The Scene Drift

Cinema has long explored human anxieties — "The Substance" examined the body, "Together" reflected on loneliness and emotional isolation, and Dreamquil brings these concerns into the present, turning to AI, technological perfection, and the fragile value of presence. The film feels especially resonant in today’s society, where technology increasingly reshapes identity and relationships.

The most unsettling idea at the heart of the film is deceptively simple: what if a better version of yourself quietly replaced you, and the people closest to you didn’t even notice? This chilling premise drives Alex Prager’s striking feature debut, a film that blends retro-futuristic style with contemporary anxieties about artificial intelligence, human connection, and the fragile value of presence. Prager, best known for her meticulously staged photographic work, brings the same visual precision to the screen, crafting a world that feels both timeless and eerily familiar.

From the very first few minutes, the film hooks its audience: the intro into the title sequence is instantly immersive, establishing a retro-futuristic, stylized world where every moment is carefully composed.

Set in a near future where toxic air has confined humanity indoors, Dreamquil follows Carol (Elizabeth Banks), a restless mother trapped in the quiet claustrophobia of domestic life and a drifting marriage. Searching for clarity, she signs up for the experimental Dreamquil program, an AI-powered wellness retreat designed to “reset” her life.

Instead, it replaces her.

While Carol undergoes the process, a mechanical double known as “Carol-Too” takes over her home, effortlessly performing the tasks she struggles with and charming her husband Gary (John C. Reilly) and their son. When the real Carol returns, refreshed and hopeful, the horrifying truth settles in: this perfected version of herself has no intention of leaving.

What follows is less a conventional sci-fi thriller than a quietly unsettling meditation on identity and perfection.

Prager constructs this world with remarkable visual control. Most of the story unfolds within the family home, heightening both tension and claustrophobia while recalling the theatrical artificiality of The Twilight Zone. Every frame is meticulously composed: colors, lighting, and staging all tell a story. Carol is frequently framed in deep reds, evoking the messy vitality of human life, while cooler blues emerge as her AI counterpart asserts control, signaling the emotional indifference of technology.

Surrounding both is a persistent wash of yellow in dresses, interiors, and even drinks, while outside, the world is engulfed in a yellow haze, a visual reminder of the toxic air that has confined humanity indoors. What begins as a warm, domestic palette gradually feels curated, almost artificial, reflecting the idealized world Dreamquil promises while hinting at the danger beyond the walls.

Elizabeth Banks anchors the film with a layered performance, portraying both versions of Carol with subtle but unmistakable distinctions. The original Carol is restless and emotionally textured, while "Carol-Too" carries a calmness that borders on perfection. Banks makes both versions believable even as one slowly begins to erase the other. John C. Reilly adds warmth and quiet confusion as Gary, torn between the imperfections he knows and the attentiveness he envies. Their dynamic underlines one of the film’s most unsettling ideas: technological perfection can feel more appealing than human reality.

The supporting cast, including Sofia Boutella, Kathryn Newton, and Juliette Lewis, enriches Prager’s stylized world while reinforcing its slightly surreal tone.

Yet beneath its striking visuals, Dreamquil is ultimately about presence. Carol only realizes the value of her life once she sees how easily a perfected version of herself could replace it. The film’s cyclical ending reinforces this idea: as Carol begins to reclaim her place, the AI version lingers, suggesting that once technology enters our lives, it may never fully disappear. By the final moments, when Carol appears in green rather than her familiar red, the shift hints at fragile hope—a possibility of change and the balance between human imperfection and adaptation in a world increasingly shaped by artificial systems.

Prager’s first feature demonstrates remarkable confidence. Dreamquil is visually hypnotic, thematically rich, and filled with images that linger long after the credits roll. Some viewers may note the film’s brief runtime of under 90 minutes and its restrained approach to more intense, darker moments, but these minor limitations do little to diminish its overall impact. In an age when AI is quietly reshaping daily life, the film leaves audiences with a quietly devastating question: If a perfect version of ourselves existed, would the people closest to us choose it instead?

Rating: ★★★★½

Read our Full Interview With Director Alex Prager here