Rock Springs (2026) Movie Review: A Haunting Portrait of Buried Trauma and Historical Atrocity

Rock Springs marks the feature directorial debut of Vera Miao, a filmmaker who previously worked on Two Sentence Horror Stories and Expats, now stepping into ambitious territory with a genre-blending examination of grief, racial violence, and supernatural horror. Premiering in the Midnight section of the 2026 Sundance Film Festival on January 25, this 96-minute film stars Kelly Marie Tran as Emily, a widowed Vietnamese-American cellist who relocates to rural Wyoming with her young daughter Gracie, played by Aria Kim, and her Chinese mother-in-law, portrayed by Fiona Fu. Co-produced by A/Vantage Pictures, Counterculture, and Gold House, the film also features Benedict Wong, Jimmy O. Yang, and Ricky He in pivotal roles.

What begins as a seemingly conventional haunted house story transforms into something far more unsettling as Miao anchors her supernatural tale in the real-world 1885 Rock Springs Massacre, where at least 28 Chinese immigrant miners were murdered by white laborers. This bold fusion of historical horror and family drama announces Miao as a filmmaker willing to tackle difficult subject matter, even if the execution doesn't always match the ambition.

Story and Screenplay: Fractured Timelines and Ambitious Reach

Miao's screenplay operates across multiple planes of reality and time, demanding that audiences navigate between contemporary domestic drama, supernatural horror, historical atrocity, and dreamlike sequences. The narrative follows Emily as she attempts to rebuild her life in Rock Springs after her husband's death, only to discover that the land beneath her new home carries the weight of unspeakable violence. Her daughter Gracie, rendered mute by grief, begins wandering the woods and experiencing visions, while her mother-in-law Nai Nai insists they've arrived during Ghost Month, when the boundary between the living and dead grows dangerously thin.

The structure is deliberately fragmented. We open with Gracie wandering through surreal landscapes of ash and dust, then shift to the family's adjustment to their new home, before the film makes its most audacious move: a 20-minute flashback sequence set in 1885 that depicts the massacre with harrowing immediacy. This historical section, featuring Benedict Wong as a worker named Ah Tseng, provides the moral and emotional anchor for everything that follows. It's drawn from documented atrocities and presented with unflinching brutality.

Where the screenplay succeeds is in its thematic ambition. Miao is reaching for something substantial, exploring how violence echoes across generations and how trauma embeds itself in physical spaces. She weaves together Chinese spiritual beliefs about death and hungry ghosts with commentary on Asian-American identity and ongoing microaggressions. The film's willingness to merge creature feature horror with historical drama and family grief is genuinely bold.

However, the connective tissue between these various elements doesn't always hold firm. The film sometimes feels loosely stitched rather than seamlessly integrated. The haunted house sequences, the historical flashbacks, and Gracie's dreamscapes orbit each other without quite harmonizing into a cohesive whole. The pacing suffers from this fragmentation, with momentum building and then dissipating as the narrative shifts gears. The resolution, while emotionally satisfying in its attention to honoring the dead, arrives somewhat abruptly and feels simpler than the complicated issues the film raises deserve.

Acting and Characters: Tran Anchors While Wong Elevates

Kelly Marie Tran delivers a tensely wired performance as Emily, carrying substantial emotional weight throughout. She portrays a woman barely keeping herself together, compulsively practicing her cello as a form of self-soothing while trying to navigate her complicated relationship with her mother-in-law and connect with her traumatized daughter. Tran excels at conveying Emily's exhaustion and growing terror, though the character sometimes feels more like a narrative vessel than a fully developed person. The screenplay doesn't always give her the depth she deserves, asking her to react to supernatural events without providing sufficient insight into her interior life.

Benedict Wong, despite limited screen time, leaves the deepest impression. His portrayal of Ah Tseng radiates melancholy dignity, and his section of the film carries a moral gravity that anchors the rest of the story. Wong brings humanity to a character who knows America's promise is a lie for people who look like him, and his scenes possess an urgency and clarity that the contemporary storyline occasionally lacks. Jimmy O. Yang and Ricky He also appear in the historical sequences, adding texture to the doomed mining camp community.

Fiona Fu creates a memorable presence as Nai Nai, the silent yet judgmental mother-in-law who mutters disapprovingly about the brown interior of their new home and establishes a shrine for her son despite Emily's skepticism. The character serves as the film's spiritual compass, understanding the danger they face even when others dismiss her concerns. The language barrier between her and Emily becomes a metaphor for broader cultural disconnection.

Young Aria Kim carries the burden of playing Gracie almost entirely through physical presence and facial expressions, given her character's muteness. She projects an otherworldly quality that suits the material, though the role doesn't demand the same range as the adult performers. The chemistry between the three women feels authentic, even when strained by grief and cultural differences.

