Rounding

Dr. James Hayman (Namir Smallwood) is a promising young doctor looking for a fresh start after a traumatic incident in the ER shakes him to his core. Transferred to a small town hospital, he hopes for a new beginning but instead becomes fixated on Helen (Sidney Flanigan), a patient battling a mysterious respiratory illness. The deeper he digs, the stranger things become. Shadows creep in, wounds won’t heal, and his grasp on reality starts to slip.

From the opening scene, Rounding establishes its unsettling tone. The hospital’s dimly lit halls, the bleak winter backdrop, and the constant sense of isolation create a suffocating atmosphere. You can almost feel the stale hospital air pressing in, the kind of environment that makes you want to check over your shoulder.

As Hayman’s world starts to unravel, so does the film itself. The psychological thriller elements slowly bleed into body horror, and when that shift happens, it’s relentless. Hayman’s mental state doesn’t just decline. It transforms into something far more grotesque. His wounds fester, his body betrays him, and his own reflection turns against him. It’s unnerving and laced with just enough ambiguity to keep you questioning whether it’s all in his head. The autopsy scenes? Brutal. Not in a gory splatterfest way, but in the slow, clinical horror that gets under your skin.

Smallwood delivers a mesmerizing performance, drawing you into Hayman’s unraveling psyche with an intensity that feels both understated and unhinged. The supporting cast, including Sidney Flanigan as the enigmatic Helen and Michael Potts as a hospital staff member who may or may not be trustworthy, adds layers to the film’s dreamlike, off-kilter tone. Each performance feeds into the film’s creeping unease, keeping the tension simmering even in quieter moments.

“…The deeper Dr. Hayman digs, the stranger things become…”

Director Alex Thompson crafts a slow-burn horror that doesn’t spoon-feed its audience. Rounding thrives on uncertainty, never revealing too much, never giving easy answers. It’s the kind of film where you keep waiting for the moment of clarity, that big explanation that pieces everything together. But Thompson doesn’t give you that luxury. Instead, the film leaves you suspended in doubt, the same way Hayman is, forcing you to sit with the unease. It’s a bold choice that pays off.

Visually, the film leans into muted tones and sterile settings, using minimalism to its advantage. The cinematography enhances the psychological unease, using tight frames and shifting perspectives to force the viewer into Hayman’s headspace. The darkness in the rooms isn’t just an aesthetic choice. It’s an emotional one. You can feel the weight of the unknown pressing down on him, as though the walls are closing in, not just physically but mentally. Sound design also plays a major role, with eerie silences stretching just a little too long, creating a lingering discomfort that seeps into every frame.

As the film builds toward its climactic moments, it’s clear that Rounding is not just a tale about a man losing his grip on reality. It’s much more than that. It’s about guilt, fear, and the slow, suffocating knowledge that sometimes, we may be our own worst enemy. A pivotal line encapsulates the film’s central theme: “I think we all sometimes feel like we’re losing our minds a bit.” It’s a chilling reflection of the tension throughout the film.

How far can a person go before they completely lose their grip on reality? Rounding doesn’t offer answers, but it does offer a deep, unsettling dive into the fragility of the human mind and just how far someone can go when pushed to their limits.