Proxy

In the wake of a brutal assault that leaves her both scarred and unexpectedly pregnant, Esther retreats to a quiet suburb where the ordinary rhythms of daily life mask an undercurrent of unease. Seeking steadiness, she is guided toward a support group—a modest room filled with soft lighting and whispered confidences—offering a fragile sanctuary for those coping with loss and upheaval. The film opens within this intimate sphere, establishing a world where personal trauma collides with the yearning for connection, and where the line between empathy and dependence is constantly tested.

Within the circle, Esther meets Melanie, a woman whose grief echoes her own, and Anika, a partner whose presence adds both comfort and complexity. Their interactions pulse with an unsettling mix of solidarity and unspoken tension, each conversation layered with the desire to be seen and the fear of being used. The support group becomes a micro‑cosm of larger societal expectations: the way strangers offer sympathy, the quiet judgments that linger, and the silent bargains people make with themselves to survive.

As Esther begins to rebuild a sense of normalcy, a subtle, ominous current starts to surface—a threatening presence that unsettles the tentative peace she has crafted. The tone shifts from muted melancholy to an atmospheric dread, hinting that the bonds forged in the group may conceal deeper, more volatile forces. The film sustains this tension through careful visual motifs—reflections in cracked mirrors, the constant hum of distant traffic, and the ever‑present awareness that safety is provisional.

Through its restrained palette and measured pacing, the story invites viewers to contemplate how grief can warp intimacy and how the pursuit of solace may lead into shadowed territory. It is a study of fragile trust, the fragile architecture of chosen families, and the lingering question of what lies just beyond the calm of shared sorrow.

Last Updated: October 07, 2025 at 13:26