Australian twins Danny Philippou and Michael Philippou, known famously by their collaborative YouTube pseudonym “RackaRacka,” make their feature-length directorial debut with the supernatural horror “Talk to Me,” which stars Sophie Wilde (BBC One miniseries “You Don’t Know Me,” 2021) as Max, a young adult who’s still grieving the loss of her mother Rhea (Alexandria Steffensen; “How to Please a Woman,” 2022) two years after her passing. At a party with her friends to distract herself, Mia’s introduced to what its current owner calls a “severed, embalmed hand.” A ritual they perform, where they call for spirits to talk to them, becomes their biggest party trick, with everyone having fun—until, because this is a horror film, it all goes horribly wrong, and Mia’s in the thick of it.

“Talk to Me” has a stunning opening scene—essentially one long take that lasts two minutes that cranks up the intensity and the stakes till viewers know what they can be in for. Cinematographer Aaron McLisky (“Poker Face,” 2022) has his finger on the pulse, balancing movement, visual chaos, and dramatic lighting. His work is probably one of the best things in the film, and—combined with an arresting soundtrack by Cornel Wilczek (Netflix miniseries “Clickbait,” 2021) and cutting-edge sound design—create a heady visual atmosphere that sucks you right in.

The film has so many things going for it. It’s visually competent, with a primarily impressive narrative that remixes its monkey’s-paw premise using a creepy hand as a MacGuffin of sorts, and it’s got brilliant performances from everyone. Wilde, who makes her feature-film acting debut, is pitch-perfect; from her emotionally multidimensional turn as Max to her biting into the physicality of some of the movie’s more insane moments, she’s fantastic and fires off all cylinders, even when the film cannot. Alexandra Jensen (“Beat,” 2022) plays Mia’s friend Jade, who provides a much-needed balance of groundedness to the lead’s impulsive streak. 

The biggest surprises of “Talk to Me” are Zoe Terakes (“Unravelling,” 2022) and Joe Bird (“Rabbit,” 2017), who both shine in their respective roles—the latter, in particular, showing impressive physicality throughout his presence. Terakes’s je-ne-sais-quoi aura somehow really fits hand-in-glove with their role of Hayley, an irreverent, dominating persona who doesn’t just stick to their bully-like behavior and just wants to bask in their moment of glory as the middleman of the coolest party-trick in the history of party tricks. The narrative helps the people in its universe act and feel like real, everyday people with multifaceted personalities; they’re not archetypes, and they feel like believable, phenomenally flawed kids.

“Talk to Me” commits one cardinal narrative sin, though: it’s got some of the most uninspired third-act writing, making its main character primarily unable to do much for being pigeonholed to go a narrow path to a closer that could have been anything but what’s in the released film. There are ways and means to push a horror’s lead to its edge, but the writing choices make Mia cripplingly unable to do much to “fight” the antagonistic supernatural forces. That doesn’t take much away from how tightly wound its storytelling feels—film editor Geoff Lamb ramps up the narrative flow with its mostly breathless pacing toward the movie’s second half—but it hurts itself a whole lot by making its lead do nothing of significance for herself.

It’s a shame “Talk to Me” is the movie it is. The Philippou twins show boundless promise with their debut directorial effort but shoot their own creation in its foot by making its lead pretty useless and bringing their story to a close via an ending that’s basically Robert Eggers’s “The Witch,” except without anything to chew on: just a look-how-smart calling card that feels terribly unearned. It’s still worth the watch, though, for misfire that it may be, it’s a stylish misfire that manages to grip you through a considerable chunk of the film and shows you what they can do if they let themselves loose and give into the madness of the story they’re trying to tell.