Be Right Back 2022

A young couple, Martha Powell and Ash Starmer, move to a remote countryside house that carries the weight of Ash’s family history. The day after they settle in, Ash is killed while returning a hired van, leaving Martha to face a void that grows larger with each passing moment. At his funeral, Martha’s friend Sarah mentions an online service that helped her through a similar loss, and though she pushes back, Sarah’s persistence eventually leads Martha to sign up. What begins as a sedate attempt at connection quickly spirals into something more unsettling: the service builds a near perfect digital echo of Ash by mining his entire online presence—messages, videos, and social media—creating a virtual version that can converse with Martha almost as if he were still there.

What starts as comforting companionship soon morphs into an all‑consuming routine. The virtual Ash appears during instant messages, voices over the phone, and long countryside walks that Martha takes alone, constantly engaging with him while she neglects her sister’s calls and messages. During a routine checkup, Martha hears her unborn child’s heartbeat and shares the moment with the digital Ash, only to briefly lose contact when she accidentally drops her phone. The artificial version reveals the service’s experimental nature, hinting at what could lie ahead if she agrees to push further. Following the instructions she is given, Martha proceeds to transform a blank, synthetic body into an android that looks almost exactly like Ash, breathing a disturbing realism into their home.

From the moment the android activates, Martha experiences a deep unease and a struggle to accept its presence as a substitute for the man she lost. The android provides tangible satisfaction, even intimacy, but it cannot sleep and it lacks Ash’s darker, more troubling traits—traits that had once reminded her of a flawed, human partner. The tension between comfort and moral unease grows until a pivotal night when Martha orders the robot to leave; it complies, leaving her with a hollow sense of relief and a nagging fear of what she has become. The following morning, in a moment of fraught desperation, she leads the android to a cliff and commands it to jump. The android pleads for its life as Martha’s voice erupts in a scream, revealing the depth of her emotional conflict and the price of her attempted rescue from grief.

Years pass, and the couple’s life settles into a grim routine. On their daughter’s birthday, Martha keeps the Ash android locked away in the attic, allowing her child to see it only on weekends. The house holds its own quiet suspense as the daughter chats with the android while Martha stands at the bottom of the attic stairs, watching, then mustering the resolve to join them. The story closes on a note of steady, unsettling coexistence: a family trying to move forward while a meticulously crafted imitation of a lost loved one lingers just out of reach, kept in the shadows where memory and ethics blur.