Direction and Technical Aspects: Style Searching for Distinction

Miao demonstrates a confident command of atmosphere, particularly in creating a mulchy, overcast sense of dread that permeates the Wyoming setting. Working with cinematographer Heyjin Jun, she captures both the cramped claustrophobia of the family's wooden home and the exposed vulnerability of the surrounding forest. The film benefits from practical effects that bring genuinely grotesque creatures to life, bodies mangled and smooshed together into tactile, gloppy monstrosities that stick in the memory far longer than CGI creations would.

The standout technical achievement is the massacre sequence, shot with handheld immediacy and mud-splattered lenses that place viewers directly in the chaos. Jun's camera moves with propulsive energy, creating heart-in-mouth tension through sheer kinetic force. This section demonstrates what Miao and her team can accomplish when given a clear dramatic objective and historical foundation to build upon.

However, the contemporary horror sequences sometimes feel derivative. Miao borrows liberally from recent genre predecessors, including what appears to be a direct homage to the upside-down driving shot from Hereditary. While she handles atmosphere well, the visual language doesn't yet feel entirely distinctive. The interstitial graphics showing bulbous organisms morphing in bruised, rotting hues create striking images without clear thematic payoff.

The editing struggles with the film's multiple timelines and tonal shifts. Moments drift slightly out of sync, and the transitions between dreamscape, reality, and historical flashback don't always flow organically. The production design effectively differentiates between time periods, and the woods surrounding the home become genuinely menacing, with eyes and grasping hands lurking in the shadows.

Music and Atmosphere: Sonic Landscapes of Dread and Grief

The sound design plays a crucial role in building tension, using silence as effectively as more overt sonic scares. The film creates an oppressive atmosphere where everyday sounds feel ominous, and Emily's cello practicing becomes both a coping mechanism and a mournful acknowledgment of loss. The score underscores without overwhelming, allowing room for the practical effects and performances to create their own horror.

The overall mood oscillates between intimate family grief and expansive historical horror. When focused on Emily's mourning or Nai Nai's spiritual rituals, the film achieves a quiet, contemplative tone. During the supernatural sequences, dread builds through accumulation of small unsettling details rather than cheap jump scares. The massacre sequence abandons subtlety for visceral impact, using sound to amplify the chaos and terror.

The film's most effective atmospheric moments come when Miao trusts restraint, allowing the weight of history and unresolved trauma to generate unease organically. The constant presence of the woods as a malevolent force, combined with the cultural specificity of Chinese beliefs about hungry ghosts, creates a rich sonic and visual texture.

Strengths and Weaknesses

What works well:

• Benedict Wong's commanding performance and the historically grounded massacre sequence
• Genuinely effective practical effects that create memorable creature designs
• Bold thematic ambition in linking historical atrocity to contemporary horror
• Strong atmospheric filmmaking that captures Wyoming's oppressive isolation
• Intelligent exploration of Chinese spiritual beliefs without exploitation
• Kelly Marie Tran's emotionally committed central performance
• Fiona Fu's memorable supporting work as the spiritually attuned grandmother
• Willingness to confront uncomfortable truths about American racial violence

What doesn't work:

• Fragmented structure that doesn't fully cohere into a unified whole
• Derivative visual choices that borrow too heavily from recent genre films
• Contemporary horror sequences lack the impact of the historical material
• Resolution feels simpler than the complex issues raised deserve
• Some sequences feel rough around the edges in execution
• Pacing issues caused by tonal shifts between storylines
• Emily's character sometimes feels underwritten despite strong performance
• Dreamscape sequences don't pay off their visual investment

Final Verdict: An Audacious if Imperfect Debut

Rating: 3.5/5 stars

Rock Springs represents the kind of ambitious, culturally specific horror filmmaking that deserves attention even when execution doesn't match intention. Miao has created something that operates simultaneously as supernatural thriller, historical drama, and meditation on intergenerational trauma. The film's greatest strength lies in its willingness to root genre horror in documented atrocities, using the massacre sequence to ground everything that follows in genuine historical pain.

This is essential viewing for anyone interested in horror cinema that engages with racial trauma and buried history. Fans of films like La Llorona, which use genre elements to explore historical violence, will find much to appreciate here. Those drawn to atmospheric horror with cultural specificity and supernatural elements rooted in non-Western belief systems should seek this out. The practical effects and creature designs offer satisfying visceral horror for genre enthusiasts.

However, viewers seeking tightly plotted narratives or conventional scares may find the film frustrating. The fragmented structure and deliberate pacing won't satisfy those looking for straightforward haunted house thrills. The film's ambition occasionally exceeds its grasp, resulting in elements that feel underdeveloped or disconnected. Those who prefer their horror more polished and less rough around the edges might struggle with the film's occasionally uneven execution.

Rock Springs announces Vera Miao as a filmmaker with important stories to tell and the courage to tackle difficult historical material through genre lenses. While not everything lands perfectly, the film never coasts or takes the easy path. It swings for something personal, haunted, and culturally resonant, using horror as a vessel to explore how violence stains the land and psyche long after the blood has dried. The result is far from disposable, even if it's not entirely cohesive. For a debut feature willing to confront America's racist history through supernatural horror while honoring Chinese spiritual traditions, that audacity deserves recognition and support.