Bone Lake Review: Body Heat’s Cold Shower

Erotic thrillers occupy precarious cinematic real estate. When executed well, think Fatal Attraction or Basic Instinct, they create perfect storms of psychological tension and visceral heat. When bungled, you get Lifetime movies with pretensions. Bone Lake, despite festival pedigree and brilliant marketing, anchors itself firmly in the latter category, delivering a deeply undercooked casserole where nothing heats up and everything tastes off.

Director Mercedes Bryce Morgan sets her table promisingly. Sage (Maddie Hasson, Malignant) and Diego (Marco Pigossi) arrive at a remote lakeside Airbnb seeking reconnection. Their plans derail when Will (Alex Roe, The 5th Wave) and Cin (Andra Nechita) appear, claiming the same booking. You know the dance that comes next. Rather than leaving after obvious red flags, both couples agree to share the space. Cue alcohol, awkward flirtations, and increasingly manipulative conversations designed to erode trust.

The script by Joshua Friedlander hints at psychological complexity— testing bonds through systematic manipulation. But the film never commits to being as salacious or smart as it thinks, apparently terrified of being too sexy, too dangerous, too anything. It dangles a promise of chaos but delivers a coffee shop argument in better lighting. Everyone keeps talking, but no one ever says anything that matters.

Instead, we endure maddening repetition: guests are separated, private confessions are extracted, secrets are weaponized, and so on. Each round grows less believable. Why haven’t Sage and Diego left yet? Why don’t Will and Cin get a room in town like they said they would? The film offers no satisfying answer.

Performances struggle against thin material. Pigossi, saddled with playing a man desperate for a book deal (Cin conveniently works in publishing and knows how to get in touch with his favorite author…), manages occasional self-awareness. He’s the only character who feels remotely real. Hasson, usually magnetic, disappears into wallpaper as Sage—too restrained for a role demanding intensity. Roe plays Will like he’s auditioning for dinner theater Eyes Wide Shut, all exaggerated charm and leering menace. Nechita’s Cin proves so gratingly smug from her introduction that it’s baffling anyone, including Will, stays in the house after spending time with her.

Cinematographer Nick Matthews (Sleep Study) brings visual ambition, employing expressionistic flourishes developed in previous Morgan collaborations. Color palettes shift dynamically, cameras move with Evil Dead 2 energy, and production designer Kendra Bradanini (The Dark Knight Rises) crafts distinct visual identities. The 18-day Georgia shoot demonstrates technical competence, especially as things slide toward the surreal in the final act. Yet craft can’t compensate for Friedlander’s script mistaking repetition for escalation. Editor Anjoum Agrama maintains tight pacing that unfortunately reinforces the plot’s circular nature. Roque Baños’s (The Commuter) and Ben Cherney’s (His House) moody score tries to lift the weight the screenplay avoids.

Morgan clearly has a vision. Her past work (Spoonful of Sugar, Fixation) shows a love for stylized horror with psychological depth. You can feel that same ambition here, but the script doesn’t rise to meet it. The dialogue and scenes cycle endlessly. The story never advances. Every conversation feels like one you’ve already heard—just said in a different room, with a different couple, slightly louder.

Here’s what proves most frustrating: the marketing campaign was genius. Provocative posters, NSFW clips, cheeky promotional materials—everything suggested a film unafraid of embracing the genre’s pulpier possibilities. Audiences drawn by boundary-pushing promises deserved the movie being sold. What we got is a film with a single nude scene, two mildly heated arguments, and a climax that arrives long after your attention span has packed up and left the lake. It’s not prudish to say so—it’s about honesty. Viewers sit through endless stilted dialogue where characters reveal deeply personal information to complete strangers for no perceptible reason beyond advancing a barely moving plot. The trailer promised twisted games. The film delivers mild inconveniences.

The mind games genre thrives on intelligent opponents and genuine stakes. Bone Lake offers neither. Diego tolerates unconscionable behavior from Will that would send any self-respecting person running. These supposedly intelligent people repeatedly ignore obvious manipulation. At what point does patience become complicity in your own victimization? The film never explores these questions, content to circle round through its tired beats until it arrives at its blood-splattered finale.  But it’s too late. You’re not shocked. You’re not moved. You’re just relieved something finally happened. And then—credits.

Festival audiences at Fantastic Fest and Brooklyn Horror Film Festival embraced Bone Lake, suggesting some viewers connect with its wavelength. Perhaps communal energy amplifies camp elements. But watching alone, comparisons arise to better films tackling similar premises with actual intelligence. 

I entered Bone Lake hoping for something twisted, sexy, and smart—a NSFW midnight movie worthy of the erotic thriller revival. But the script never finds the courage to take a real risk. And in a genre built on tension, seduction, and betrayal, playing it safe is the kiss of death. When your lake house thriller leaves audiences checking watches instead of pulses, you’ve already sunk beneath the surface.