There are ghost movies. And then there is A Ghost Story, a film that strolls into the supernatural genre wearing a literal white bedsheet, hands on invisible hips, whispering, “Boo, but emotionally.”
When A Ghost Story arrived in 2017, most people didn’t know what to do with it. Was it horror? Was it art? Was it a philosophical therapy session disguised as a film? Why is Casey Affleck wearing a Halloween costume worth £4.99 from the bargain bin, yet somehow delivering a performance that feels like it belongs in a museum?
Spoiler-free answer: it’s all of the above.
This is one of those films you don’t just watch; you absorb it, like tea soaking into a biscuit, slow and inevitable, until you realise it’s rearranged your insides just a little bit.
Welcome to your new favourite existential ghost story.
So… what is actually A Ghost Story? (No spoilers, pinky promise)
It’s a whisper of a film. A Ghost Story evokes a gentle contemplation. It’s a subtle ache that you were unaware you were still carrying.
The plot setup is simple: a man dies. He returns as a ghost. The film does not depict a monster. There’s no CGI swirl involved. There is only a figure hidden beneath a sheet, adorned with two cut-out eyeholes. The visual simplicity of the ghost transforms into a strangely profound presence. He lingers in the home he shared with Rooney Mara’s character, observing life as it continues with absolutely no regard for his emotional timetable.
That’s it.
And yet, somehow it becomes a meditation on love, memory, time, grief, longing, and the strange human urge to hold on to what has already let go of us.
It’s the cinematic equivalent of staring out the window during a rainy bus ride while listening to a playlist called “Feelings (Deluxe Edition)”.
Rooney Mara imbues grief with a distinct taste akin to pie.
If you’ve heard anything about this movie, you’ve probably heard about The Pie Scene.
That’s the scene where Rooney Mara sits on the floor and consumes an entire pie in a single, uninterrupted shot.
Before you laugh, stay with me. It’s not a meme moment. It’s grief. Grief is real, messy, and unapologetic. It’s the kind of grief that defies logic and lacks an audience. Mara radiates the type of heartbreak that doesn’t scream; it just sits heavy beneath your skin.
It’s one of the boldest pieces of acting in a decade full of loud performances. She whispers the whole film into existence. She is fragile and furious and exhausted and hopeful, all at the same time. And without giving away a thing… her emotional stillness becomes the entire film’s heartbeat.
Casey Affleck does more under a bedsheet than most actors do with dialogue
It sounds ridiculous. Let’s just say it: “Casey Affleck plays a ghost in a sheet.”
You’re probably imagining low-budget silliness. But Lowery turns this simple visual into something symbolic, almost sacred.
Affleck’s performance is all stillness, presence, weight, and… weirdly… elegance. He conveys longing. Confusion. Frustration. Curiosity. This state of mind is achieved through posture, pacing, and those two small eyeholes.
Yes, I know. It sounds impossible. But when you watch the film, you get it.
The ghost becomes a metaphor. A feeling. A mirror.
It’s the sort of thing that prompts film students to scribble frantically into their notebooks, while ordinary individuals find themselves asking, “Why am I feeling emotional over a floating pillowcase?”
In this film, Time behaves like a moody teenager.
In A Ghost Story, time isn’t linear. It swirls. It stretches. It snaps. It loops.
Scenes feel like memories — soft around the edges, sometimes unbearably long, sometimes fleeting.
It’s one of the film’s best tricks. Instead of telling you what time feels like when you’re grieving, it shows you.
Sometimes painfully.
Sometimes beautifully.
Always honestly.
If you’ve ever felt stuck in your life while everything around you moves too fast, the film will gently poke that bruise and go, “Hey. I see you.”
This is NOT a horror movie — and thank goodness
Let’s get this clear. There are no jump scares in this film. There are no wailing ghosts. There are no dramatic violins playing from the depths of hell. This isn’t the kind of film that wants to make you shriek.
It wants to make you feel.
If traditional horror movies are rollercoasters, A Ghost Story is the quiet walk home after one, where the real reflection begins.
This is a film about:
- the mark we leave behind
- the limits of love
- the way grief stretches time.
- the smallness and bigness of human life
- the weird, beautiful fact that everything goes on without us.
It’s soft horror. Soul horror. Existential romance. Supernatural melancholy. Whatever you call it, it works.
But is it actually good?
If you love:
- slow-burn cinema
- deep emotional atmosphere
- films that whisper instead of shout.
- poetic visuals
- The film features a soundtrack that deeply resonates with the audience.
- Rooney Mara gazes into the distance with a sense of devastation.
…then yes. Absolutely yes.
If you need explosions, plot twists every ten minutes, and dialogue that explains itself… This movie will feel like a long silent hug you didn’t ask for.
But for the rest of us?
It’s breathtaking.
Who should absolutely watch A Ghost Story?
This film is perfect for:
- romantics
- daydreamers
- overthinkers
- quiet criers
- art-house girlies
- fans of emotional carnage.
- This movie is perfect for people who love films such as Her, Eternal Sunshine, or The Green Knight.
If any of that sounds like you, then you’re about to have a new favourite movie.
Want to explore similar films?
Here are some delightful click-worthy anchor links you can add to your blog:
- The Green Knight – More David Lowery magic.
Read the critic roundup at https://www.indiewire.com - Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind – If you like memory, heartbreak, and emotional chaos.
Check fan reactions on Rotten Tomatoes. - Her (2013) – Another soulful dive into love and loneliness
Final verdict (and your new personality trait for the week)
A Ghost Story is one of those films that feels like a dream you half-remember the next morning: delicate, strange, lingering. It doesn’t beg you to love it. It quietly waits for you to notice it. And when you do, it tucks itself into the softest corners of your mind and refuses to leave.
It’s not a film you watch for the plot.
It’s a film you watch for the feeling.
And trust me: the feeling is worth it.
