Relay Isn't Just a Thriller—It's a Quiet Scream in a Noisy World
The new teaser for Relay doesn't shout. It doesn't explode. It doesn't chase your attention. It whispers—coldly, deliberately—and dares you to lean in.
David Mackenzie's TIFF 2024 breakout, now confirmed to hit theaters on August 22, is a slick throwback to '70s paranoid thrillers, where every phone call could be fatal and silence is a weapon. And the poster? A stunner. Red and navy shadows. A city that feels watched. A woman on the phone (Lily James), a man in the shadows (Riz Ahmed), and a line that says everything:
“Now speak clearly. And when you are finished, say: ‘Go ahead.'”
That phrase hits like a punch. It's not just eerie—it's mechanical, procedural, dehumanizing. And that's exactly the point.
Ahmed plays a professional “fixer” who navigates dangerous corporate conflicts through an anonymous relay messaging system, the kind originally intended for the hearing impaired. The brilliance of Relay isn't that it reinvents the wheel—it refocuses it. This isn't a hacker techno-thriller. It's analog. Lonely. Tight. And when one new client breaks his self-imposed isolation, he cracks with her.
That client is Lily James, finally stretching her range beyond period pieces and scandalous miniseries. She's running scared, and the message she sends is more than just a job—it's a cry for survival. According to Ahmed, that push-pull between distance and intimacy was what drew him in. “One of the most distinctive aspects is how the characters communicate—or don't communicate,” he said. “From an acting point of view, that was really exciting to me.”
And yeah, you can feel that tension oozing from the visuals. The typewriter. The analog relay cords. The phrase “THERE IS NO ANSWER” printed like a death sentence. It's all a deliberate anti-AI, anti-noise move from Mackenzie, who trades in sweeping landscapes (Hell or High Water) for emotional claustrophobia.
The supporting cast—Sam Worthington, Willa Fitzgerald, Matthew Maher—adds muscle, but the real fight is internal. IndieWire called it a “hand-crafted thriller that communicates a real sense of personal investment,” and that feels right. Relay is a character piece masquerading as a conspiracy film. It doesn't want to change the genre—it just wants to remember what made it matter in the first place.
And then there's the marketing trick: a working phone number from the teaser that fans can text for a cryptic message. It's gimmicky. It's fun. But it's also dead-on brand. This isn't a story about shouting from rooftops. It's about whispering the truth when no one's supposed to hear you.
So, no—Relay isn't flashy. But it sticks to your ribs. Like a slow-burn threat. Like an answer you're not sure you wanted.
Will anyone be listening when it finally arrives?
