Some horror movies are scary because they show us monsters, killers, or ghosts. Gone (2007) is scary for a much simpler reason — because you realize, halfway through, that nothing interesting is ever going to happen. It’s a film about being trapped in the Australian outback, but it feels like being trapped in a slow-motion fever dream of bad decisions and worse dialogue.
Directed by Ringan Ledwidge (in his debut and, fittingly, his last narrative feature), Gone tries to be an atmospheric psychological thriller about a charming sociopath worming his way into the lives of two naive travelers. Instead, it plays like a National Geographic special directed by a serial yawner. The only thing that dies here is the audience’s patience.
The Setup: Backpacking Toward Boredom
Alex (Shaun Evans) is a bland British twentysomething who lands in Sydney, apparently allergic to charisma. He’s waiting for a bus when he meets Taylor (Scott Mechlowicz), a slick American drifter with too-perfect teeth and the personality of a frat house cult leader. Taylor insists they hang out — and by “insists,” I mean he pesters Alex until it’s clear that saying no would take too much energy.
The two drink, party with some random women, and wake up in the park. Taylor has a Polaroid camera (symbolism alert!) and an aura that screams future Dateline episode. But Alex, being an idiot powered entirely by plot convenience, decides to join him on a road trip through the outback to meet his girlfriend, Sophie (Amelia Warner). Because nothing says “good idea” like hopping into a car with a stranger whose vibe is equal parts Ted Bundy and surfer bro.
They meet up with Sophie, who’s traveling with Ingrid, a German tourist who, like most of the audience, disappears early on without explanation. The trio continues the journey, and from that point forward, the movie turns into The Talented Mr. Ripley — if it were shot in beige and directed by a sedated kangaroo.
The Tone: Tension-Free Tourism
Gone clearly wants to be a slow-burn psychological horror, the kind of movie that relies on unease and suggestion rather than jump scares. Unfortunately, it mistakes “slow burn” for “no pulse.” Every scene is stretched to its breaking point, padded with long silences and lingering landscape shots that look like deleted B-roll from Crocodile Dundee.
The Australian outback is meant to be vast, dangerous, and isolating. Here, it looks like a postcard from a slightly boring camping trip. The cinematography is decent — the sun-bleached fields and endless roads do create a sense of desolation — but it’s wasted on a script that confuses awkward silence with suspense.
Taylor’s manipulations are meant to be unsettling, but he’s so obviously unhinged from the start that the “reveal” of his dark intentions lands with all the surprise of a Vegemite sandwich tasting weird. There’s no psychological depth, no mystery — just a creepy dude gaslighting two people too polite to call him out.
It’s like watching an Airbnb nightmare unfold in real time, except you’re rooting for the host to just burn the place down already so something happens.
The Characters: Death by Blandness
Shaun Evans plays Alex as the kind of man who could get outwitted by a toaster. He spends most of the film squinting into the sun, sulking about Taylor’s behavior, and occasionally getting hit by things — emotionally, physically, spiritually. His idea of confrontation is to mutter, “You’re out of order, mate,” before storming off like a man who’s just lost his spot in the pub quiz.
Sophie, played by Amelia Warner, fares slightly better, mostly because she’s given something resembling an arc — from mildly wary to screaming hysterically while covered in dust and trauma. But her character’s defining trait is “being ignored,” which she performs with weary precision.
Then there’s Taylor. Oh, Taylor. Scott Mechlowicz plays him as if he’s auditioning for American Psycho: Outback Edition. He’s supposed to be magnetic, manipulative, charming — instead, he radiates the energy of a man trying to sell you a pyramid scheme over beers. His smirk is more irritating than sinister, his charm forced, and his menace about as convincing as a housecat growl.
The film tries to build tension by letting Taylor’s true nature slowly surface — except his very first scene involves him invading a stranger’s personal space, insisting they travel together, and smiling like he’s just buried his last roommate. The only real mystery is how long it’ll take Alex and Sophie to realize they’re in a murder movie.
The Pacing: Highway to Nowhere
For a film about paranoia and psychological manipulation, Gone moves with the urgency of a broken-down camper van. Entire scenes pass with nothing but vague conversations about road directions, or shots of the characters staring at each other like they’re trying to remember their lines telepathically.
When something does happen, it’s either underplayed or edited so sluggishly that the impact evaporates. A supposed car crash with a kangaroo herd looks like it was filmed in slow motion to save on special effects. The violence, when it finally arrives, feels like the film itself sighing, “Fine, here’s some blood, happy now?”
The climax — if you can call it that — involves Sophie discovering Alex’s body, Taylor chasing her, and a prolonged sequence of vehicular manslaughter. But even this descent into chaos feels like a tired metaphor about control and freedom, stretched thinner than the film’s budget. By the time Sophie is ramming Taylor to death with a truck, you’re cheering less out of horror and more out of relief that the movie’s ending.
The Writing: A Desert of Dialogue
The script, written by Jennifer Ross, is the real culprit here. It’s not that the dialogue is bad — it’s that it barely exists. The characters communicate mostly in mutters, awkward pauses, and the kind of vague travel banter that feels improvised by people who just met on a bus.
There’s no psychological insight into why Taylor does what he does. We get hints of a shady past, an alias (“Jamie from Thailand”), and a woman accusing him of being a conman. But these details are tossed in like seasoning, never explored, never satisfying. It’s the cinematic equivalent of ordering a mystery thriller and getting a lukewarm travel vlog instead.
The film flirts with themes of trust, control, and the fragile masculinity of being stuck in a car with someone creepier than your worst Tinder date, but it never commits. It’s a story that wants to say something about human nature but ends up saying, “Look, a kangaroo!”
The Horror: Sunburn and Mild Discomfort
Let’s be clear — Gone is not scary. Not even a little. The tension level never rises above “slightly awkward dinner party.” There’s no sense of escalating dread, no psychological breakdown, no atmosphere beyond the faint smell of dust and regret.
Even the violence feels sanitized, as if the film is afraid of offending someone — perhaps the Australian Tourism Board. The result is a “psychological horror” with all the intensity of a mild sunburn. You could take a nap halfway through and wake up feeling like you didn’t miss a thing.
Final Thoughts: A Thriller That Forgot to Thrill
Gone is what happens when you take Wolf Creek, remove the horror, the tension, and the point, and replace it with three unlikable people arguing in a car. It’s beautifully shot, competently acted, and utterly devoid of suspense — a road movie where every turn leads straight back to boredom.
It’s a film about control but directed by someone who seems to have lost control of tone, pacing, and interest halfway through. The ending, with Sophie sobbing in the dust after killing Taylor, is meant to feel cathartic. Instead, it just feels like mercy — for her, and for us.
Grade: D
Gone proves that sometimes the most terrifying thing about the outback isn’t what’s lurking in the desert — it’s what’s playing on your screen.
