Missing (2023)
Directors: Nicholas D. Johnson, Will Merrick
Screenwriters: Sev Ohanian, Aneesh Chaganty, Nicholas D. Johnson, Will Merrick
Starring: Storm Reid, Joaquin de Almeida, Ken Leung, Amy Landecker, Daniel Henney, Nia Long, Megan Suri
When The Blair Witch Project popularized found-footage horror in the 1990s, it captured a moment in which everyday technology and home video culture shifted into the public imagination. The idea that personal recordings, once private and mundane, could be repurposed into something unnerving and cinematic revitalized horror. Later, films like Unfriended attempted to update the format to reflect another cultural change: our lives increasingly lived on screens. That subgenre—often called screenlife—frames the whole story within computer or phone interfaces, mirroring how many people interact with the world today. Missing is the latest major take on that approach, and it positions itself as a contemporary thriller built around the tools and habits of modern digital life.
Missing is not inventing the screenlife mechanics; screenwriters Sev Ohanian and Aneesh Chaganty previously used the same approach in Searching (2018). Where the two films overlap is in their core premise: technology can be both the route to answers and the maze that hides them. What distinguishes Missing is how it accounts for the evolution of digital systems and the rise of a sharing economy—apps that link strangers for rides, deliveries, or odd jobs. This film leans into those ecosystems, showing how ubiquitous apps and quick digital transactions can play a decisive role in an urgent investigation.
The setup is simple and effective. We meet June, a young woman living with her mother, Grace, and Grace’s new boyfriend, Kevin. As Grace prepares to fly to Colombia with Kevin, she leaves June some spending money and the house in her care. A small moment—June sending money to her friend to cover party drinks—sets up a believable, contemporary domestic world. The screenlife format allows the audience to see June’s desktop, messages, apps, and short videos, and through those glimpses we quickly build empathy for her relationships and routines. Small details—song choices, open tabs, messages—do much of the character work with little exposition.
At first, the film cleverly uses everyday digital behaviors to make us feel intimately involved: the same way real life gets broadcast across phones and feeds, Missing shows personal moments that feel authentic and relatable. These early scenes are the film’s strongest; they lean into the novelty and immediacy of seeing private life play out through apps, video calls, and notifications. The format gives the film a contemporary texture that feels right for a story about vanishing people and online traces.
However, the screenlife form also exposes a recurring problem: its visual logic sometimes demands behavior that feels contrived. To maintain a continuous on-screen presence of the protagonist, Missing occasionally resorts to awkward devices—June leaving camera apps open, or performing inexplicable actions so the camera will capture them. These choices, made to preserve the visual conceit, can pull viewers out of the story because they strain credibility. The format’s limitations show themselves when the narrative needs a face-to-face image or a recorded moment to advance the plot. In those stretches, realism is sacrificed for stylistic consistency.
As the mystery deepens, June uses a range of digital tools and tricks to track her missing mother and Kevin. The film demonstrates care in how these investigative beats are constructed: geolocation, social apps, ride-hailing services, and language tools all play parts. This technical detail is one of the movie’s strengths, offering satisfying puzzle pieces that align with contemporary modes of searching for information. Yet the investigation also relies on a string of convenient coincidences and lapses in judgment by characters who should know better—police officers who fail to maintain privacy, technicians who act unrealistically, and moments of contrived multilingual typing for the sake of a translation gag. Those plot conveniences occasionally compromise the film’s otherwise meticulous use of technology.
Beyond the procedural elements, Missing explores emotional terrain that gives the story its heart. Father-child and mother-child relationships appear as undercurrents: June’s bond with Grace is central, and a secondary relationship between a local helper she hires and his own son adds tenderness and a human counterpoint to the techno-thriller beats. Those moments are where the film’s true resonance lies—relatable, imperfect, and quietly affecting. Unfortunately, a significant portion of the runtime focuses on demonstrating the cleverness of digital sleuthing rather than deepening these emotional strands.
Stylistically, the movie delivers some clever payoffs. Several reveals and twists feel modern because they hinge on how we live now—what we share, what we leave behind, and how the same systems that connect us can also complicate truth and accountability. Multiple nods to true crime culture appear throughout, reflecting the current appetite for serialized investigations and online speculation. Missing reads like a contemporary mystery for the streaming era: it understands the appeal of digital breadcrumbs and the way public curiosity amplifies private tragedies.
That said, Missing peaks early. Its initial simplicity and charm give way to a more convoluted middle act, where the demands of the plot outgrow the formal constraints of the screenlife approach. Had the film sustained its early intimacy or devoted more time to the emotional relationships that underpin the premise, the balance between heart and gimmick might have been stronger. As it stands, the movie is an intriguing experiment with clear moments of real craft but also frustrating stretches where style overshadows plausibility.
Score: 11/24
Written by Rob Jones