I watched We Are Still Here on a cold night in January. Snow hit my window. My radiator clicked like it had a secret. I made hot cocoa, turned off the lamp, and hit play. You know what? I didn’t expect it to scare me like that. But it did, and it did it slow.
Want every beat of that initial chills-meets-cocoa experience? I laid it all out in this scene-by-scene journal over on All Flesh.
The setup that hooked me
A grieving couple moves into an old house in rural New England. The house is quiet but not calm. The basement feels wrong. The neighbors? They hover a bit too long. Barbara Crampton plays the mom, and she sells the grief. I mean, you can see it in her eyes. It’s a ghost story at heart, but it has teeth. Burnt ones. The Guardian’s take on the film calls it a “potent little chiller”, and that line sat in my head the whole time.
I’ve lived in an old house with a grumpy boiler, so the basement scenes hit me hard. That low hum felt real. I could almost smell damp wood and dust when they opened that door. My cat, Scout, even stared at the floor like she heard something I didn’t. Thanks, Scout. Super helpful.
How I watched it, and why that mattered
First watch was on Shudder, alone, late. Bad plan. Good movie. I paused twice to check the hallway. The second time, I watched the Blu-ray with two friends on a snow day. We kept the lights off and the heat low, which was bold — or dumb. The mood makes this movie work. It’s quiet, then it’s not, and when it goes loud, it really goes.
The feel: old-school, but not dusty
It has that 70s/early 80s vibe. Slow pushes. Long shots of empty rooms. You wait and wait, and then something moves. Or doesn’t, which is somehow worse. The sound design is sticky — low rumbles, thumps under the floor, and a whistle like wind but… not wind. That whole marriage of atmosphere and architecture reminded me of the night I chronicled in My Night With Gothic Horror; vibes matter as much as velocity. When people talk “pacing,” this is what they mean: a steady climb, then a jump.
The effects look hand-made and mean. The ghosts look burned through, like logs that still glow. It isn’t glossy. It’s char. In the last 20 minutes, the movie hits hard. It goes from shiver to shriek fast. I dropped my popcorn. Twice. Yes, I kept eating it.
Real moments that got me
- The first trip to the basement. The boiler breathes — not like a machine. Like a chest.
- A photo frame shifts, then stops, as if it changed its mind.
- The seance scene with the hippie friends (you’ll know them) — the room feels colder, and you can hear the air change.
- A neighbor smile that stretches too far. I don’t trust people who don’t blink.
- The final swarm in the house. I won’t spoil it, but it’s a full stop.
After that seance bit, I actually stood up and walked to my kitchen. I pretended I needed more cocoa. I did not. I needed a second.
What worked for me
- Winter mood: snow, silence, and that flat New England light. It feels like Sunday at 4 p.m. in February.
- Barbara Crampton’s face does so much with so little. Grief that hums.
- Practical effects that look dirty and real. Not cute. Not clean.
- The last act delivers. It pays off the slow build without flinching.
- Small-town weirdness done right — nods, half-truths, and closed doors. If the hidden histories of remote communities fascinate you as much as foggy New England towns do, checking out the local classifieds of a place like North Platte can be its own rabbit hole, and Backpage North Platte offers a window into real-world small-town dynamics, from events to personal ads, that might fuel your next spooky setting.
What bugged me a bit
- A couple lines feel clunky. Like the script needed one more pass.
- The middle sags one notch. Not bad. Just a tiny wobble.
- One exposition scene tells more than it shows. I could feel the spoon.
None of these broke it for me. They just tugged at the edge.
Nerdy notes, but plain talk
- Pacing: it’s a slow burn. If you need constant jump scares, this won’t be your jam — until the end, when it shouts.
- Blocking: lots of shots where actors hold still while the room breathes around them. That’s a choice. It works.
- Sound: headphones help. You catch the low ghosts under the main track.
I know, that’s a bit “film class.” But the movie kind of invites it. It’s simple, yet careful.
A small detour (that circles back)
I grew up with creaky hallways and bad winters. We had a space heater that clicked like it had bones. When the film showed the house “waiting,” I felt that. Old homes keep score. The title isn’t just a threat. It’s a promise. From them, and from your own memories.
That creeping sense that something’s off doesn’t live only in haunted basements; it can settle into a marriage, too. When a partner suddenly silences his phone, steps outside to text, or smiles at the screen the way the neighbor smiled a beat too long, you start to wonder what’s really going on. If the movie left you attuned to every small shift in behavior, you might want to scan through this list of warning signals for a reality-check; it breaks down subtle changes and tech clues that can help you decide whether your gut is sounding a false alarm or spotting a modern kind of haunting.
Who should watch this
- Fans of classic ghost stories who don’t mind a little gore.
- Folks who loved The Changeling or The Fog.
- People who like a slow build, then a punch.
If you want jokes and quips, skip it. If you like snow, silence, and grief with teeth, hit play. And if the intersection of parental grief and spectral guardianship is your thing, circle back to my thoughts on Mama (2013), the ghost story that felt a little too close to home. For more dread-soaked indie gems, I browse reviews over at All Flesh, and this one fits right in.
Watch tips from my couch
- Night, not noon.
- Keep the room cool. Wear a sweater. It helps the mood.
- No phones. If you look away, you’ll miss the “nothing” that means something.
My take, plain and simple
We Are Still Here got under my skin and stayed. It’s rough in a few spots, but the core is strong. It honors old horror without feeling dusty. The ghosts look like they hurt. The people do too. I felt sad and scared — sometimes in the same beat. That’s hard to pull off.
Rotten Tomatoes sums up that same mix of dread and praise in its aggregated score, if you crave a quick consensus check.
Rating: 4 out of 5 burnt boards. I’d watch it again on a snowy night, lights off, cocoa in hand, radiator clicking like it knows my name.
And yes — after the credits, I checked the basement. I’m not a hero. I’m just careful.