Multiverse

We are currently drowning in a sea of cinematic variations of ourselves. Between the Marvel machine’s reality-hopping antics and the Oscar-sweeping chaos of Everything Everywhere All At Once, the "multiverse" has become less of a high-concept theory and more of a standard plot seasoning. But Gaurav Seth’s 2021 film Multiverse (originally titled Entangled during its festival run) attempts to do something a bit more grounded with the trope. Instead of capes and cosmic CGI, it focuses on the messy, tragic fallout of four university students who accidentally trip over a doorway to another reality. It’s the kind of indie sci-fi that feels like it was born from a late-night dorm room debate—equal parts "what if" physics and "who am I" identity crisis.

I watched this on a Tuesday evening while trying to untangle a literal knot in my phone charger cable, and honestly, that frustration felt like a perfect low-budget metaphor for the plot I was about to witness.

A Human-Scale Paradox

The story centers on Loretta, played with a brittle, nervous energy by Paloma Kwiatkowski (who many will recognize from her turn in Bates Motel). Loretta is part of a small, elite group of researchers pushing the boundaries of quantum entanglement. When a breakthrough leads to a tragic accident, the group discovers that they’ve inadvertently "synced" with a parallel version of their own lives.

Unlike the blockbuster versions of this story, Multiverse doesn’t care about saving the world. It cares about the fact that the lighting often looks like it was sponsored by a "Cool Blue" LED bulb sale at Home Depot. This clinical, cold aesthetic mirrors the emotional distance between the characters. As they encounter their "alt" selves, the film shifts from a science thriller into a psychological drama. Munro Chambers (of Turbo Kid fame) provides a solid foil as Gerry, but the real weight of the film lies in the uncomfortable realization that these characters don't actually like who they are—so seeing a "better" or "different" version of themselves is a special kind of torture.

The Strength of Silence

One of the most compelling aspects of this film—and something that firmly places it in our current era of more conscious, meaningful representation—is the inclusion of Sandra Mae Frank and the legendary Marlee Matlin. Marlee Matlin, who we’ve loved in everything from Children of a Lesser God to the recent CODA, plays Dierdre, the mother of Sandra Mae Frank’s character, Amy.

The film treats American Sign Language (ASL) as a natural, integrated part of this world. There’s a scene where the "two Amys" (played by Sandra Mae Frank and Shauna Black) have to reconcile their existences, and the way the film handles communication through silence is far more gripping than any of the technobabble sequences. It’s a testament to how contemporary indie cinema is finally moving past "box-checking" and using diverse casting to actually enhance the storytelling mechanics. Sandra Mae Frank is particularly magnetic; she has to convey a sense of existential dread without saying a word, and she absolutely nails it.

Lost in the Streaming Shuffle

It’s a bit of a tragedy that Multiverse was released right as the world was regaining its footing after the pandemic. Saban Films often handles these mid-budget "high-concept" thrillers that are destined for the "New Releases" row on a streaming app, where they risk being swallowed by the sheer volume of content. It lacks the "spectacle" that theaters currently demand to stay afloat, yet it’s a bit too dense for a casual background watch.

The screenplay by Doug Taylor (who also wrote the similarly mind-bending Splice) keeps things lean, though it occasionally trips over its own rules. By the third act, the film stretches its logic until it’s as thin as a college student’s budget during finals week. There’s a "thriller" element involving a mysterious figure that feels a bit tacked on, as if the producers were worried that "four people talking about their feelings in a lab" wasn't enough to keep us engaged. Personally, I found the internal character drama much more frightening than any of the "terrifying" genre tropes the marketing promised.

The film is a fascinating "what-if" that doesn't quite have the resources to match its ambitions. It’s an obscure gem for those who enjoy the "small room, big ideas" style of science fiction, akin to films like Coherence or Primer, though it never quite reaches the dizzying heights of those modern classics.

If you’re a fan of character-driven drama that uses sci-fi as a scalpel rather than a sledgehammer, Multiverse is worth the 93 minutes of your time. It’s a quiet, somber reflection on the roads not taken, anchored by a genuinely moving performance from Paloma Kwiatkowski and a reminder that Marlee Matlin elevates every single frame she’s in. Just don't expect any portals in the sky or quippy superheroes—this is a multiverse that feels uncomfortably close to home.