



Some films feel less like stories and more like places you’ve accidentally wandered into. Backrooms reminded me of those dreams where I find a hidden staircase in my house, a cellar that shouldn’t exist, or a door leading to rooms I’ve somehow never noticed before. Familiar, but wrong.
Its best idea is the difference between being alone and being lonely. I’ve felt more isolated in a packed crowd than I ever have spending days by myself, and the film gets that odd emotional geography. It also works as a story about being trapped by memory. As memories fade, they lose shape, detail and meaning.
That is where the design really clicks. Endless corridors, dead offices and half-remembered rooms turn the mind into architecture. The sets are superb; I did wonder whether the crew got lost making it. Chiwetel Ejiofor and Renate Reinsve are excellent too, stopping the film from disappearing into its own wallpaper.
Rooted in analog horror, found footage and internet folklore, Backrooms creates a space worth getting lost in. The problem is that it eventually loses definition as well. A cleaner way out would have helped.