—feels deflated. The final revelation isn’t horrifying so much as mildly inconvenient, like realizing you left your phone charger at a haunted Airbnb.
The Ghost of Better Movies
The saddest thing about Echoes is how many better films it reminds you of. Oculus handled psychological horror and reflections with elegance. The Babadook captured the horror of mental illness with emotional weight. Paranormal Activitymade found-footage chills out of static cameras.
Echoes borrows from all three and still manages to get everything wrong. It’s a collage of other people’s nightmares taped together with pretension and dust.
There’s an attempt at exploring grief, trauma, and the blurry line between reality and madness—but it’s handled with all the grace of a ghost typing in all caps.
Ending on a Whimper
By the time the credits roll, you don’t feel frightened—you feel tired. The film tries for a final twist that’s supposed to leave you questioning everything. Instead, it leaves you questioning why you didn’t just take a nap instead.
The ending montage, filled with artsy crossfades and ethereal music, suggests that the filmmakers thought they’d made something profound. What they actually made was cinematic NyQuil.
Final Judgment
★☆☆☆☆ — One star, awarded for the impressive ability to make sleep paralysis less scary than actual sleep.
Echoes is the kind of horror movie that thinks whispering counts as tension and fog machines count as atmosphere. It’s a film about paralysis that ironically suffers from the same condition—it can’t move, can’t scare, and can’t wake up from its own creative coma.
If you ever suffer from insomnia, forget the sleeping pills. Just put on Echoes. You’ll be out cold before the first ghost whispers “boo.”
