At the centre of a film as disturbing as this is a tender portrayal of family, parenthood, loss and companionship, proving that there is, in fact, ample space and scope for meaningful horror, like last year’s Get Out. But with an apocalyptic premise, there are bound to be several loopholes, which stand out rather starkly.

Neither intellectually deep nor even logically sound (press any soft spot and the whole plot caves in), A Quiet Place feels at odds with a musical score that too often wants to tell us when to jump, and how high. Yet in its convincing portrayal of a situation where a rusty nail is as lethal as an unexploded bomb, and the few remaining inhabitants seem — much like the audience — more likely to die of stress than anything else, the movie rocks. You may go in jaded, but you’ll leave elated or I’ll eat my words.

Most of the film is silent, and the sound design accentuates every creak, whimper and breath. However, the melodramatic touches in the scenes depicting the relationship between the parents and the children prove to be jarring in an otherwise restrained and minimal narrative. Whenever an attempt is made to gaze deeper and uncover family secrets, the gaps in logic quickly become apparent.