Silence Isn’t Always Golden
There’s a certain irony to The Quiet Ones: a movie that spends nearly two hours screaming in your face about the supernatural, only to end up saying absolutely nothing. Directed by John Pogue and “inspired” by the Philip Experiment (which, like most things in this film, was far more interesting in reality), The Quiet Ones is a paranormal period piece so dull it makes The Conjuring 2 look like an amusement park ride sponsored by Monster Energy.
This is the kind of horror film where you can see the ghosts coming a mile away — and you’ll still yawn when they arrive. It’s less a supernatural thriller and more a masterclass in how to turn the word “possession” into “depression.”
The Plot: Science Meets Stupidity
The year is 1974, which means everyone’s hair looks like it’s possessed by a minor demon, and Oxford University apparently lets its professors run illegal psychological torture experiments on the weekends. Enter Professor Joseph Coupland (Jared Harris), a man whose accent sounds like it’s been pickled in whiskey and academic arrogance.
Coupland is on a mission: to prove that ghosts don’t exist and that hauntings are just unresolved human trauma — which he plans to resolve by psychologically tormenting a young woman until she either manifests a demon or graduates summa cum laude in Suffering Studies.
His subject, Jane Harper (Olivia Cooke), is a fragile, pale waif who occasionally throws objects around with her mind — or maybe just really hates the décor. She’s joined by Coupland’s two grad assistants, Krissi (Erin Richards) and Harry (Rory Fleck Byrne), who exist primarily to fill the quota for 1970s haircuts and eventual death scenes. Tagging along is Brian (Sam Claflin), the designated cameraman whose primary skills include looking sweaty and slowly realizing this whole experiment might be unethical.
When Oxford inevitably cuts their funding — probably after seeing the footage of Jared Harris yelling “SCIENCE!” at a terrified woman — the group relocates to a creepy countryside mansion. Because nothing bad has ever happened in a British horror film set in a creepy countryside mansion.
From there, The Quiet Ones becomes The Exorcist for people who find exorcisms too exciting. The group blares loud rock music at Jane to deprive her of sleep (the science behind this remains unclear, but presumably it was peer-reviewed by Dr. Satan). The professor insists they’re “treating” her, though by the halfway mark it’s clear he’s more of a sadist than a scientist.
The supernatural antics escalate — lights flicker, furniture moves, and Jane screams a lot — but nothing ever feels genuinely frightening. It’s like watching a haunted house ride operated by British grad students who forgot to plug it in.
The Horror: Ghostly Beige
Let’s be honest — the horror here is quieter than a mime’s funeral. The Quiet Ones is the cinematic equivalent of being gently tapped on the shoulder by a ghost who apologizes afterward.
The scares are so predictable you can set your watch by them:
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Camera pans left… camera pans right… BOO! Something moved!
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Static on the film reel! Must be paranormal!
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Possessed girl stares blankly into the camera for thirty seconds! Chilling, if you’ve never seen television before!
And the worst part? Even when something does happen, the film can’t help but smother it in tedious exposition. Every supernatural moment is immediately followed by Jared Harris explaining why it isn’t supernatural — which might work if the movie didn’t also want us to believe it totally is.
It’s like watching Ghostbusters directed by someone who thinks the ghosts are metaphors for bad parenting.
The Cast: Great Actors, Trapped in a Séance of Stupidity
Let’s give credit where it’s due — the cast is talented. Jared Harris is a world-class actor who can make Shakespeare sound sinister, but here he’s reduced to muttering things like, “We must isolate the negative energy” while glaring at an oscillating fan.
Olivia Cooke, fresh off her Bates Motel fame, plays Jane Harper as a walking bruise — tragic, twitchy, and terminally exhausted. It’s not her fault the script gives her nothing to do but scream, cry, and occasionally levitate like a depressed balloon.
Sam Claflin, meanwhile, serves as the film’s designated moral compass and romantic subplot, which is sort of like being the designated driver at a séance — noble but ultimately pointless. His chemistry with Cooke is so mild it could be used as a sedative.
The supporting cast fares no better. Krissi and Harry exist to die in ways that might have been shocking if we cared who they were. By the time their corpses hit the floor, you’re too busy wondering if there’s enough runtime left for the credits to save you.
The “Science”: Sponsored by Nonsense
The movie’s entire premise — that poltergeists are just repressed emotions — could have been interesting if handled with nuance. Instead, it’s treated like the setup for a bad TED Talk: “What if ghosts were really… feelings?”
Coupland’s experiments make Dr. Frankenstein look like a responsible parent. He literally blasts rock music at a traumatized woman to “provoke her subconscious.” At one point, he tries to exorcise her trauma by stabbing a doll. Later, he attempts to kill her so she’ll “die just long enough to be cured.” It’s the kind of methodology that would make Freud rise from the grave just to punch him in the face.
By the time he starts monologuing about the nature of evil, you half-expect him to pull out a laser pointer and a PowerPoint presentation titled “How to Lose Your Tenure in Ten Easy Steps.”
The Twist: Surprise! It’s Still Boring
Eventually, the film reveals that Jane is the source of the haunting — that she’s the reincarnation of some Sumerian cult’s favorite firestarter. This should be a jaw-dropping revelation, but the movie delivers it with all the enthusiasm of a museum tour guide on her lunch break.
Things go predictably downhill: the assistants die, the professor gets his heart ripped out (both literally and metaphorically), and Jane sets herself on fire because even she’s tired of this plot.
The final scene — where Brian is interviewed and starts smoking from his hands like a cheap barbecue — tries for ambiguity but lands somewhere between “confusing” and “please, just let it end.”
The Real Experiment: Testing the Audience’s Patience
By the time the credits roll, The Quiet Ones feels less like a horror film and more like a psychological endurance test. It’s as if the filmmakers set out to prove that fear can, in fact, die of boredom.
You can practically hear the pitch meeting:
“Let’s make a found-footage period piece about science, religion, and the human soul!”
“Brilliant! And let’s forget to include anything scary!”
The result is a movie that manages to make both science and the supernatural seem tedious — a rare and terrible achievement.
Final Verdict
⭐☆☆☆☆ — One haunted Oxford thesis out of five.
The Quiet Ones is a film that whispers when it should scream and lectures when it should terrify. It’s a horror movie for people who find PowerPoint slides unsettling and think The Exorcist would’ve been better with fewer demons and more lab reports.
The performances are wasted, the scares are stale, and the script feels like it was possessed by the ghost of a first-year philosophy major.
In the end, the only thing truly supernatural about The Quiet Ones is how it manages to turn a movie about demons, possession, and human psychology into an Ambien substitute.
So if you’re ever in the mood for a horror film that lulls you into quiet despair rather than thrilling terror, look no further. The Quiet Ones doesn’t just silence its characters — it silences the audience, too.
