I almost didn't watch The Last Broadcast. The description on Netflix sounded like a dozen other 'quirky indie dramas' that populate the platform—a late-night radio host, mysterious phone calls, 1999 nostalgia. I was ready to give it 15 minutes before switching to something else.
Three hours later, I was sitting on my couch staring at the credits, feeling like I'd just gone through something. Not in a sad way—in a 'I need to call my mom and tell her I love her' way. This movie got under my skin and stayed there.
What It's Actually About
The setup is simple: it's December 1999, and Frank (played by an almost unrecognizable Paul Mescal) is the host of a late-night radio show in a small New Mexico town. He plays obscure vinyl records, takes calls from lonely listeners, and generally feels like his life is drifting. One night, he gets a call from a young woman who claims to be calling from 'the future—specifically, from June 2025.' She knows things she shouldn't know. She mentions events that haven't happened yet.
What follows isn't a sci-fi thriller about time travel. It's a quiet, melancholic exploration of regret, connection, and the choices we make. The calls continue over several weeks, and Frank starts to realize that the woman might be real—and that she might be trying to tell him something about his own future that he doesn't want to hear.
Why It Works: The Performances
Paul Mescal has been excellent in everything since Normal People, but this might be his best performance. He plays Frank as a man who is both deeply empathetic and profoundly lonely. You feel his exhaustion, his longing, his fear. The way he reacts to the phone calls—first with skepticism, then curiosity, then desperate hope—is masterful.
But the real revelation is newcomer Aisling Franciosi as 'the caller' (she's never named). She only appears as a voice for most of the film, but her performance is so nuanced that you can picture her expressions through the phone. When she reveals why she's really calling—I won't spoil it—it hits like a freight train.
The supporting cast is equally strong. Rhea Seehorn plays Frank's station manager, a woman who has given up on her own dreams and sees Frank repeating her mistakes. And John Carroll Lynch has a small but devastating role as a retired cop who believes Frank's story because he has his own encounter with the unexplained.
The Direction: Why It Feels Different
Director Amara Osei is relatively new—this is only her second feature—but she directs with a confidence that most veteran directors would envy. The film is shot in a muted, almost sepia palette that evokes the late 90s without hitting you over the head with nostalgia. The radio station feels lived-in, with peeling wallpaper and flickering fluorescent lights. Frank's apartment is sparse and sad.
Osei uses long takes and silence in ways that most modern movies are afraid to. There's a scene where Frank sits alone in the studio after a call, and the camera just holds on his face for nearly two minutes. No music, no dialogue. Just Mescal's face processing what he's heard. It's uncomfortable and beautiful.