Every Survivor fan has probably wondered how they’d fare on the island — myself included. In Sam Raimi’s newest film, Send Help, one megafan gets to find out. When a business trip goes awry and a private jet crashes, the only survivors are Linda Liddle (Rachel McAdams) and her new boss, Bradley Preston (Dylan O’Brien).
Preston immediately struggles, complacent from a lifetime of privilege and entitlement, never having to fend for himself. Liddle, on the other hand, thrives, drawing on years of Survivor binges and a pent-up rage she’s long held. After years of being mocked, overlooked, manipulated, and isolated — most recently by Preston — she’s finally in charge. He is helpless and wounded, exactly how she wants him.
Rachel McAdams is a revelation in Send Help. Known as the blonde dictator of Mean Girls or the lovestruck heroine of The Notebook, she’s cast in a starkly unglamorous role — almost entirely makeup-free and in nondescript clothing. Paired with Dylan O’Brien, the heartthrob who could make any Millennial’s knees weak, the film does something brilliant: there’s no romantic payoff. No happily-ever-after. No unearned sexual tension. Just survival, skill, and power dynamics played out in the wild. Take all my money, Sam Raimi.
This film rests entirely on McAdams and Linda. O’Brien’s character, Bradley, could likely have been played by another actor of his calibre — Grant Gustin or Logan Lerman, perhaps — but no one else could carry the film like McAdams. Bradley could be any entitled, lazy man on the planet; Linda is the anchor that gives his character meaning.
The film begins with the weaponised incompetence of men in the office: Linda’s hard work is routinely passed off as the achievements of others, a pattern she knows well. Once she lands in the jungle, her response is almost relief rather than panic — for women like Linda, the natural world is where their resourcefulness truly shines, unconstrained by the invisible rules that hold them back in structured, male-dominated environments.
Linda thrives. She builds shelter, starts fires, collects water, fishes, and adopts an efficiency that borders on smugness. She creates small comforts from home, such as carving her name into a cup, weaving a rucksack, and preparing sashimi from freshly caught fish. Meanwhile, Bradley collapses under the slightest pressure. He won’t feed himself, won’t move to the shade, won’t learn even the basics of survival. It may appear that his failure is due to inexperience, but women know better: incompetence is often a conscious choice.
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Stick a woman into an unfamiliar situation, and she will try. She will apply the knowledge she has, improvise, and do everything she can to succeed. Perhaps she won’t be hunting boars (yep) or making sashimi, but she will find a way to survive, to adapt, to be effective. Men like Bradley could do the basics — fish, cook, even build a shelter — but they simply haven’t bothered. It’s a striking, almost painful truth about privilege, laziness, and entitlement.
The parallels to everyday life are obvious. Think of the 18-year-old guy in my university halls who asked how I knew how to cook a lasagna as I followed a Google recipe step by step. Think of my friend who had to teach a flatmate how to use a washing machine. Think of an ex-boyfriend who looked at the food I’d prepared ahead of my tonsil removal surgery and asked, “What am I expected to eat then?” Bradley is no different.
Eventually, Linda grows tired of Bradley’s rudeness and incompetence. She briefly abandons him, leaving him to fend for himself. He attempts to replicate her actions, fails, and quickly gives up, waiting to be rescued and forgiven. But later, when forced to step up, he demonstrates that he always had the capability: he builds a raft, cooks a full meal, even plans to poison her without hesitation. The problem has never been a lack of skill, it’s a lack of effort.
The film’s brilliance lies in this examination of male laziness versus female competence. Bradley’s failures aren’t accidental; they are learned, habitual, and entitled. Even on a deserted island, men like him would rather starve or burn under the sun than put in the work. Off the island, they would rather fail in relationships than rise to meet someone’s needs. They claim ignorance rather than effort — a subtle, sharp critique that hits closer to home than one might expect.
Send Help also delivers an unflinching look at power dynamics and agency. Linda has been overlooked, underestimated, and silenced for decades — by men like Bradley, by systems that reward laziness and entitlement. Yet in the wild, she discovers not just survival, but empowerment. Her joy is palpable: from building shelter to fishing, to improvising comforts, to creating small rituals that make her surroundings livable, Linda thrives in a way that is both satisfying and cathartic to witness.
McAdams’ performance is central to this effect. She carries every scene with precision, charm, and understated ferocity. O’Brien is solid, but he could have been replaced by any actor capable of playing an entitled, lazy man — the story isn’t about him. It’s about Linda’s ingenuity, her joy in survival, and her righteous assertion of control.
By the end of Send Help, three things are clear. First, Rachel McAdams is one of the finest actresses of her generation, capable of carrying a film almost entirely on her own. Second, reality television — binge-watched for years by Linda — can impart real-life skills and strategies. Third, men like Bradley often have the ability to succeed; they simply choose not to. The film leaves us laughing, exasperated, and, ultimately, inspired. Let men fail — sometimes, they just need the wake-up call.
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