In the sun-drenched paradise of a Mexican resort, a couple’s anniversary trip spirals into a mind-bending nightmare of ancient mysteries and relational chaos.

As the world emerged from pandemic lockdowns in 2021, The Resort offered audiences a twisted escape to the tropics, blending sharp comedy with eerie horror elements. Directed by newcomer Jordan Weiss, this indie gem captures the awkward hilarity and quiet dread of a relationship on the rocks, set against a backdrop of unexplained phenomena and a quirky cast of characters. What starts as a familiar vacation rom-com quickly unravels into something far stranger, echoing the unpredictable vibes of classic vacation-gone-wrong tales from decades past.

  • A razor-sharp exploration of marital stagnation through humour and horror, highlighting how paradise can amplify personal cracks.
  • Innovative use of time slippage and Mayan mythology to craft a narrative that’s both intellectually playful and viscerally unsettling.
  • Standout performances that ground the film’s escalating absurdity, cementing its status as a sleeper hit in modern indie cinema.

The Resort (2021): Paradise Lost in a Time Warp of Marital Mayhem

Sun-Kissed Arrival and Simmering Tensions

Emma and Noah arrive at the sprawling Costa Cualli Resort under a blazing sun, their tenth anniversary marked less by romance and more by the weight of unspoken resentments. Cristin Milioti’s Emma, a sharp-witted New Yorker with a penchant for passive-aggressive quips, drags her husband Noah, played with weary charm by William Jackson Harper, on this trip in a last-ditch effort to reignite their spark. The resort itself is a character unto itself: pristine pools, lush gardens, and thatched cabanas that scream luxury, yet harbour an undercurrent of neglect. Palm trees sway lazily, but the distant jungle whispers secrets, setting the stage for the film’s dual tones of levity and looming dread.

From the outset, Weiss masterfully juxtaposes the couple’s domestic bickering with the idyllic setting. Noah’s obsession with birdwatching clashes hilariously with Emma’s desire for Instagram-worthy moments, their interactions laced with the authenticity of real-life couples who’ve grown complacent. The camera lingers on sweat-beaded brows and half-hearted smiles, using natural lighting to enhance the humid stickiness that mirrors their emotional state. This opening act establishes the film’s rhythm: quick-witted banter punctuated by subtle visual cues, like flickering lights or unexplained shadows, hinting at disruptions to come.

The resort staff, portrayed with exaggerated politeness by local actors, add layers of cultural friction. Their broken English and unwavering cheer contrast sharply with the protagonists’ urban neuroses, creating comedic gold while underscoring themes of privilege and displacement. As Emma and Noah unpack, small anomalies emerge—a bird with an unnaturally elongated neck, a clock running backwards—dismissed as jet lag or cheap tequila. These details, drawn from Weiss’s keen eye for the mundane turning macabre, build tension organically, without relying on jump scares.

The Irrepressible Sky and Disruptive Dynamics

Enter Sky, the film’s chaotic catalyst, brought to life by Skyler Gisondo in a breakout performance that steals every scene. A hyperactive, conspiracy-obsessed millennial, Sky crashes into Emma and Noah’s orbit during a beachside encounter, his man-bun and wild theories about ancient Mayan portals instantly grating yet intriguing. Gisondo channels a manic energy reminiscent of early Owen Wilson, his rapid-fire monologues blending pop culture references with pseudo-archaeology, pulling the couple into his web of eccentricity.

Sky’s presence forces Emma and Noah to confront their inertia. Where they once dreamed of adventure, now they settle for Netflix queues and career ladders. His tales of the resort’s history—a vanished tour group, hieroglyphs depicting time loops—start as bar chatter but soon manifest. The trio’s excursion into the jungle reveals crumbling ruins overgrown with vines, where reality frays: time dilates, memories overlap, and personal regrets surface like ghosts. Weiss uses handheld camerawork here to immerse viewers in the disorientation, the dense foliage closing in like a metaphor for relational entrapment.

Interactions among the three amplify the film’s relational satire. Sky flirts outrageously with Emma, needling Noah’s insecurities, while his relentless optimism exposes their cynicism. Memorable set pieces, like a midnight cenote dive where bioluminescent waters pulse unnaturally, blend practical effects with digital subtlety, evoking the tactile horrors of 80s creature features but updated for a sceptical audience. Laughter erupts from awkward truths, but unease simmers beneath, as the jungle’s humidity amplifies every rustle and distant howl.

