There’s something fascinating happening in the lead-up to Redux Redux, and it has nothing to do with hype cycles or marketing buzz. Instead, it’s the kind of quiet anticipation that builds when filmmakers genuinely seem to have something on their minds—something they need to explore through cinema. With its scheduled release on February 20, 2026, this science fiction revenge thriller is positioning itself as more than just another genre entry. It’s shaping up to be a meditation on trauma, agency, and the dangerous allure of do-overs.
Let’s start with what makes this project intriguing from a creative standpoint. Kevin McManus is directing a script he co-wrote with his brother Matthew McManus, which immediately signals a personal investment in the material. When filmmakers are this deeply embedded in their own storytelling, there’s usually something raw underneath—something they couldn’t quite shake until they put it on screen. The premise alone—a mother named Irene Kelly traveling through parallel universes to repeatedly murder her daughter’s killer—is the kind of premise that could easily become exploitation in lesser hands. But there’s something more thoughtful lurking beneath that tagline: “Revenge is a vicious cycle.” It’s not celebrating the revenge; it’s questioning it.
The casting choices are telling us something important about the film’s ambitions:
- Michaela McManus brings a particular intensity and emotional intelligence to her roles—she’s the type of performer who can ground existential horror in genuine human pain
- Stella Marcus and Jeremy Holm round out an ensemble that suggests character-driven storytelling rather than action-hero theatrics
- The scale is intimate enough to focus on psychological unraveling rather than spectacle
This isn’t a blockbuster revenge fantasy. This is a film interested in what breaking does to a person.
The real question Redux Redux seems to be asking isn’t “will she get her revenge?” but rather “what happens to someone when revenge becomes possible, renewable, infinite?”
Saban Films picking up North American rights signals confidence in the project’s market viability while also suggesting it’s the kind of film that works best through word-of-mouth discovery rather than massive theatrical campaigns. There’s no need for $100 million marketing pushes when your film has genuine ideas. In a cinematic landscape increasingly crowded with franchise fatigue and algorithm-optimized content, Redux Redux arrives as a reminder that science fiction can still be a vehicle for exploring the messiest parts of human psychology.
What’s particularly timely about this project is its willingness to interrogate vengeance itself. We’ve spent decades watching heroes pursue justice, often portrayed as morally righteous, often celebrated. But Redux Redux seems interested in the gap between justice and obsession, between righteous anger and recursive madness. In a cultural moment where we’re collectively grappling with questions about accountability and what it means to move forward from trauma, a film that literally traps its protagonist in an endless loop of revenge feels genuinely relevant—not in a preachy way, but in the way that resonates because it’s honest.
The multi-universe element isn’t just window dressing either. That science fiction scaffolding gives the film permission to explore:
- The philosophical weight of infinite chances—does punishment mean anything if you can always try again?
- The erosion of morality through repetition—does killing the same person across infinite timelines constitute one murder or infinite murders?
- The question of whether trauma can ever truly be resolved, or if it simply spawns new variations of pain
Kevin McManus’s vision here seems to be using science fiction’s greatest strength: the ability to externalize internal states. Irene’s journey through parallel universes isn’t really about multiverses. It’s about a mind fracturing under the weight of grief and rage.
As we approach the February 20, 2026 premiere, there’s a real absence of the usual pre-release noise that typically surrounds genre films. No massive trailer drops dominating social media, no celebrity press tour saturation. Instead, there’s just the project itself, quietly existing in production space, waiting to be discovered. That restraint feels almost radical in 2025.
What’s ultimately compelling about Redux Redux is that it trusts its audience to engage with difficult material. It doesn’t promise cathartic revenge or tidy resolution. It promises to take seriously the question of what happens when someone gets exactly what they think they want—and finds it’s not enough, never enough, can never be enough. That’s the kind of film that generates real conversations, the kind that lingers because it’s unsettling in all the right ways. When it does arrive next February, expect it to find its audience among viewers who’ve been waiting for science fiction that actually has something to say about the human condition, rather than just showing us robots and explosions.
