In an age of noise and spectacle, Elephant (2022) is a haunting, minimalist drama that explores the silences we live with — and the emotional burdens we avoid. Written and directed by Eloise Maren, the film isn’t about the animal in the title, but rather the metaphorical one: the “elephant in the room” — the unspoken trauma sitting at the center of a family, a relationship, or even a society.
The story follows Mara (Florence Pugh), a young woman returning to her childhood home in rural Oregon after the sudden death of her estranged father. The house is quiet, cold, and untouched — filled with old photos, unfinished conversations, and a creeping sense of unease. Mara’s return forces her to confront family secrets, buried grief, and long-suppressed memories involving her younger brother Jamie (Lucas Hedges), who has been missing for over a decade.
As she cleans out the house, strange moments of déjà vu begin to unsettle her: flickering lights, voices in empty rooms, and a recurring dream of a silent elephant walking through the forest. Is Mara cracking under pressure — or is her mind finally trying to piece together a truth she’s denied for years?
Elephant is not an easy film — but it is a rewarding one. Eloise Maren’s direction is deliberate, poetic, and intimate, leaning into long takes, natural light, and muted sound design. The mood is heavy, almost suffocating, but never melodramatic. Instead, it’s like watching grief unfold in real time.
Florence Pugh delivers one of her most restrained and emotionally internal performances to date. Mara is fragile but not weak — a woman trying to make sense of the emotional ruins she inherited. Her scenes with the estranged mother (played by a heartbreaking Viola Davis) offer some of the most devastating moments, especially as fragments of Jamie’s past are gradually revealed.
The script smartly avoids easy exposition. Viewers must work to piece the story together — through newspaper clippings, voicemail messages, and subtle flashbacks that blur memory and reality. It's a puzzle of guilt, silence, and generational trauma.
Some may find the film slow or opaque, but those familiar with the emotional terrain of films like The Father, A Ghost Story, or We Need to Talk About Kevin will find it quietly devastating.
If a follow-up were to happen, it might shift focus to Jamie’s perspective — either in flashbacks or present-day revelations. In Elephant: The Room, we follow a now-adult Jamie, discovered alive and living under a different name, struggling with memory gaps and PTSD. The story would explore themes of self-erasure, trauma recovery, and familial reconnection, possibly through therapy sessions or intersecting timelines.
Rather than resolving the original mystery cleanly, the sequel would deepen it — emphasizing that healing is not linear, and that some “elephants” never leave the room. They simply change shape.
Elephant (2022) is a powerful, quiet meditation on memory, silence, and the weight of the unspoken. It demands patience and emotional investment — but offers a profound reflection on how we carry what we cannot say. Not all ghosts are supernatural. Some are memories. Some are people. And some are just truths waiting to be faced.
