Adult Shauna Shipman

Two decades after the plane crash that stranded her soccer team in the wilderness, Shauna lives a quiet suburban life as a wife and mother, restless and unfulfilled beneath the surface. Domestic routines bore her. Beneath the appearance of ordinary contentment, something colder and more capable is always visible, waiting.

Melanie Lynskey plays banality as a mask over something feral, letting a woman gut a rabbit with the same flat competence she uses to fold laundry. The writing trusts silence and small cruelties to do the work, and Lynskey's deadpan delivery makes Shauna's buried violence feel entirely, unnervingly plausible.