
2025 · David Mackenzie
A broker of lucrative payoffs between corrupt corporations and the individuals who threaten them breaks his own rules when a new client seeks his protection to stay alive.
dir. David Mackenzie · 2025
Relay is a procedural paranoia thriller built around a single, elegant conceit: a professional intermediary who never speaks directly to the people whose lives he holds in his hands. Riz Ahmed plays a fixer — a broker who negotiates settlements between corporations caught in wrongdoing and the whistleblowers who threaten to expose them — conducting his entire practice through a telecommunications relay service, the operator-mediated text-to-voice system originally designed for deaf and hard-of-hearing users. He types; a human operator voices his words; the reply is typed back to him. The arrangement gives the film both its title and its governing metaphor: a man who has organized his existence around layers of insulation, deniability, and untraceability, and who is undone the moment he lets a client (Lily James) become a person rather than a transaction. Directed by David Mackenzie from a debut screenplay by Justin Piasecki, the film premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival in September 2024 and received a theatrical release in 2025. It sits in Mackenzie's career as a return to tightly wound genre filmmaking after the historical sprawl of Outlaw King, and it belongs to a small but persistent strain of American thriller concerned less with violence than with information, surveillance, and the brittleness of anonymity in a networked world.
Relay is a mid-budget, independently financed thriller of a kind that has become increasingly rare in the studio ecosystem — a star-driven adult drama with no franchise scaffolding, pitched at the specialty theatrical market. Piasecki's screenplay circulated as a well-regarded unproduced script before reaching Mackenzie, and the project was assembled as an international co-production drawing on the producing partnerships Mackenzie has worked within across his career. The casting of Riz Ahmed — an Oscar-nominated actor (for Sound of Metal) who has cultivated a reputation for interiorized, technically demanding performances — signals the film's ambitions as a performance piece rather than a spectacle. Lily James and Sam Worthington round out a compact principal cast, with Worthington positioned as the antagonist who leads the corporate recovery operation.
The film followed the now-familiar specialty path of a fall-festival premiere (TIFF 2024) followed by a calibrated 2025 release rather than a wide opening. I do not have reliable box-office figures to report, and would be inventing them to do so; the film's commercial profile appears to have been modest, consistent with its scale and platform-release strategy. What is clear is that Relay exemplifies the contemporary economics of the "elevated thriller": modest budget, recognizable leads, festival validation, and a marketing hook (the relay conceit) distinctive enough to differentiate it in a crowded streaming-adjacent marketplace.
The relay service is not a production technology but the film's diegetic technology, and it is the most consequential creative decision in the picture. Telecommunications relay services route a conversation through a third party who transcribes and voices speech in real time, introducing a structural delay and a human filter between two parties. Mackenzie and Piasecki repurpose this accessibility infrastructure as a tool of espionage tradecraft: by routing his calls through a relay operator, Ahmed's character launders his voice, his identity, and his location, communicating in a register that is simultaneously intimate and utterly mediated. The film mines real tension from the latency built into the system — the beat between typing and hearing the reply, the flattening of emotion through an operator's neutral delivery, the eeriness of one's own words returned in a stranger's voice.
Beyond the relay, the film engages the broader apparatus of contemporary surveillance: burner phones, dead drops, cash, the avoidance of digital footprints, the assumption that any networked device is compromised. Its technological worldview is essentially analog-as-resistance — the protagonist's tradecraft is a deliberate retreat from the traceable digital world into older, slower, more physical channels. This places Relay in dialogue with a long lineage of surveillance thrillers while updating the paranoia for an age in which anonymity must be actively manufactured rather than assumed.
The visual strategy is one of urban observation and controlled distance. Mackenzie favors a register of watchfulness appropriate to a story about surveillance — compositions that frame the protagonist through glass, across streets, and within the geometry of the city, so that the viewer is repeatedly placed in the position of someone watching, or being watched. Across his filmography Mackenzie has shown a preference for naturalistic, available-light textures and a restless but legible camera (most visibly in the widescreen plains of Hell or High Water); Relay applies a comparable observational sensibility to an interior, metropolitan environment. I cannot confirm the specific director of photography on this title from the record available to me, and decline to attribute it; what can be said is that the film's look is keyed to legibility and tension rather than stylization, using the real textures of the city as a surveillance landscape.
