In Bed Rest (2023), director Lori Evans Taylor delivers a tightly-wound psychological horror experience that blurs the lines between grief, isolation, and supernatural terror. Starring Melissa Barrera in a hauntingly vulnerable performance as Julie Rivers, the film invites viewers into the fragile mental state of a woman whose mandated bed rest during pregnancy turns into a descent into paranormal paranoia.
After years of fertility struggles and personal loss, Julie and her husband Daniel move into a sprawling, creaky old home, hoping for a fresh start before the birth of their child. However, when complications with her pregnancy force Julie to remain confined to bed rest, she begins to experience increasingly disturbing visions. Is the house haunted, or is her past unraveling her reality?.
What makes Bed Rest effective isn’t jump scares or elaborate ghost effects—it’s the quiet terror of helplessness. The film’s slow-burn tension works in tandem with its exploration of maternal grief and guilt, particularly surrounding Julie’s previous stillbirth. As her confinement intensifies, so does the psychological weight pressing down on her. The house seems alive—whispers, shadows, creaking floorboards just beyond her reach. And as her sanity deteriorates, the line between psychological trauma and genuine haunting becomes nearly impossible to distinguish.
Melissa Barrera carries the film with raw emotional weight. Her portrayal of Julie is layered: at times defiant, terrified, or heartbreakingly resigned. The cinematography mirrors her instability, often lingering in claustrophobic frames and playing with reflections and empty spaces. While some horror fans may find the pacing slow, others will appreciate the suffocating atmosphere that simmers to a chilling third act.
Though Bed Rest resolves with an ambiguous sense of closure—Julie seemingly overcoming the haunting and welcoming a new life—the ending leaves just enough cracks for something darker to seep through…
In a speculative sequel, Bed Rest: Awakening, the story shifts focus to Julie’s now five-year-old son, Aiden. Having grown up under the shadow of his mother’s trauma, Aiden begins to exhibit strange behavior—talking to invisible figures, sleepwalking to places he’s never been, and drawing the same dark figure Julie once feared.
Julie, trying desperately to believe in a normal life, starts noticing familiar signs. The old house’s influence may not have ended—it may have attached itself to her son.
In Awakening, Julie confronts not just ghosts, but legacy: Can trauma be inherited? Can a mother protect her child from a force that once nearly broke her? The sequel would raise the stakes by expanding the supernatural mythos hinted at in the original—perhaps the house wasn't haunted at all, but Julie herself was the conduit.
Bed Rest isn’t a loud horror film. It’s intimate and psychological, a meditation on fear and motherhood told through the quiet dread of isolation. While it may not reinvent the genre, it carves a deeply personal space within it. And if there’s more to come, fans may be eager to lie back down... and listen closely to what stirs in the silence.
