Movie Recommendation: Brahms: The Boy II (2020)

 

#DebraAndValerieMovieRecommendation

Brahms: The Boy II (2020)

When I sat down to watch Brahms: The Boy II, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I had seen the first film, The Boy (2016), and I remembered the eerie charm of its story. Creepy dolls are a classic horror trope, but the way the original film played with psychological tension and the blurring of reality made it stand out. So when the sequel came out, I was curious whether it would simply recycle old tricks or find a new way to unsettle its audience. For me, it was the latter—I loved it.

From the very beginning, the film sets a chilling tone. There’s something about silence in horror that always gets me more than loud crashes or sudden jump scares. The quiet corners of the house, the doll’s empty stare, and the atmosphere of dread that slowly creeps in—it all worked together to create an uneasy mood that never really left me. Unlike some horror films that bombard you with noise and chaos, this one invites you into a slower, darker descent. That pacing was what hooked me, because it gave me time to really sink into the story.

What stood out most, though, wasn’t just the scares—it was the way the film dealt with trauma. The family at the heart of the story isn’t just battling a supernatural entity; they’re also carrying heavy emotional baggage. The mother, Liza (played by Katie Holmes), is struggling with the aftermath of a violent break-in, while her son Jude withdraws into silence. This emotional backdrop gave the film a layer of depth I didn’t expect. The horror wasn’t only external—it was also internal, and that made the supernatural elements hit harder.

Watching Jude form a connection with Brahms was one of the most unsettling parts of the film. At first, it seemed innocent—just a boy attaching himself to a doll as a way of coping with fear and isolation. But as the bond deepened, it grew increasingly disturbing. There were moments when I genuinely didn’t know if I should feel sorry for Jude or be terrified of him. That tension between empathy and fear is what made the story so compelling for me. Horror is at its best when it makes you question not just the world around the characters but also your own emotions, and that’s exactly what this film did.

The film’s atmosphere deserves special mention. The moody, gloomy cinematography and the oppressive setting of the Heelshire estate created a perfect backdrop for the story. I love horror that doesn’t rely solely on gore or shock but instead builds a world that feels heavy with secrets. Every shadow seemed to hide something, and every creak in the house carried the weight of foreboding. It’s not just about what you see—it’s about what you feel lingering in the air.

Another aspect I appreciated was the restraint in how the horror unfolded. Sure, there were moments that made me jump, but what stayed with me were the quieter, more psychological touches. The sense of dread was drawn out and stretched thin, making me second-guess what was real and what was imagined. That’s the kind of horror I enjoy most—the kind that lingers even after the credits roll, making you glance at the dark corners of your own room.

Then, of course, there was the ending. Without spoiling too much, I’ll just say that it was chilling in a way that tied the whole experience together. It wasn’t loud or exaggerated—it was unsettling, the kind of twist that makes you rethink everything you just watched. I found myself sitting there in silence for a moment after it ended, replaying scenes in my head, wondering how much of the horror was psychological and how much was truly supernatural. That blurred line between reality and nightmare is what makes the film stick with me.

I know a lot of critics weren’t kind to Brahms: The Boy II. Many dismissed it as unnecessary or too slow. But honestly, I don’t care what the critics said—this one delivered exactly what I look for in a horror movie. Not every horror film needs to reinvent the wheel or shock with gore. Sometimes it’s enough to build an atmosphere, explore complex emotions, and weave in the supernatural just enough to keep you guessing. For me, this film struck that balance beautifully.

On a more personal level, I think what resonated with me most was the exploration of fear itself. Fear isn’t always about monsters hiding under the bed—it’s also about the scars we carry from the past, the moments that broke us and still haunt us. Jude’s silence and Liza’s struggle to protect him spoke to me in a way I didn’t expect from a horror film. It reminded me that sometimes the most frightening things aren’t the ghosts or demons but the weight of trauma and the lengths we’ll go to in order to shield the people we love.

In the end, Brahms: The Boy II might not be for everyone. If you’re looking for non-stop jump scares or loud, chaotic horror, you might find it too slow or too subtle. But if you appreciate psychological tension, eerie atmosphere, and a story that lingers long after the screen fades to black, then it’s worth a watch. For me, it was more than just a creepy doll movie—it was a reflection on fear, grief, and the fragile line between protection and possession.

So yes, I’ll say it again: I loved it. Creepy dolls, eerie silence, and slow-building dread—it gave me exactly the kind of horror experience I crave. And while it might not have satisfied the critics, it satisfied me, and that’s what really matters. Brahms: The Boy II is, in my eyes, a creepy little gem—a reminder that horror doesn’t always need to scream to be heard. Sometimes, the quietest whispers are the ones that haunt us the most.