Editing is load-bearing in a film whose central device is a delay. The relay conversations depend on rhythm — the held beat, the cut to a reaction during the lag, the way suspense is generated not by action but by the interval between message and response. Mackenzie's thrillers are characteristically tight and propulsive (his collaborations with editor Jake Roberts on Starred Up and Hell or High Water are models of lean genre construction), and Relay appears to extend that discipline, cutting for procedural clarity and for the slow tightening of a snare. I cannot independently confirm the editor of record here and will not guess; the operative principle, regardless, is that the film's tension is manufactured in the cutting room as much as on the page.
The film's world is one of deliberate anonymity: nondescript apartments, transitional spaces, vehicles, public infrastructure. The production design works to strip the protagonist's environment of personality, mirroring a man who has erased himself. Staging emphasizes process — the mechanics of a meeting, an exchange, a handoff — and the choreography of avoidance, as characters move through public space attempting to remain unseen. The contrast between the protagonist's controlled, evacuated surroundings and the messier, more exposed life of the client he is drawn to protect carries much of the film's thematic weight visually.
Sound is arguably the film's most distinctive technical dimension, precisely because the relay conceit makes voice a central problem. The film must dramatize communication that is disembodied, transcribed, and re-voiced — which foregrounds the texture of the operator's delivery, the silence of typing, the ambient hum of the city as cover. The score (composer unconfirmed in the record available to me; I will not attribute it) functions in support of suspense rather than as a signature, and the film's sound design leans on the uncanny mediation of the human voice through machinery and a stranger's mouth. For a story about a man who refuses to speak in his own voice, the soundtrack's management of presence and absence is doing genuine dramatic work.
Relay is, above all, a performance vehicle for Riz Ahmed, and it is constructed to exploit his particular gift for conveying interiority under constraint. Much of his performance is necessarily silent or near-silent — reactions during relayed conversations, the watchfulness of a man perpetually assessing threat, the gradual erosion of professional detachment as a client becomes a human attachment. It is a role defined by withholding, and Ahmed's control of stillness and micro-expression is the film's central instrument. Lily James, as the whistleblower client, supplies the emotional counterweight — exposure and vulnerability against Ahmed's armor — while Sam Worthington, as the corporate fixer hunting them, plays menace as a kind of cold professional competence rather than overt villainy. The casting deliberately sets a performer of internalized intensity (Ahmed) against more conventionally direct screen presences, dramatizing the film's themes through contrasting performance styles.
The film operates in the procedural-thriller mode: it is interested in how its protagonist does his work, and it builds suspense from competence, process, and the gradual failure of a system the protagonist believed was foolproof. Its dramatic engine is the classic noir reversal — the professional who has built a life on rules breaks them for a person, and pays. The relay device structures the storytelling itself, introducing delay, mediation, and uncertainty into the most basic narrative unit, the conversation. Information is doled out as currency; the audience is positioned alongside a protagonist who can never be fully certain who he is talking to or whether his insulation has been breached. The result is a tense chamber piece that expands into pursuit, organized around the erosion of a man's defenses rather than around set-piece spectacle.
Relay belongs to the surveillance-and-paranoia thriller, a cycle with deep roots in the 1970s American "conspiracy" film and recurrent revivals in periods of institutional distrust. Its most obvious ancestors are films about professionals of secrecy whose tradecraft becomes their trap — the eavesdropper of Coppola's The Conversation, the exposed operatives of Pakula's paranoia trilogy (Klute, The Parallax View, All the President's Men), and the whistleblower dramas (The Insider, Michael Clayton) in which corporate malfeasance is fought through documents and leverage rather than guns. The "fixer" protagonist places it in close conversation with Michael Clayton in particular, while the lone-professional-with-a-code framework links it to the hitman and getaway-driver subgenres. Its contemporary cycle is the "elevated" or "adult" thriller — character-forward, mid-budget, festival-launched — that has become one of independent cinema's reliable formats as studios have vacated the space.
David Mackenzie (director) is a Scottish filmmaker whose career has been defined by versatility and by an interest in men under pressure within closed systems. From the literary bleakness of Young Adam (2003) through the prison drama Starred Up (2013), the sensory romance of Perfect Sense (2011), the contemporary Western Hell or High Water (2016), and the historical epic Outlaw King (2018), Mackenzie has moved restlessly between genres while retaining a consistent attention to character psychology, moral compromise, and the textures of confined or hostile environments. Hell or High Water — his greatest critical success, an Oscar nominee for Best Picture — established his command of the lean, character-driven genre film, and Relay reads as a deliberate return to that mode after the scale of Outlaw King. His method favors strong performers given room to internalize, naturalistic craft in service of tension, and scripts with a clear moral architecture beneath the genre machinery.
