In this remake of its 2002 Japanese predecessor, Jennifer Connelly’s presence gives [title] a bit of a life vest, but it’s still too hard to really cling to in this supernatural horror that can’t make it to the surface. From the outset, the movie feels like it’s desperately searching for an identity, with a story built more around the spectacle of literally drowning the audience in water than crafting a narrative where the water actually serves and supports the story, leaving it feeling unbalanced.

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Connelly stars as Dahlia, a recently divorced mother trying to hold things together while her young daughter, Ceci (Ariel Gade), finds herself caught in the crossfire of her parents’ less-than-amicable custody battle. Dahlia’s ex-husband, Kyle (Dougray Scott), sports a sour, grumpy expression whenever he sees her, as if it’s permanently etched on his face—making it clear he’s the villain between them.

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The story takes us to Roosevelt Island, a quiet stretch of land removed from the usual hustle and bustle of New York City. A grungy apartment building becomes Dahlia’s new home—one her daughter rightly calls “yucky”—as she hopes to rebuild their lives and find some sense of stability. Meanwhile, her ex-husband’s frustration with the longer commute serves as a minor subplot, mostly thrown in just to give us a break from watching Connelly’s character wander the building or endure yet another nightmare on the couch.

Tossing the custody drama out the window, this movie is about a mysterious, abandoned Hello Kitty backpack that Ceci discovers after sneaking away from her mother and escaping onto the building’s roof. Pair that with the ever-dripping, moldy patch of ceiling in their apartment—constantly looming overhead like a damp omen—and you’ve got the baseline of the movie paved out.

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Dahlia has to deal with the building’s slick-talking manager, Mr. Murray (John C. Reilly)—charming in that perfect salesman kind of way—and his dismissive, hard-to-read handyman, Mr. Veeck (Pete Postlethwaite), who refuses to forfeit the lost-and-found backpack to Dahlia’s eager daughter. A curious Dahlia is ultimately left to investigate and navigate the problems of her new apartment herself—unless she plans on spending forever catching a stream of dirty droplets in a bucket. A trail that leads her to the vacant unit 10F just above her.

However, dampen your expectations, as the movie seems more interested in unleashing the Hoover Dam purely for spectacle—water, water everywhere: taps running, rain pouring outside, murky puddles slowly pooling in every corner of the frame. There’s not much thought given to using these moments to build any real sense of creativity or purpose—they simply feel like overkill, lacking the narrative weight to justify it's constant inclusion. Water doesnt't just seem to be a theme in Dark Water—it’s practically the diva of the cast—and in this case, less would’ve been more. Instead, it leaves you feeling detached and frustrated, wishing the next scene would offer something different.

Like her mother, Ceci is also caught up in the sinister happenings surrounding them in their apartment—troubles that even follow her to her new school, sparking concern from her teacher. Her chatter about unseen presences hints at the unease bubbling just beneath—but, similar to the relentless leaks and taps blasting water, this thread never quite lands with the thud you’d hope for, leaving everything feeling diluted.

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As the curtain falls on Dark Water and the drains finally begin to unclog, the movie makes it's last ditch effort to pull everything together—but by then, it has already lost its grip and our patience too. After spending far too long splashing about without proper direction, the eventual payoff felt underwhelming and emotionally numb.