Billy Higgins’ THREE is a quietly riveting survival thriller that blends the creeping dread of a Cold War-era Hitchcock suspense with the soul of a coming-of-age road movie. Set in the wake of a nuclear attack that devastates San Francisco, THREE strips away the spectacle typical of modern apocalyptic fare in favor of something far more intimate and unsettling: a human journey through fear, distrust, and the fragile threads of newfound companionship. It’s a haunting film not because of what we see, but because of what we feel—loneliness, paranoia, and the deeply rooted desire to be safe and connected in a broken world.

The film’s central trio—Spencer [Alia Ripley], Michelle [Deja Lopez], and Saskia [Allison von Hausen]—serve as the emotional and narrative backbone. Though strangers at first, their dynamic evolves into one of necessity and tenderness, with each character subtly revealing their backstory through restrained dialogue and reaction rather than exposition. Spencer’s quest to reach her partner in Lodi gives the film its structure, but it’s the emotional unraveling and reassembly of these three women that gives THREE its soul. Higgins carefully avoids genre clichés, opting instead for a simmering realism. The looter who stalks them [Jake Shupp] is a particularly brilliant narrative device—perhaps real, perhaps not—evoking both external threat and internal psychological breakdown in the shadow of trauma.

Visually, THREE is sparse but evocative. The stillness of California’s Central Valley becomes a character in itself—vast, ominous, and eerily indifferent to the human drama unfolding across its fields and roads. Higgins’ direction allows for long, contemplative shots that feel both isolating and meditative, a smart choice that heightens tension while underscoring the characters’ emotional isolation. The absence of zombies, aliens, or supernatural threats doesn’t make THREE any less gripping. On the contrary, its realism is what makes it terrifying. This is not about surviving the end of the world—it’s about surviving ourselves. Three is a timely, restrained, and powerful reminder that human connection is both our greatest vulnerability and our only hope.