David F. Sandberg’s Until Dawn (2025), a film adaptation of PlayStation’s cult horror game, is a fascinating paradox. It revels in the chaotic energy of its time-loop premise while simultaneously feeling shackled by the very tropes it seeks to subvert. Set in the cursed Glore Valley—a location familiar to fans of the 2015 game—the movie carves out an original story that shares DNA with its source material but opts for a wildly different narrative rhythm. While it delivers visceral thrills and inventive kills, Until Dawn stumbles in its ambition to balance homage with innovation, leaving audiences with a rollercoaster of adrenaline spikes and missed opportunities.

A Fresh Spin on Familiar Horrors

The film follows Clover (Ella Rubin), a young woman haunted by the disappearance of her sister Melanie (Maia Mitchell). Alongside her friends—a thinly sketched ensemble of horror archetypes—she ventures into the snowbound Glore Valley, where they are slaughtered by a masked killer, only to awaken at the start of the night, trapped in a relentless cycle of terror. Each loop introduces a new threat: a deranged slasher, ghostly apparitions, and even a grotesque Wendigo, all while the characters scramble to survive until dawn.

Sandberg, known for Lights Out and Shazam!, leans into the absurdity of the premise with glee. The time-loop mechanic, while not present in the original game, mirrors its "butterfly effect" system, where choices have irreversible consequences. Here, however, the looping structure becomes a narrative playground, allowing Sandberg to shift genres with each reset. One cycle might evoke Scream-style slasher theatrics, while the next dives into supernatural dread or body horror. This approach is both the film’s greatest strength and its Achilles’ heel.

Aesthetic Ferocity vs. Narrative Shallowness

Visually, Until Dawn is a triumph. The production design immerses viewers in a chilling, snow-swept nightmare, with the abandoned sanatorium and shadowy forests dripping with atmosphere. Benjamin Wallfisch’s score is a standout, blending discordant strings and electronic pulses to create an unsettling soundscape that amplifies the surreal horror. Practical gore effects—decapitations, eviscerations, and a particularly gnarly icepick sequence—are executed with grisly precision, appealing to hardcore horror fans.

Yet, the film’s technical prowess is undercut by its hollow characterizations. Clover’s friends—the jock (Michael Cimino), the skeptic (Odessa A’zion), and the comic relief (Ji-young Yoo)—are defined by clichés, their personalities reduced to expository dialogue (“I’m not dying a virgin!”) and genre-savvy quips (“This feels like a bad horror movie!”). While Rubin delivers a committed performance, her arc—from grief-stricken sister to final girl—feels formulaic, lacking the emotional weight needed to anchor the chaos.

The time-loop concept, though ripe for experimentation, is squandered. Instead of deepening the mystery or exploring the psychological toll of endless death, the film treats each reset as a mere excuse for escalating carnage. A scene where the group debates their predicament devolves into slapstick, undercutting any tension. By the third act, the loops grow repetitive, their novelty dulled by a lack of narrative progression.

The Game Connection: A Double-Edged Axe

For fans of the Until Dawn game, the film offers tantalizing Easter eggs. Glore Valley’s mining disaster lore, the Wendigo curse, and a cameo by Peter Stormare (reprising his role as the cryptic Dr. Hill) tether the movie to the game’s universe. The post-credits scene teasing a prequel connection to the 2015 story is a clever nod, suggesting future cross-media synergy.

However, the decision to diverge from the game’s plot has sparked debate. While the original Until Dawn thrived on player agency and branching narratives, the film’s linear structure strips away that interactivity, replacing it with a passive, albeit frenetic, experience. The absence of the game’s writers (Graham Reznick and Larry Fessenden) in the credits further highlights Hollywood’s ongoing struggle to credit video game creatives, a controversy that has overshadowed the film’s release.

Horror as Homage: Hits and Misses

Sandberg’s love for the genre is evident. The film riffs on classics like The Cabin in the Woods (with its meta-commentary on horror tropes) and Happy Death Day (via its looping structure), while Stormare’s ominous cameo channels Fargo-era eccentricity. Yet, these nods often feel superficial. A subplot involving a Native American curse—a holdover from the game—is glossed over, reducing rich lore to a plot device.

The reliance on jump scares is another point of contention. While early sequences masterfully build tension (a flickering flashlight in a pitch-black tunnel; the creak of floorboards overhead), the overuse of loud stings and sudden reveals grows exhausting. By the finale, the scares feel less like earned terror and more like a director checking off a list.

A Missed Opportunity for Genre Innovation

Where Until Dawn truly falters is in its refusal to fully commit to its boldest ideas. The premise—a horror anthology within a single night—could have allowed Sandberg to deconstruct the genre, shifting tones and styles with each loop. Imagine a cycle shot like a found-footage film, or another steeped in psychological horror. Instead, the film settles for superficial genre-hopping, never digging deeper than aesthetic shifts.

Thematically, too, the story feels undercooked. Clover’s grief over her sister’s disappearance is relegated to dream sequences and rushed monologues, while the loop’s existential horror—the futility of escape, the erosion of sanity—is barely explored. Compare this to Groundhog Day or Russian Doll, where repetition serves character growth, and Until Dawn’s narrative feels frustratingly shallow.

Conclusion: A Fun, Flawed Ride

Until Dawn is a film at war with itself. It wants to be both a crowd-pleasing gorefest and a clever deconstruction of horror tropes, yet it never fully achieves either. For casual viewers, it delivers enough thrills to justify a theater trip—the kills are creative, the pacing relentless, and Stormare’s unhinged performance is worth the price of admission. Horror aficionados, however, will lament its squandered potential.

As a standalone experiment, Until Dawn works… until it doesn’t. Its loops, much like its scares, grow diminishingly effective with repetition. Yet, there’s promise here. If a sequel leans into the game’s lore or embraces the anthology concept wholeheartedly, this could evolve into a franchise worthy of its source material. Until then, we’re left with a film that’s content to play in the shallow end of horror’s vast, bloody pool—a fun but forgettable plunge.