The Nest opens like the horror movie you’ve seen a hundred times before: a seemingly average 1980s nuclear family leaves their American Dream to move into a too-big, centuries-old house in the English countryside. It’s the backdrop for a slow-burn thriller about a sharp and multifaceted woman (Carrie Coon) and her husband (Jude Law), a man blinded by ambition and aching for wealth, so much so that he pretends he has it. The Nest isn’t horror by definition, but it utilizes building blocks from the genre to artfully craft a story about marriage, character, and success. The result is a suspenseful masterpiece; it’s a prime example of how psychological thrillers don’t need to be truly fucked up and over-the-top intense to leave a lasting impact. The Nest is hauntingly subtle, transcending any time period, full of loose ends and conversations never had, but it works so well as a story that feels like it could boil over at any moment. For viewers, there’s a running inner monologue of Oh my god, the kid’s gonna kill himself . . . She’s gonna hit him with the car, I know it . . . Ok, that house has to be haunted . . . Fuck, it’s a zombie horse! But there’s nothing supernatural in the film at all; there’s enough power in the breathtaking score, enough power in Coon’s stellar performance, enough power in the very real expectations and consequences of familial relationships. The Nest can stand all on its own.