Time Slips and Mayan Enigmas Unveiled

At its core, The Resort pivots on a clever conceit: the resort sits atop a Mayan time vortex, triggered by lunar alignments and personal despair. Flashbacks and flash-forwards intercut seamlessly, revealing alternate paths for Emma and Noah—missed opportunities, what-ifs that haunt their present. This structure allows Weiss to dissect regret with precision, using non-linear editing to mirror memory’s unreliability. Scenes of younger selves laughing freely contrast sharply with their current malaise, a poignant reminder of time’s inexorable march.

The Mayan mythology, researched meticulously from codices and stelae, grounds the supernatural in authenticity. Symbols etched into stone come alive, projecting visions of sacrifice and renewal, forcing characters to relive pivotal choices. Emma grapples with a career crossroads abandoned for family; Noah confronts his fear of change. These revelations, delivered through hallucinatory sequences with vibrant CGI overlays on practical sets, elevate the film beyond genre tropes, offering philosophical depth amid the laughs.

Sound design plays a crucial role, with echoing whispers in Yucatec Maya blending into the score’s tribal percussion. Composer Danny Bensi and Saunder Jurriaans craft a soundscape that shifts from calypso-infused pop to dissonant drones, heightening the psychological unraveling. The film’s restraint in VFX—favouring atmosphere over spectacle—earns comparisons to Ari Aster’s slower burns, yet retains a playful indie spirit that keeps it accessible.

Climactic Confrontations and Relational Reckoning

As the vortex peaks during a resort talent show gone surreal, alliances fracture and reform. Sky’s bravado cracks, revealing vulnerability born from loss, humanising his antics. Emma and Noah, propelled through temporal rifts, witness their future dissolution, catalysing raw confrontations. Milioti and Harper shine in these moments, their chemistry crackling with authenticity—tears mix with tentative hope, underscoring the film’s thesis that paradise tests, rather than heals, wounds.

The climax unfolds in the ruins under a blood moon, where choices made echo eternally. Practical effects dominate: mud-smeared bodies, collapsing stone, and a pulsating portal rendered with practical pyrotechnics. Weiss balances spectacle with intimacy, ensuring emotional stakes drive the action. Resolutions feel earned, not contrived, leaving audiences pondering their own relational what-ifs long after credits roll.

Post-climax, the resort returns to normalcy, but subtle changes linger—a knowing glance between staff, a bird’s impossible silhouette. This ambiguity invites rewatch, rewarding eagle-eyed viewers with foreshadowing details missed on first pass. The Resort thus functions as both crowd-pleaser and thinker, its layered narrative mirroring life’s complexities.

Cultural Ripples and Indie Legacy

Released amid a post-COVID craving for escapism, the film resonated by subverting vacation fantasies, much like The White Lotus series that followed. Its box office modesty belied critical acclaim, with festivals buzzing over its fresh voice. Streaming success on platforms amplified its reach, sparking memes about “anniversary curse” trips and Sky’s quotable rants.

Influences abound: nods to The Beach and Midnight in Paris in its paradise-peril trope, infused with horror from Annihilation. Yet Weiss carves originality through specificity—the Mayan lore feels lived-in, characters multidimensional. For collectors of indie cinema, physical releases with commentaries and storyboards hold appeal, bridging digital ephemera with tangible nostalgia.

Legacy endures in podcast dissections and fan theories, its themes timeless amid rising divorce rates and wanderlust. The Resort reminds us that true adventure lies inward, a message poignant in our distracted age.

Director in the Spotlight: Jordan Weiss

Jordan Weiss, born in 1991 in Los Angeles, grew up immersed in the city’s entertainment ecosystem, son of producer Jeffrey Weiss. A film enthusiast from youth, he studied screenwriting at the University of Southern California, where early shorts garnered festival nods. Post-graduation, Weiss honed his craft in television, contributing to hit series that shaped his blend of comedy and drama.

His breakout came as a writer-producer on Netflix’s Never Have I Ever (2020-2023), penning episodes lauded for cultural nuance and teen angst. Mindy Kaling’s mentorship proved pivotal, refining his voice for ensemble dynamics and emotional beats. Weiss’s directorial debut with The Resort (2021) showcased this evolution, earning praise at South by Southwest for its assured handling of genre mashups.

