A cheating husband wakes up in the hospital after a car crash to find himself in a nightmare. The long wait in an emergency room filled with ghostly figures and a bitter feeling of emptiness that leads to the edge of existential horror is lost as the story unfolds. Some well-placed frights at the beginning get your pulse racing. However, it undergoes a significant dip in its level of intensity resulting from awkward flashback sequences and peculiar character affiliations. In this way, suspense dissipates into digression with no clear direction. The main character takes on a secondary role as he endeavors to redefine his bizarre world. It could have been good if there had still been some playfulness over the whole mystery. You guess what’s happening early and then have to wait for the film to catch up.
Sam (Jonathan Rhys-Meyers) kisses his wife tenderly in their apartment; Sarah (Anita Brown) is pregnant with their first child; he takes her to work with him before going on to his own office; Sam’s day goes bad when his car is hit by a van during his commute, and now rescue workers are struggling to keep him conscious while reaching for his bloodied body.
A dazed Sam opens his eyes and sees screens and tubes; he finds himself in an intensive care unit beside an unconscious patient’s bed; Sam presses alarm button but nothing happens; he removes all connections gently; no one is at desk or along corridors; confusion soon turns into something more serious.
Meanwhile, Monica (Elyse Levesque) lies within great anticipation inside surgery room – she has almost made her dream come true through body sculpting efforts – happiness turns into terror when anesthesia begins working, doctors change form, Monica screams allowing Sam come over and help her while they narrowly escape from terrible attackers heading through dark hallways stairwells elevators where they need to find out how to get away from wherever they are, whereas why they have been trapped comes later.
Sam shuffles between abject panic, despair, and defiant determination; his experiences in a winding hospital have him doubting the reality of things. Is this hell? Has he died and gone to heaven? Does it mean that he is having a psychotic breakdown? Others confronted by the same problem ask similar questions. Are these delusions of grandeur shared by everyone? Michael Winnick (director/writer) employs flashbacks to elucidate how each character landed in the hospital; some digressions such as an infertile racist cop (Lochlyn Munro) and his black victim (Trezzo Mahoro) don’t add anything much; instead, they weaken film with more of everything and fewer essences; Sam’s story line becomes thinner throughout a movie that barely lasts for one hour twenty five minutes.
Disquiet’s real jump-out-of-your-seat moments are ruined by clichéd horror villains. You can see when the script starts prioritizing routine over innovation. The chance for a more visceral experience becomes lost. Rhys-Meyers, an actor who can be depended on, remains wide-eyed and apprehensive all through. As the plot loses its power, he does his utmost to save it again.
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