THE STORY – In an isolated deaf community, Matt’s idyllic world cracks when Eva arrives, making him question his identity and the costs of maintaining his supposedly utopian society.
THE CAST – Anne Zander, James Boyle, Sophie Leigh Stone, Ace Mahbaz, & Anna Seymore
THE TEAM – Ted Evans
THE RUNNING TIME – 107 Minutes
Ted Evans’ “Retreat” opens with a series of disturbing black-and-white images — faded photographs of deaf children, strapped into medical chairs, gazing at the camera with a quiet, chilling resignation. The grainy textures of the past ripple with pain, perhaps hinting at a history of experimentation, institutionalization, and misunderstanding. It’s an evocative, off-putting start, underlined by a dissonant, haunting score, and it sets the tone for what becomes a gripping, often unsettling descent into a world where empowerment and manipulation walk hand in hand.
Set in an idyllic manor in the British countryside, “Retreat” tells the story of Eva (Anne Zander), a German woman seeking refuge and healing at Chilmark — a retreat for the deaf run by the enigmatic and charismatic Mia (Sophie Stone). The shift from the harshness of the prologue to the warm, communal setting of Chilmark is jarring in the best way: vibrant colors, blooming gardens, and birthday decorations suggest a haven of acceptance and community. But Evans is careful, perhaps even sly, in how he lets discomfort creep in. There’s something too polished about this utopia. Too curated. And the score never quite lets us relax.
Evans, himself deaf, brings a remarkable depth of insight to the material, capturing the nuances of deaf experience, language, and identity with empathy and authenticity. The retreat is a world built with its own rules and its own vocabulary. Words like “deaf” are forbidden; Mia argues they were imposed from the outside, a label used to divide and diminish. The residents of Chilmark are encouraged to rebuild their identities from scratch, but only within Mia’s strict boundaries. Phones are abandoned. Families are distant memories. Everyone is on a vitamin regimen, and pregnancy is discouraged. A new life is possible, yes, but at a cost.
Eva’s journey from brokenness to renewal is compelling, especially in contrast to Matt (James Joseph Boyle), a man who has never known life outside Chilmark. As she heals, he begins to unravel. Their conversations are some of the most emotionally rich in the film. Yet as “Retreat” ventures further into its central mystery, some of that emotional resonance is traded for ambiguity.
Much of the film’s middle section revolves around “The Way,” a therapeutic, quasi-spiritual rite of passage that promises rebirth but feels increasingly like indoctrination. While these scenes offer strong performances and occasionally moving revelations, they often drag, weighed down by unclear stakes and a lack of narrative momentum. The concept of “The Way” is fascinating in theory — a symbolic shedding of trauma — but it isn’t explored deeply enough. We’re left with more questions than answers, and the film seems more comfortable teasing its mythology than committing to it.
That ambiguity works best when tension spikes: red lights flash and the house plunges into darkness. Later, green lights send everyone outside in a panic. These sequences, rendered in near-total silence, are masterclasses in sound design and subjective dread. We don’t know what’s happening, and neither does Eva as a newcomer, which makes it all the more terrifying. Evans weaponizes silence here, not just as absence but as a visceral, disorienting force, which plays even more intensely later on.
However, for all its psychological intrigue, “Retreat” sometimes stumbles in execution. The script hints at external threats, internal betrayals, and a history of stolen children, but these threads remain frustratingly underdeveloped. Chilmark’s financial troubles are briefly mentioned but never fully explained. What is Mia really preparing them for? Why has no one ever left? The answers, if they exist, are buried under layers of suggestion and mood. The film’s cult-like overtones — eye tattoos, spiritual sessions, Mia’s unnerving charisma — are provocative but not fully mined. As a result, the finale, while intense, feels slightly muted; we are left stranded with characters who are as confused as we are.
Still, “Retreat” is never less than fascinating. At its core, it’s a film about the complexities of deaf identity, he longing for community, the fear of rejection, and the thin line between healing and control. The parallel arcs of Eva and Matt are particularly affecting: one builds herself anew, while the other realizes he’s never truly known who he is. That symmetry is poignant and tragic. Ted Evans’ debut is bold as a first of its kind, one that centers deaf subjectivity with rare insight and care, wrapped in a cult thriller. Even in its flaws, “Retreat” pulses with urgency and purpose. It doesn’t offer easy answers, but it demands that we ask better questions about language, belonging, and the cost of finding a place to call home.
