When The Surrender kicks off, you’re thrust into a nightmarish prelude—blood‑slicked stone, a clawing creature and skeletal hands bursting free. That fleeting glimpse primes you for a much quieter return: Megan’s weary drive home to assist her mother, Barbara, at the bedside of the family patriarch.

At its heart, this debut from Julia Max is a study in extremes. Megan (Colby Minifie) arrives carrying guilt over distance, while Barbara (Kate Burton) clings to control through spreadsheets of medications and whispered incantations. Their shared loss of Robert, the ailing husband and father, sets up a tug‑of‑war between clinical care and forbidden rites.

Max blends the procedural rhythms of caregiving with an escalating sense of the uncanny. Early scenes hum with the tension of everyday routines—pill dispensers clicking, monitors beeping—only to fracture as dreamcatchers flutter and buried teeth surface under the bed. Then comes the shamanic interloper,...