“What’s in there?” “Only what you take with you.”

Clark (Chiwetel Ejiofor) owns and manages a furniture store while dreaming of being an architect, but he’s having some family problems. Mary (Renate Reinsve) is Clark’s therapist but carries some family baggage of her own. Their common denominator is self-imposed isolation, regardless of how justified or comforting it may seem. When Clark discovers a secret entrance into a hidden realm of goldenrod wallpaper, dismal carpeting, and florescent lighting, he becomes fascinated with and consumed by needing to know how far down this new rabbit hole goes. Mary dismisses Clark’s sudden infatuation when he tries to explain it to her, but when he fails to appear for further appointments, she goes to Clark’s business to discover the backrooms for herself.

From the original 4chan creepypasta prompt to a YouTube series exploring the concept, creator Kane Parsons has expanded his lore into directing an A24 studios theatrical release co-written by Will Soodik. The audience for this subject is built in and the cast list appears exceptional, but so-called “liminal horror” has its limits and detractors. At one end of the spectrum lies the story-absent Skinamarink while the other champions the absurdist Being John Malkovich, each leaning into their own brands of madness experiencing in-between spaces. Set in June of 1990, the trailers hint at AI nightmare fuel, hallucinations distilled from human thought regurgitated like misinterpreted memories of memories… but what purpose do the backrooms serve?

Minor spoiler and fair warning: Backrooms is an introduction of lore meant for contemplation and clearly eventual sequels, meaning anyone requiring a flat-out answer to what’s happening is going to be sorely disappointed. Any semblance of plot derives from characters resisting a descent into madness from safe yet static lives, a cosmic laugh at whatever reality humans construct for themselves. Working against the narrative is a distinct time jump, where viewers are told but not shown what took place; it feels like a cheat but is reasonably forgivable. Additional clues are provided as new rooms are discovered, often under the duress of trying to escape whatever else is in there. It’s worth asking: would a well-adjusted individual even be able to find these backrooms, or is there even such a person to begin with?

There’s also the urban “urbex” exploration aspect, being where you’re not supposed to be and seeing things as they were left after a sudden departure (whether the previous occupants knew it or not). Backrooms suggests something more, influenced by its inhabitants but also by everything adjacent to it, just beyond the veiled entry. It seems to add to its likeness, snaking invisible tendrils into abandoned and forgotten places. Traversing the rooms themselves feels influenced by Alice In Wonderland — there’s even a broken mirror in one scene — coupled with the observer effect from quantum physics, things moving but never when you’re looking. Viewers can almost hear the voiceover: “Congratulations! You’ve been hired as a night guard for an abandoned mall. If you hear footsteps run up behind you, turn and look; if you see nothing, don’t blink as you walk backwards toward the nearest exit.”

Some of the beats resemble the final season of Netflix’s “Stranger Things” while avoiding the maliciousness of 1408 (these rooms aren’t evil; they just are). Providing a sense of scale to the entire idea is Phil, played by Mark Duplass, but the less you know about him going in, the better. Whatever these backrooms are or represent may be connective, perhaps global or even intergalactic, and one should never underestimate the financial attraction of a plausibly infinite and/or manipulative space outside of reality (just ask Lex Luthor). Of course, believing one could profit from such knowledge could be just one more trap.

Backrooms is rated R for language, some violent content/bloody images, and everything must go.

Three skull recommendation out of four.