A grieving mother's Wyoming retreat spirals into nightmare in 'Rock Springs'

When the news of her husband's death reaches her, the mother in "Rock Springs" packs a toddler's belongings and drives into the vast, wind-swept emptiness of Wyoming, hoping that a remote cottage tucked among pines will offer a sanctuary for the two of them. The house, a weather-worn structure that sighs with the weight of its own history, sits on a ridge where the trees lean like watchful sentinels. Inside, the walls are thin, the floors creak with every step, and the light filters through frosted panes in a way that makes shadows feel almost solid. From the moment they cross the threshold, the cottage seems to sense the rawness of their loss. The mother, already frayed by sorrow, finds herself listening to the house's murmurs as if they were whispered condolences. Her daughter, oblivious to the undercurrent of grief, explores the rooms with a child's curious bravery, turning up old toys left behind by strangers who once called this place home. As night falls, the wind hammers the eaves, and the house settles with a groan that reverberates through the floorboards, stirring something primal in the mother's mind. What begins as a quiet attempt to heal soon unravels into a series of unsettling moments: a door that closes on its own, a lullaby drifting from a cracked radio, footprints in the snow that appear and vanish without a source. The forest, once a backdrop of serene isolation, becomes a living entity, its branches scraping the windows like fingers. The mother's grief sharpens, and each creak feels less like a house settling and more like a warning. In the film's slow, deliberate pace, the horror is not the sudden jump scare but the relentless erosion of sanity. The mother's attempts to protect her child clash with an unseen force that seems to feed on her sorrow. As the cottage's secrets peel away, the line between the external wilderness and the internal wilderness of her mind blurs, leaving both mother and daughter to navigate a darkness that is as much emotional as it is physical. "Rock Springs" lingers long after the credits roll, a reminder that some places carry the weight of the past, and some grief is too heavy for any shelter to contain.