Released in select theaters on June 6, 2025, and arriving on Apple TV+ on June 13, Echo Valley is a somber, slow-burning domestic thriller that pits maternal love against moral boundaries. Directed by Michael Pearce (Beast, Encounter) and written by Brad Ingelsby, the creator of Mare of Easttown, the film stars Julianne Moore as grieving horse trainer Kate Garretson and Sydney Sweeney as her troubled daughter Claire. When Claire arrives on Kate’s secluded Pennsylvania horse farm covered in blood and panic, the story spirals into a series of intense, morally complex choices. Co-starring Domhnall Gleeson in a chilling supporting role and Fiona Shaw as a quiet source of compassion, Echo Valley is an emotionally potent character study cloaked in thriller tension—one that asks how far a mother would go to protect her child.
Genre:Drama, Thriller
A Grief-Stricken Beginning
When we first meet Kate Garretson (Moore), her world is already shrouded in sorrow. Nine months have passed since the death of her wife Patty, and she’s been left to maintain their horse ranch alone in Chester County, Pennsylvania. Pearce sets the tone early with a moody, muted palette and slow, contemplative pacing. The quiet daily routines—mucking stalls, whispering to horses, struggling to pay bills—form a backdrop to Kate’s emotional stagnation.
Into this stillness crashes Claire (Sweeney), her estranged daughter, in the kind of arrival that says it all: frantic, apologetic, covered in someone else’s blood. Claire claims her boyfriend Ryan was killed during an argument gone wrong, and she needs help. Not legal help. Not emotional help. Body-hiding help.
And Kate, despite everything, says yes.
A Performance-Driven Descent into Darkness
Julianne Moore as a Mother on the Edge
Julianne Moore’s performance is a masterclass in internalized suffering. Her Kate isn’t a screaming action hero or a trembling damsel—she’s a woman holding it all in, every breath heavy with unspoken grief and years of disappointment. Moore conveys more with a glance or sigh than most actors can with a monologue. Watching her spring into protective mode, burying a body in the woods, or crafting alibis in whispers, is both terrifying and deeply human.
Sydney Sweeney’s Raw Energy
Sweeney’s Claire is a wrecking ball—an unpredictable mess of neediness, manipulation, and fleeting remorse. She plays the character with jagged edges, capable of deep affection one moment and seething resentment the next. Her portrayal avoids caricature, instead grounding Claire’s chaos in the real devastation of addiction. She’s not evil—just lost. And dangerous.
The Predator Enters: Domhnall Gleeson as Jackie
Enter Jackie, the real predator of Echo Valley, played with unnerving precision by Domhnall Gleeson. Blonde, charming, and dead-eyed, Jackie oozes passive-aggressive menace. He’s a drug dealer, sure—but Gleeson makes him more than that. He’s a cold manipulator, the kind who smiles while threatening your life. His scenes with Kate are some of the film’s most intense, particularly one in which he quietly lays out his knowledge of the body in a way that feels more like seduction than blackmail.
It’s here that Echo Valley pivots from character drama into thriller territory. Jackie wants something. Kate has no allies but time—and perhaps her old friend Leslie (Fiona Shaw), whose brief appearances offer warmth and nuance.
Love, Loyalty, and the Limits of Protection
A Mother’s Unconditional Love on Trial
What Echo Valley does brilliantly is pose a simple, devastating question: How far would you go for your child? Would you help hide a body? Lie to police? Threaten a killer? For Kate, the answer is always yes—because the alternative is unbearable.
Ingelsby’s script never moralizes. It lets the viewer sit in the discomfort. Claire may be lying. She may have killed her boyfriend. She may even be using Kate’s grief and guilt as leverage. But Kate can’t risk being wrong. That emotional gamble drives the film forward, even as the plot drags in places.
Style and Stillness: Michael Pearce’s Direction
Director Michael Pearce leans hard into mood. Echo Valley is quiet—sometimes frustratingly so—but it uses silence as a weapon. Cinematographer Benjamin Kracun captures the Pennsylvania countryside with reverence and dread, turning open fields into emotional quicksand. The framing often leaves Kate alone in vast spaces, highlighting her emotional isolation.
The pacing is uneven. Some sequences move with taut suspense, especially in the back half when the Jackie conflict escalates. Others meander, particularly in the mid-section, where Claire disappears from the story, and the film loses emotional momentum. Still, Pearce’s eye for character moments and moral ambiguity keeps things grounded.
Twists, Turns, and Genre Ambitions
At times, Echo Valley feels torn between two identities: the slow-burn family tragedy and the taut domestic thriller. The tonal shifts can be jarring. One minute we’re watching Kate cry over a voicemail from her late wife; the next, she’s planting evidence and breaking into a cabin.
Some of the twists strain plausibility—especially a late-game development involving Jackie and a potential frame job—but they’re sold by the cast’s commitment. The final confrontation is satisfying, if a bit sudden. It’s not a bloodbath, nor is it tidy. But it gives Kate something she’s been denied the whole film: control.
Not Just a Crime Thriller—A Queer Story, Too
What’s often lost in surface-level reviews is that Echo Valley is a queer story, too. Kate’s late wife Patty isn’t just window dressing—her absence and legacy shape every one of Kate’s decisions. Their relationship is presented tenderly, through home videos and Kate’s conversations with Leslie. This isn’t about sensationalizing queerness—it’s about normalizing grief and love in all forms, which gives the story a subtle richness.
Final Verdict – A Slow Burn with Searing Moments
Echo Valley isn’t flawless. Its pacing issues, tonal shifts, and some narrative contrivances hold it back from being a thriller classic. But its performances are among the year’s best, especially from Julianne Moore and Sydney Sweeney, who turn a pulpy premise into a gut-wrenching character study.
Pearce directs with elegance, if not urgency, and Ingelsby’s script—though occasionally uneven—offers potent commentary on grief, addiction, motherhood, and moral sacrifice. This isn’t a fun ride. It’s not meant to be. It’s a portrait of devotion pushed to its breaking point, and it lingers long after the credits roll.
Rating: ★★★★☆ (4/5)