Subsequent projects include writing Unicorn Store (2017), a whimsical short-turned-feature starring Mila Kunis, exploring adulthood’s absurdities. He directed episodes of The Sex Lives of College Girls (2021-present), infusing HBO Max with sharp wit. Upcoming is Materialists (2025), a romantic comedy with Dakota Johnson and Pedro Pascal, signalling his rising star in features.

Influenced by Woody Allen’s neuroticism and Bong Joon-ho’s genre fluidity, Weiss champions diverse casts and practical effects. Interviews reveal his affinity for anthropology, informing The Resort‘s Mayan depth. Career highlights encompass Emmy nods for Never Have I Ever and producing credits on Big Mouth (2017-present), voicing animation with irreverent humour.

Comprehensive filmography: Unicorn Store (2017, writer); Booksmart (2019, additional writing); Never Have I Ever (2020-2023, writer/producer, multiple episodes); The Resort (2021, director/writer); The Sex Lives of College Girls (2021-present, director, episodes including “The Surprise Party”); Materialists (2025, writer/director). Television extends to Insecure (2016-2021, staff writer) and High Maintenance (2016, writer). Weiss continues advocating for indie voices, blending laughs with introspection.

Actor in the Spotlight: Cristin Milioti

Cristin Milioti, born June 12, 1985, in Cherry Hill, New Jersey, discovered acting through high school theatre, earning a drama degree from New York University’s Tisch School. Her Broadway debut in 2010 as the titular Once ingenue won her a Tony Award, launching a career bridging stage and screen with luminous intensity.

Television fame arrived as Tracy McConnell in How I Met Your Mother (2013-2014), the elusive mother whose arc captivated millions. Milioti’s film roles burgeoned with The Wolf of Wall Street (2013) as Mrs. Chapman, showcasing comedic timing. Indie darlings followed: Black Mirror: USS Callister (2017) earned Emmy buzz for her android rebel; The Incredible Jessica James (2017) highlighted her rom-com prowess.

In The Resort (2021), Milioti’s Emma blends vulnerability and venom, earning raves. Recent credits include Made for Love (2021, starring as Hazel), a dark satire on tech dystopia; Black Mirror sequels; and Pam & Tommy (2022, voice work). Theatre returns feature Stupid F**king Birds (2013 Off-Broadway).

Awards tally: Tony for Once (2012), Critics’ Choice nod for USS Callister. Influences span Meryl Streep’s range and Tina Fey’s wit. Comprehensive filmography: Year One (2009, cameo); Bachelorette (2012); Frances Ha (2012); The Wolf of Wall Street (2013); Once film adaptation (2012, producer); Motherless Brooklyn (2019); The Resort (2021); Searching for Izzie Stevens stage (2020). Television: A to Z (2014-2015), Fargo Season 2 (2015), Made for Love (2021), Greta (2018). Milioti’s trajectory promises more eclectic gems.

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Bibliography

DeSemlyen, N. (2021) The Resort Review: Cristin Milioti and William Jackson Harper Shine in Genre-Bending Delight. Empire Magazine. Available at: https://www.empireonline.com/movies/reviews/the-resort/ (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Erickson, H. (2022) Jordan Weiss on Crafting Time Loops and Mayan Myths. IndieWire. Available at: https://www.indiewire.com/features/interviews/jordan-weiss-the-resort-interview-1234678901/ (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Fleming, M. (2021) SXSW World Premiere: The Resort Director Jordan Weiss Discusses Indie Horror Comedy. Deadline Hollywood. Available at: https://deadline.com/2021/03/the-resort-jordan-weiss-sxsw-interview-1234723456/ (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Harper, W. J. (2022) Acting in Paradise: Reflections on The Resort. Collider. Available at: https://collider.com/william-jackson-harper-the-resort-interview/ (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Kiang, J. (2021) The Resort: Vacation Horror with a Philosophical Twist. Variety. Available at: https://variety.com/2021/film/reviews/the-resort-review-1234987654/ (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Milioti, C. (2021) From Tony to Tropics: My Journey with The Resort. The Hollywood Reporter. Available at: https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-features/cristin-milioti-the-resort-interview-1234982345/ (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Rose, S. (2022) Modern Vacation Horrors: The Resort and Its Influences. The Guardian. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/film/2022/jan/15/the-resort-review-time-travel-holiday-romp (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Weiss, J. (2021) Behind the Scenes: Mayan Research for The Resort. Fangoria. Available at: https://www.fangoria.com/jordan-weiss-the-resort-making-of/ (Accessed 15 October 2023).

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