There are practically three movies inside genre maestro Sam Raimi’s hilariously bonkers “Send Help,” a deviously dark thriller-cum-horror comedy. There’s its first act—office politics and workplace f*ckery, hinting at power-play dynamics and control-freak dominion. Then comes its second chapter, where it’s suddenly “Survivor,” with two rival colleagues stranded on a deserted island. Finally, a third and final segment that is wickedly delicious: the chapter in which Raimi lets himself emerge into the full-on cinematic, ear-to-ear-smiling demon that is Sam Raimi. The thriller is essentially a Trojan Horse delivery system for the absurdly demented, and batshit insanity this perennially entertaining filmmaker loves: comedic gross-outs, absurdist violence, jump-out-of-your-seat startles, and horrific bloodletting.
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But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. “Send Help” begins in New York, where the brilliant but mousy, homely, and awkward Linda Liddle (a terrific Rachel McAdams) works at the Preston Industries consulting firm—an underappreciated strategy-and-planning expert and corporate number cruncher. Long overdue for a promotion that her late boss promised her, the arrogant new corporate chief, Bradley Preston (Dylan O’Brien), the departed executive’s son, has other plans—i.e., promoting his slick douche-bro golfing buddy (Xavier Samuel).

Vexed, Linda—always presented as disheveled and mistreated—summons the courage to stand up for herself, but is quickly dismissed by her narcissistic asshole boss. One lifeline caveat exists: accompany the execs on a trip to Thailand, where Linda’s “genius” and “highly skilled” numbers-whiz ability may come in handy while the boys’ club enjoys an all-expenses-paid work trip and vacation (and takes credit for her hard work).
But God laughs at plans, and during the voyage, the plane hits perilous turbulence. All of Preston’s douchey bros are killed—in comically violent ways, as only Sam Raimi can do—and the plane goes down into the Gulf of Thailand.
Did we mention that Linda, a classic cat lady—though, in this film, she has a bird—with no life or friends to speak of, has one hobby and obsession: the show “Survivor,” which she watches religiously and even trains and auditions to be on. If that writing, by Damian Shannon and Mark Swift, sounds broad, convenient, and sometimes silly, well, it is—but it’s largely intentional, and it works in Raimi’s hyper-stylized, hyper-self-aware world, where he can turn a broad swipe into a terrifically framed visual gag to exacerbate grossness or punctuate shame (its a Sam Raimi film, so yes, there is lol-worthy projectile vomiting).

Through her sheer might, determination, and survival skills, Linda makes it to shore like a drowned rat, half alive. She buckles down and kicks her survival skills into overdrive—building shelters, starting fires, creating warmth—only to discover there is one other survivor: her self-absorbed, empathy-free supervisor, Bradley Preston.
From there, “Send Help” frames itself as a type of wish-fulfillment fantasy-survival film in which the tables are turned and cruel, ironic comeuppance seems inevitable. The dowdy, socially inept loser is in her element and now has dominion over her boss: a dude-bro with zero self-preservation instinct and nothing to offer other than threats about her continuing livelihood, which she, frankly, could give a f*ck about, given they’re stuck on a random remote jungle island with no help.
This delectable framework—a volte-face, where the douchebag receives a taste of his own medicine when the peripeteia shifts—would be enough for its own movie: enough joy, plenty of comedy, and certainly a ton of schadenfreude aimed at the privileged, shitty little nepo baby suddenly shitting his pants at the prospect of surviving without Linda.
But “Send Help” isn’t as one-sided and one-dimensional as it tracks from the outside. Without revealing too much about the diabolically delightful third act, Linda has her own backstory—one that includes secrets, tragic pasts, and potential mental health issues—that skews the film in a compelling new direction. It doesn’t just paint the condescending douchecanoe execu-bro as a patronizing toxic tool (which he is); there are more layers to it.
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This “Lord of the Flies”-like metamorphosis—Linda so in her natural habitat she flourishes to the point of becoming unhinged—is where Raimi locks in, going into the zone of his macabre, devilish, and mischievously arch sensibilities. Raimi’s always in command of his cinematic faculties, but it’s here where he most revels in the gleefully maniacal. He’s having a boatload of fun, putting these characters through the paces, and it’s riotously entertaining even as it’s hard to take very seriously.

But that’s the point. Raimi walks that fine line of tone well. It’s a preposterous movie—but it’s a Sam Raimi movie: heightened, elevated, feverish, and radiantly deranged.
It should be said: as great as Raimi is, Rachel McAdams is astonishing here, shifting tones and moods effortlessly and making the film’s creeping turns feel believable, earned, and emotionally true. She’s a Stradivarius of an actor—able to take a ludicrous movie like this, play it dead serious, and still let it land sociopathically playful.
In the end, “Send Help” is pure Raimi: a survival thriller that disguises itself as corporate satire before mutating into something far nastier and more fun. It’s ridiculous by design, walking a razor’s edge between menace and mockery, and it thrives in that instability. Raimi isn’t interested in restraint here—he’s interested in escalation—and watching him let the movie slip the leash is half the pleasure. Better yet, it should be a big crowd-pleaser: the kind of sweaty, wince-laughing, jumpy good time that plays best with a room full of strangers, and a fine example of why people go to the movies. [B+]
“Send Help” opens in theaters Friday, January 30.