“No help is coming. So, you better start saving yourself,” warns Linda Liddle (Rachel McAdams) in the last few moments of survivalist horror/thriller Send Help. I’ve been telling myself that for weeks, ever since I first witnessed Sam Raimi’s latest cinematic marvel. It’s a brutal refrain, piercing the camera lens through Linda’s thorny, yet totally rewarding, gaze. In the age of Trump, it’s a reality that many of us queer folk must contend with, process, and learn to combat. Life lines have been gutted, and the rising tidewaters seem unstoppable. And the hard truth is: it’s only going to get worse before it gets better. And the even harder truth: those you believed you could count on will betray you.
I’d long been a prescriber to Daryl Dixon’s (Norman Reedus) now-withered line from “This Sorrowful Life,” The Walking Dead Season 3 finale episode marked by Andrea’s (Laurie Holden) unfortunate death: “You can’t do things without people anymore, man.” I used to believe that. I really did. In Send Help, Linda Liddle does everything she can to prove herself, and the only place she feels her worth is even minusculely valued is at work. She’s a corporate strategist and planner, loves watching Survivor and eating toast with her bird, Sweetie, and knows everything there is to know about outdoor survival. So much so, she even films an audition tape for Jeff Probst, in the hope of landing on the show (she’d totally win, btw).
Linda Liddle is someone worth knowing, but no one wants anything to do with her. While that’s sad on the surface, it actually says a whole lot more about the world than her. It’s not true what they say about someone being a lightning rod for drama—it’s most often a them problem, not a you problem. Believe that. Linda is underestimated, underappreciated, overlooked, overworked, and seriously in need of a vacation. Her primal strength comes tearing out of her when a plane packed with her colleagues and her egomaniacal new boss, Bradley Preston (Dylan O’Brien), crashes into the ocean, and only she and Bradley survive.
It’s miraculous that Linda Liddle and the man standing in her way of getting that well-earned big bump in title and salary happen to be the only ones left alive. The universe has a sick sense of humor sometimes, doesn’t it? It can really slap you in the face. Bradley taunts, berates, and ridicules Linda despite her literally just saving him from certain death along the shoreline of a remote island. But she’s quickly realized that her life has real weight here among the gently swaying palm trees. With the elements already bearing down on her shoulders, she immediately sets to work to build a shelter, catch water, start a fire, and cook fresh fish. She doesn’t waste a single second. Everything in her life has led up to this. She can now demonstrably prove that she’s worth having around.
And she’s also someone who should be greatly feared.
After Bradley attempts to kill her via berry poisoning, he darts out from a nearby bush and reveals that he’s been secretly building a raft using all of Linda’s belongings, including her homemade cup engraved with her name! The night falls like a dark blanket, yet Bradley thinks it’s a good time, while the tide’s coming in, to plot an escape. It lasts a good second. As a tsunami-style wave crashes down, his pathetically made raft shatters, and his body becomes consumed by water and foam. Moments later, a puking Linda Liddle comes to his rescue (again) and proceeds to perform CPR on his limp body. It would be rather devastating if it weren’t so damn hilarious (the puking directly on his face sends me…).
Linda Liddle then turns the tables in the scene of the film. She returns the favor and poisons him with some fresh-cooked blue-ringed octopus. Bradley can’t move or feel anything, and he’ll “probably want it that way,” says Linda, brandishing a sharpened, sterilized knife. She tells a story about a dog growing up, who really just needed to be fixed to calm it down. Linda peels the jeans and underwear from Bradley’s body and goes to work on performing a not-so-difficult medical procedure on him. But not really. She’s simply demonstrating that Bradley, the CEO of a billion-dollar company, no longer has any power. He’s subservient to her.
“No help is coming. This is the way things are now, and you need to just accept that,” Linda alerts him, before slicing right into… a dead rat. That scene of raw, emotional torture doesn’t break the illusion of Linda’s character one bit. It actually exposes the strength she’s long been forced to bury to kow-tow to men. But now, free from society’s merciless constraints, she can repossess and reclaim herself as a force of nature. She doesn’t need the validation of some sleazy boss or apathetic coworkers to get by in life. All she’s ever needed is to realize that her life is worth fighting for.
As the film vaults into its wonderfully cartoony finale (complementary), Linda Liddle emerges as not a villain (far from it!), but a woman who will no longer accept a life she does not deserve (Pearl says hi). So, when she takes a golf club to Bradley’s skull (in what can be described as one of the best transitions ever), she’s earned her happy ending. She got away with murdering—no, not murdering, that’s too reductive for her bravery in combat. She got away with saving the world from another corporate edgelord, who, quite frankly, deserved to have his dick and balls permanently removed from his body. But I digress.
A year later, Linda Liddle is living her best life. She golfs! Her best-selling memoir is being turned into a movie! AND she’s writing a self-help book about personal survival. Being stuck on an island with a horrible boss shifted something inside of her. The jangly, fractured pieces of her skull now fit comfortably into place. She’s no longer willing to play the quirky sidekick in her own story. She’d hit rock bottom, and she’s now on the top of the world. It’s pure, unadulterated Good for Her cinema, and I love that for us.
Every single time I watch Send Help, I’m reenergized to save myself, to deliver the life I deserve, and to surround myself with folks who care about my well-being. For months, I’ve been in a constant state of crisis. I’m teetering far too close to the abyss for my liking these days, but this week (yes, I know it’s only Monday) has reminded me, in a pretty heartbreaking way, that “no help is coming.” Labels like “community” can no longer hide the performative compassion, particularly when it comes to queer homelessness, that runs rampant throughout the horror world. It’s a jagged little pill, and we must all take our medicine. (If you think this piece is about you, you’re probably right.)
I now recall Linda Liddle’s teary pep-talk in her car early in the film. But I use it as a rallying cry:
I am enough.
Just the way I am.
I am… Linda Liddle.
Addendum: And I hope one day I can gut a boar to shreds just like her and literally bring home the bacon.
For all you Linda Liddle diehards out there, I’ve started themed playlists around favorite horror films, called Thrill Me. Here’s the Linda Liddle-inspired Send Help playlist!
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