Justin Piasecki (writer) makes his produced feature debut here; the screenplay had a strong reputation in the industry before production, and its high-concept hook — the relay-service conceit — is the kind of distinctive premise that distinguishes a spec script. The film's authorship is thus a meeting of an established director's craft with a newcomer's central idea.
On the key technical collaborators — cinematographer, editor, composer — I do not have confirmed attributions for Relay in the record available to me, and I decline to assign names speculatively. Mackenzie's recurring partnerships across earlier films (notably with cinematographer Giles Nuttgens and editor Jake Roberts) establish his working preferences, but I cannot verify their involvement on this specific title and will not state it as fact.
Mackenzie is a product of, and a continuing presence within, the resurgent Scottish and broader British independent cinema of the 2000s and 2010s — a milieu shaped by public funding bodies, a strong tradition of social realism, and a generation of directors (alongside figures such as Andrea Arnold and Lynne Ramsay) who brought literary seriousness and formal control to genre and character work. Relay, with its American setting and stars, is best understood as a transatlantic production typical of the contemporary anglophone art-thriller: British directorial sensibility applied to American genre material and locations, financed through international co-production. It does not belong to a national "movement" so much as to the deterritorialized world of mid-budget independent filmmaking that moves talent and money across the Atlantic.
The film is firmly a product of the mid-2020s, and its anxieties are those of its moment: the assumption of total surveillance, the corporate capture of public goods, the precariousness of the whistleblower in an age when leaking is both easier and more dangerous than ever, and the labor required to remain anonymous. Its theatrical-release model — festival premiere, specialty rollout, modest scale — reflects the post-pandemic, streaming-dominated economics in which the adult thriller survives at the margins of a blockbuster-driven industry. The relay conceit itself is period-specific in a subtle way: it depends on the survival of older communications infrastructure as a refuge from newer, more traceable technology.
At its center Relay is about mediation and authenticity — the cost of living entirely through intermediaries, and the danger of the unmediated human connection that finally breaks through. It is about anonymity as both protection and prison: the protagonist's elaborate self-erasure keeps him safe and keeps him alone, and the film treats his professional detachment as a wound as much as a skill. It engages corporate power and the individual conscience, situating its drama in the asymmetry between institutions that can buy silence and individuals who can only threaten to break it. And it is a study of trust under conditions of total uncertainty — when every channel is mediated and every identity is potentially false, the decision to believe another person becomes the riskiest act available. Beneath the genre mechanics runs a classically noir moral: the man who believes he has insulated himself from consequence discovers that the insulation was the consequence.
As a 2024 festival premiere and 2025 release, Relay arrives too recently to have a settled critical reputation or measurable influence, and any claim to lasting canonical status would be premature; I will not manufacture one. Critical attention centered, predictably, on Riz Ahmed's performance and on the novelty of the relay conceit, with the film generally received as a well-crafted, intelligent, mid-scale thriller rather than a major event — a characterization consistent with Mackenzie's reputation as a reliable, versatile genre craftsman. I do not have verified aggregate review scores or specific critical quotations to cite, and decline to invent them.
*Influences on the film (backward): Relay draws unmistakably on the 1970s American paranoia thriller — Coppola's The Conversation above all, for its protagonist whose surveillance expertise becomes his undoing, and Pakula's conspiracy films for their atmosphere of institutional menace. The "fixer" protagonist and the corporate-malfeasance backdrop place it in direct descent from Michael Clayton (2007), while the lone-professional-with-a-code structure echoes the hitman and heist traditions. Within Mackenzie's own work, it extends the lean genre discipline of Hell or High Water*.
*Influence of the film (forward): Its most original contribution — and the element most likely to be remembered and borrowed — is the dramatization of the telecommunications relay service as a tool of suspense, a genuinely fresh formal device in a well-worn genre. Whether that conceit proves influential will depend on the film's longevity in cultural memory, which cannot yet be assessed. For now, Relay* is best understood as a confident, idea-driven entry in the contemporary surveillance thriller, distinguished by a central performance of disciplined interiority and a premise that turns the infrastructure of human connection into the architecture of paranoia.
Lines of influence