I absolutely love STAY, the supernatural thriller from writer-director Jas Summers, starring Mo McRae and Megalyn Echikunwoke.
At its core, STAY centers on a couple facing the painful end of their marriage. Kiara (Echikunwoke) is packing up their house when strange and inexplicable things begin to happen: whispers, flashes of memories, shadows that feel all too familiar. When Miles (McRae) shows up, already frustrated and emotionally drained, the tension between them fills every room. But just as they prepare to leave, the house traps them inside. What follows is a haunting and surreal journey through love, regret, and the inner demons that can destroy us if we don't heal.
Director: Jas Summers
Writer: Jas Summers
Stars: Megalyn Echikunwoke, Mo McRae, Dominic Stephens
What I loved about STAY is the complexity of the concept. On the surface, it's a supernatural thriller, but beneath the scares lies a story about what happens when you never face what's broken inside you. The house itself becomes a metaphor for that inner turmoil. Both characters are literally tormented by themselves: their guilt, anger, and pain manifest as physical battles. It's a powerful and creative take on what it means to be your own worst enemy.
The film also delves into African spirituality in an intentional and thoughtful way. Rather than leaning into fear, it embraces ancestral energy, reminding us that spirituality doesn't have to be scary or strange. It can be liberating, surrendering, and healing. There's a degree of reverence in the way STAY approaches the supernatural, and it feels culturally grounded rather than sensationalized.
What makes it even more captivating is that it's filmed primarily in a single location. This choice amplifies the claustrophobia but also maintains the intimacy of the story. It forces the audience to share that emotional space with them, to feel how trapped they are not only physically, but emotionally.
The message is clear: when you don't forgive, when you don't heal, when you let pain and silence consume you, they can consume you. And watching it all play out, especially through the perspective of a Black couple, was refreshing. This isn't a movie about trauma. It's a story that acknowledges trauma without making it traumatic. It's rooted in love, even in its darkest moments. The anger, the frustration, the disconnection—it's all conflated with a love that never truly dies.
Told in uneven fragments between the present, where the former couple finally plans to move out of their shared home, and various parts of their past, Stay feels convoluted at first. Which is a shame, because being told this way prevents us from caring at all about their breakup. Echikunwoke and McRae are stellar actors and give their all to the film, but there's nothing to indicate this couple could work.
Kiara has a PhD in Africana Studies with a specialization in African spirituality; Miles is a former MMA fighter whose terrible past injury has forced him to embark on a new career as a gym owner. It's clear they have sexual chemistry, and repetitive flashbacks reveal how, at one point, they may have really liked each other.
But in the present, they're cruelly cruel. He blames her for ruining the relationship; she blames him for giving up too easily; he thinks she's living in La La Land; she calls him a coward. It's tedious to listen to argument after argument without specifying what's really being discussed, and by the time we get a fuller picture of what happened between them, any possibility of identifying with either of them has dissipated.
As for Stay's horror elements, they're all unintentionally funny. Trope after trope is invoked as Kiara wanders around her house, reacting to creaking doors, a record that turns on by itself, her reflection looking back at her with evil eyes in the mirror, and Miles being dragged across the floor by an unseen force. It's all simply exhausting. When the film has a good momentum—like forcing Miles to relive his breakup, but through the eyes of his ex-wife—it abandons it almost immediately.
The final segment of the film finally reveals everything: what drove this couple apart, what haunts them now, and what they must do to break the curse. The twist is tragic enough, but also maudlin. The structure is flawed. Many couples struggle to stay together after what Kiara and Miles endure, but what do we gain from being given this information outside of the traditional chronology? It only frustrates our ability to connect with the characters.
Stay is a horror film about how you can't leave the proverbial house until you understand what's keeping you inside. In other words, the film assumes that you can't move on without processing your grief.
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