Most of us know from experience that any story involving resurrection of the dead rarely ends well. There’s always a catch somewhere; it’s pretty much Unwritten Rule No.1. Take Stephen King’s Pet Semetary (in director Jack Dignan’s own words, partial inspiration for After She Died) and W.W. Jacobs’ The Monkey’s Paw; both follow the path of the bereft seeking the return of a loved one tragically taken, only to suffer the consequences of breaking a fundamental law of existence; mess with the natural order at your peril.

A disaster-level Australian forest fire has robbed high school graduate Jen (Liliana de la Rosa) of her mum. Many others are also unaccounted for, including the mother of Jen’s platonic guy friend Louis (Adam Golledge), whose not-so-healthy relationship with his furtive, unpleasant father (Greg Poppleton) is similarly dysfunctional to that of Jen’s with firefighter dad John (Paul Talbot). Compounding her painful loneliness is BFF Cameron (Annabelle Andrew), who’s rapidly withdrawing from her in favour of an out-of-town college with a mutual female friend in tow. Heartless, much?

Just when it looks like this is as bad as it gets, a stunned-looking John brings home ‘Florence’, ostensibly to offer shelter as a result of the fire. That she’s his wife’s double is beside the point, surely? That she’s wrong in so many ways (taking pills at set times so as to not bleed out of one eye; what sounds like all her bones crackling horribly with her movements) should maybe raise a red flag or twelve. Flashback-style sequences reveal a netherworld writhing with dark energy deep within the still-turbulent forest, presided over by a sinister rubber-aproned, dog mask-wearing beast. Despite much of its dialogue being a bit too growly to decipher, it’s clear that making a deal with this creature is the reason John’s been able to bring his ‘wife’ back home.

As a method of highlighting Jen’s creeping, solitary fear and the pervasive sense of reality rapidly twisting into the surreal, the fragmented, non-linear presentation of events is supremely effective. A cloak of deepening unease matches a steep slide into the realms of nightmare, amplified by strong, unsettling cinematography packed with contrasting bold neon and flickering black shadows. Add to this the well-chosen musical elements, and you have a fine, edgy production that demands attention.

There’s a strange vibe about After She Died from the off that’s not easy to pin down; the sense that something just isn’t right is inescapable and more than a little uncomfortable. It begins with the coolly detached manner with which those closest to Jen treat her in light of her recent loss; not only her own father and Cameron, but the rest of her friends (Louis excepted) seem equally unmoved in the face of a tragedy of such magnitude befalling someone supposedly dear to them. The nature of this weirdly sterile behaviour becomes steadily more apparent as the plot develops. If you’ve seen Invasion of the Bodysnatchers (either version), it shares exactly that sneaking impression that everything in the world of the central character has changed on a big scale, and not for the better.

After She Died is hard to follow in parts, but so visually stunning in a hypnotic yet revoltingly visceral fashion that as long as you’ve got the measure of the not unfamiliar storyline you need not worry. Sit back, enjoy the ride, and listen out for those crackling, clicking bone sounds, because that’s a winner straight from the chiller section.

7.5 out of 10 Regrettable Reanimations