The Early Death of Innocence: How ‘Run Rabbit Run’ Makes You the Monster
By Bailey Megrian
We often regret things from our childhood, which is a good sign that we have grown as people, but what if the thing you regret is so terrible you’ve never spoken of it to anyone? What if living a lie was easier than the truth, even if the lie quite literally comes back to haunt you?
Dr. Sarah Gregory (Sarah Snook) has that exact problem in Daina Reid’s psychological horror Run Rabbit Run (2023). We join Sarah and her daughter, Mia (Lily LaTorre), on her seventh birthday. Things slowly unravel from there as Mia begins to act strangely, and we as the audience discover Sarah’s dark history.
Run Rabbit Run does a fantastic job of revealing Sarah’s backstory in slow, bite-sized pieces, rather than throwing it in your face like so many horror films do today. Our attention span as a society has dwindled quite dramatically, and we often demand blood, heavy plot, and the reveal of the monster right away. Instead, Run Rabbit Run tugs us gently from minor spooks and minimal gore to the ultimate, tragic conclusion, all while slowly turning the audience against Sarah. We share in the psychological torture Sarah endures, and know deep down that these mundane, horrific acts would cause any of us to break.
The true draw of this film is how realistic it feels. Sarah is just like any other single parent, and her ‘terrible secret from childhood’ feels like something anyone could have experienced. Through a grisly reenactment, we learn that Sarah is the reason her sister Alice (Sunny Whelan) went missing when she was seven. After a fateful game of hide and seek, the girls get into a physical fight, which results in Alice getting a serious wound. Alice flees her sister, and instead of fessing up to injuring her, Sarah makes the rash decision to push Alice off the edge of a cliff. She then covers her tracks by telling her parents that Alice “ran away.” One simple, panic-fuelled act changed everyone’s lives, and Sarah has been living with that guilt ever since.
You may ask yourself how killing your sister is a relatable story plot, but I encourage you to talk to any 5 to 12-year-old and tell me that they fully understand the consequences of their actions. Kids are impulsive. And kids are terrible to other kids. If you have a sibling, you know how vicious things can get when you’re a child.
Most people without sisters seem to operate under the false pretense that ‘girls are easier,’ when, in reality, I have never met a pair of sisters that didn’t fight like cats and dogs when they were little. My sister and myself included. As someone who has almost killed both of their siblings, let’s say I can relate.
Siblings fight, it is in our nature, most of us are just lucky that we didn’t make a big mistake as children. I deeply regret any harm I have caused my siblings, and I’m certain most people feel the same. Our brains are pesky, and it’s a proven fact that children do not develop emotional intelligence or a strong understanding of consequences until much later in life.
I put my sister in the hospital when she was 9 and I was 6. We had been playing tag at a friend’s house, and they owned a tandem swing (those swings that have two seats that move back and forth). I had tormented her until she chased me, and then ran across the yard. I had the foresight to pause at the swing and wait for it to go by, but my sister did not, and she was struck in the head. Eighteen stitches later, she still has a scar from her nose to above her eye, and she was told she was millimeters away from losing said eye. It was a simple, childish thing to do, and she is permanently scarred because of it. I’m just lucky she didn’t die; I don’t know what I would have done if I had to fess up to the mistake instead of having dozens of people there to witness it.
Guilt is a powerful thing and Run Rabbit Run forces us to consider how impossible it is to bury guilt within ourselves. Sarah’s regret, shame, and lies come back in a poignant way that puts her in a position of subservience. We see the power dynamic between mother and daughter shift, which allows Alice to take control of Mia and call the shots from beyond the grave. The role reversal drives Sarah mad until she can no longer run from her past, and instead she is forced to admit her shortcomings. Climatically, this changes nothing, and Alice takes Mia away, giving Sarah the ultimate consequence for her actions.
Run Rabbit Run is about fleeing from your problems until they catch up to you. Nothing about Run Rabbit Run is ‘feel good,’ and instead, we as an audience grow to hate Sarah as the story progresses. Still, it’s impossible not to see a bit of ourselves in her since we all know the feeling of regret. It’s hard not to hate Sarah, while still feeling incredibly sympathetic toward her. This makes the real horror our own perceived similarities with Sarah, rather than the ghosts and jump scares in the film.
I’m sure we would all like to be forgiven for our mistakes, but the darker side of that reality is that your apology may not be accepted. I’m certain there are mistakes we all cringe to remember — Sarah just happened to sit on hers for too long. 🩸
About
Bailey Megrian (she/her) is a Canadian horror and true crime fanatic, a screenwriter graduate, and has several short films under her belt. After working as a copywriter and designing a few TTRPG supplements, she is now taking the time to pursue some of her own creative endeavours, including horror comic writing and completing her first supernatural-mystery novel. You can follow her on social media @SkepsisRee, or visit her writing portfolio via her carrd to see what she’s getting up to.
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