INTRODUCTION: PLEASE HANG UP AND TRY AGAIN
Some horror movies are terrifying. Some are thrilling. The Caller is neither — unless you’re scared of waiting on hold for 90 minutes. Directed by Matthew Parkhill, this British-Puerto Rican supernatural horror film stars Rachelle Lefevre, Stephen Moyer, and Lorna Raver, and proves that even when you have vampires (True Blood), time travel, and a haunted rotary phone, you can still make boredom scary.
The premise sounds deliciously bonkers: a woman gets calls from the past that start changing her present. Unfortunately, the execution is less Twilight Zone and more Customer Service from Hell. Imagine The Lake House if Sandra Bullock’s pen pal was a homicidal grandmother with a calling card from Satan, and you’re halfway there.
The Caller tries to mix domestic abuse, time travel, and ghostly revenge into one neat little package. Instead, it delivers a cinematic butt dial from the afterlife.
THE SETUP: NEW APARTMENT, SAME OLD TRAUMA
We meet Mary (Rachelle Lefevre), a recently divorced woman with red hair and red flags. She’s trying to rebuild her life after leaving her abusive husband, which means the best course of action is — of course — to move into a creepy, dimly lit apartment that looks like it’s been used for CSI: San Juan.
Her new place is equipped with one key feature: an ancient rotary phone that practically screams “haunted antique.” And surprise! It is.
Soon, Mary starts getting mysterious phone calls from a woman named Rose (Lorna Raver, aka the terrifying old lady from Drag Me to Hell). Rose is calling from 1979, which is odd since she doesn’t sound like she’s using disco slang or trying to sell Mary a Pet Rock.
At first, the calls are friendly. Rose is lonely, chatty, and vaguely unhinged — the kind of person who’d leave ten voicemails in a row and then pretend she “accidentally pocket-dialed” you. But when Mary suggests Rose dump her boyfriend Bobby, Rose takes the advice a little too literally — by murdering him.
That’s when the calls get less “Dear Abby” and more “serial killer fan club.”
THE HORROR: LONG DISTANCE AND LONG WINDED
Here’s the problem: The Caller isn’t frightening — it’s frustrating. Every scene is built around the same gimmick: Rose calls, Mary panics, something changes in the apartment. Repeat. It’s like Groundhog Day if Bill Murray spent the entire movie arguing with a ghostly telemarketer.
Rose proves her power by altering the past — drawing roses on the wall, adding bricks to the pantry, and apparently murdering Mary’s childhood acquaintances. The idea should be terrifying. Instead, it plays out like a really bad episode of Doctor Who directed by your uncle after three mojitos.
The pacing doesn’t help. The movie moves slower than dial-up internet, and every conversation feels like it lasts about 15 minutes longer than it should. Even when Mary’s covered in blood and screaming, the movie insists on pausing for another round of “What year are you calling from again?”
And then there’s the editing — choppy, disjointed, and allergic to tension. Every time the story starts to pick up steam, it cuts to another scene of Mary sighing or staring thoughtfully into the middle distance like she’s pondering whether to renew her phone plan.
THE CAST: GOOD ACTORS, BAD CONNECTION
Rachelle Lefevre does her best to give Mary depth — and to be fair, she is believable as a woman tormented by supernatural phone harassment and bad men. But no amount of talent can save dialogue like, “You’re calling me from the past? That’s… impossible!” delivered with the same energy one might use to order a salad.
Stephen Moyer (Bill Compton from True Blood) plays John, Mary’s new love interest and resident science explainer. He’s supposed to be charming and protective, but he mostly looks like he’d rather be feeding on extras from a better show. When he explains time dilation to Mary, it’s the cinematic equivalent of someone reading a Wikipedia article aloud while waiting for the Wi-Fi to reconnect.
And then there’s Lorna Raver as Rose — bless her. She’s trying so hard. Her performance is equal parts menacing and melodramatic, like if Aunt May developed telekinetic powers and decided to go full Misery. She hisses, cackles, and makes every phone call sound like a sermon from Hell’s Home Shopping Network.
Unfortunately, the script gives her nothing to do but repeat variations of “I told you not to hang up on me!” which, after the tenth time, loses its impact and becomes the tagline for every toxic ex you’ve ever blocked.
THE LOGIC: A BAD CONNECTION TO REALITY
Even by supernatural horror standards, The Caller’s time logic is about as stable as a wet Jenga tower. Rose’s ability to alter the past conveniently changes from scene to scene, depending on what the plot needs. One minute she’s drawing flowers in the pantry; the next she’s erasing entire people from existence.
Mary discovers that her kind neighbor George no longer exists, her boyfriend John was murdered decades ago, and her own timeline is unraveling — yet somehow she still has time to take her dog for a walk and make small talk about fried chicken.
At one point, young Mary appears on the phone while present-day Mary listens helplessly. It’s a chilling concept — until you realize the only thing connecting the two is a landline older than your parents’ first mortgage. Apparently, Rose’s supernatural powers are powered by Ma Bell.
By the time the movie reaches its climax — where Rose literally burns young Mary with hot oil from across time — all logic has been abandoned. You just sit there, mouth agape, muttering, “Sure. Why not. Ghost long-distance oil burns. Makes sense.”
THE DIRECTION: GHOSTLY GABFEST GONE WRONG
Director Matthew Parkhill clearly wanted to make a tense psychological thriller about trauma and guilt. Instead, he made a movie about poor cell reception.
The film’s tone wavers between moody and melodramatic. Every scene is drenched in shadow, not for atmosphere but because apparently Puerto Rico ran out of light bulbs. The cinematography screams “this is art!” even as the plot screams “this is nonsense!”
Parkhill also has a weird obsession with close-ups — we get at least 300 of Rachelle Lefevre’s face, each one slightly redder and sweatier than the last. By the end, you could probably use the film as a dermatology textbook.
The result feels like someone tried to remake The Ring using only rotary phones and passive-aggressive voice messages.
THE ENDING: THANK YOU FOR CALLING, PLEASE DIE NOW
The finale attempts to tie everything together: past and present collide, Rose attacks from both timelines, and Mary finally convinces her younger self to kill Rose in 1979, causing present-day Rose to vanish.
It sounds climactic, but by that point, you’ve lost all investment. Watching the ending feels like finishing a marathon you didn’t sign up for — you’re just relieved it’s over.
Mary’s final act — quietly walling up her pantry again as if nothing happened — might be symbolic of closure, but it mostly feels like the director realized he’d hit 90 minutes and decided to call it a day.
FINAL VERDICT: DROP THE CALL
The Caller had potential: a clever premise, solid cast, and enough spooky phone-based weirdness to fill an entire season of Black Mirror. But instead of suspense, it delivers sluggish pacing, lazy writing, and the world’s least effective haunting.
It’s not a movie — it’s a 90-minute game of “Who keeps prank calling me?” with a ghost who desperately needs therapy and unlimited minutes.
If you’re looking for a supernatural thriller about phone calls that distort time and ruin lives, watch Frequency. If you’re looking for an excuse to cancel your landline forever, watch The Caller.
Rating: 1.5 out of 5 Rotary Phones.
Because sometimes, the scariest thing about a horror movie is realizing you’re only halfway through it. ☎️👻📞
