Mother May I: Prime Video’s Razor-Sharp Psychological Thriller That Shatters Trust and Leaves Viewers Reeling

“Trust No One After This.” The warning feels less like hyperbole and more like a survival guide after bingeing Mother May I, Prime Video’s quietly devastating 2023 psychological thriller that’s resurfaced as a sleeper hit in late 2025. Directed by Laurence Vannicelli in his feature debut, this 100-minute gut-punch—now streaming after a limited theatrical run—collides the raw emotional intensity of Euphoria with the manipulative mind games of Gone Girl, leaving viewers shaken, obsessed, and suspiciously eyeing everyone in their lives. It’s not just another binge-watch; it’s a psychological assault that lingers like a bad dream you can’t shake.

At its core, Mother May I is a chamber piece of exquisite unease, set almost entirely in a secluded family home. Anya (Holland Roden) and her fiancé Emmett (Kyle Gallner) inherit the remote property after Anya’s estranged mother dies. What begins as a weekend getaway to sort belongings spirals into a nightmare when Anya begins exhibiting her mother’s behaviors—mannerisms, phrases, even cravings—that feel eerily authentic. Is it grief manifesting as imitation, or something far more sinister? Vannicelli masterfully blurs the line between psychological breakdown and supernatural possession, turning a simple premise into a labyrinth of doubt. Every conversation drips with subtext, every glance a potential lie, as Emmett questions not just Anya’s sanity, but the foundation of their relationship.

Roden and Gallner are the film’s beating heart—and its bleeding wound. Roden, known for Teen Wolf, delivers a career-defining performance, shifting from vulnerable daughter to uncanny doppelgänger with chilling precision. Her physicality—the tilt of a head, the curl of a smile—transforms familiar into frightening. Gallner, the indie horror staple from The Passenger, matches her with a mounting desperation that’s palpable; his Emmett is the audience surrogate, grasping for truth in a sea of gaslighting. Their chemistry, built on real-life rapport, makes the erosion of trust all the more heartbreaking. Supporting turns are minimal, amplifying the claustrophobia—no escape, no allies, just two souls unraveling.

Vannicelli’s script, co-written with producer Daisy Long, draws from personal grief (inspired by Long’s mother’s death), weaving intergenerational trauma into a tapestry of manipulation and identity theft. The horror isn’t jump scares or gore; it’s the quiet devastation of losing someone to themselves. Sound design—creaking floors, distant whispers—heightens the paranoia, while cinematographer Ryan Eddleston’s intimate framing traps viewers in the house’s suffocating embrace. Critics have hailed it as “quietly devastating,” with The Hollywood Reporter praising its “razor-sharp exploration of grief and control.” At festivals like Tribeca 2023, it earned standing ovations for daring to ask: What if the person you love most becomes someone else—and you can’t tell the difference?

Prime Video’s acquisition has catapulted it to cult status, with #MotherMayI trending amid 2025’s thriller wave (The Substance, Longlegs). Viewers report “trust issues for days,” replaying scenes for clues to the ambiguous ending. It’s a film that weaponizes intimacy—the real horror lives in plain sight, in friendships, relationships, the people you think you know best.

Mother May I isn’t entertainment; it’s excavation, peeling layers until truth and obsession blur. In a genre crowded with spectacle, Vannicelli’s debut whispers its horrors—and screams in your subconscious long after. Trust no one? After this, you might not even trust yourself.