







The Woman in the Yard is the best recent Blumhouse horror by a long-chalk. I've read a few reviews since watching this and many of the reviews say it's confusing, but they've missed the point. I won't spoil this film for you by telling you who the woman in the yard is. I will tell you that it ISN'T the embodiment of grief, it's something else more terrifying, if you are looking for a metaphor. Wonderfully acted, this doesn't waste a lot of time getting to business. A slower creepier crawl to the action would've been more welcome. However, this is still a potent mid-level chiller. And all the more so given that most of it plays out in broad daylight.
Some films whisper, others shout—but a few simply mutter, confused and heavy, for their runtime. The Woman in the Yard falls into that final camp. It begins with a clear premise: a mourning mother named Ramona is unsettled by a mysterious woman in her garden. But this isn’t a typical haunting, it’s a raw exploration handled more directly than many “trauma horror” films dare.
Danielle Deadwyler delivers a quietly commanding lead performance. Her suffering feels tangible—worn like armour, tightening around every glance. The film shifts between psychological thriller and nuanced trauma study, its ambition undeniable even when execution fails.
What makes it striking is its refusal to treat the Woman as mere supernatural scare fodder. She feels more like a manifestation of Ramona’s internal collapse—a choice that is bold and unsettling in equal measure.
However, the slow pacing, narrative ambiguity, and uneven tone undercut its strongest ideas. You admire its courage, but much of that intent feels buried under too much stillness and not quite enough story.