Lazareth

Ashley Judd leads the way in this tense post-apocalyptic thriller about three women living in an isolated homestead after a deadly virus has ravaged the earth.

I’m a sucker for post-apocalyptic stories. From the “Mad Max” franchise to the recent “Fallout” series, there’s just something both chilling and thrilling about the existentialist challenges of living in a world ravaged by disease, nuclear war, zombie hordes or some other calamity.

As the audience, you face the uncertainty of humanity’s tenuous hold on its continued existence, often because of the poor choices we collectively made. There’s also the personal investment of putting yourself into the characters’ shoes and thinking about how you would react.

“Lazareth” is a modestly budgeted and constrained iteration, in that almost the entire story takes place in one setting — the titular homestead in the middle of nowhere occupied by three women. Ashley Judd leads the way as Lee, who is looking after her nieces, Maeve and Imogen.

(The film is being released in a few theaters, but you’ll have better luck renting it on the usual VOD platforms.)

A virus killed off much of humanity, and 10 years later this little family unit has survived through a combination of grit and stubborn isolationism.

“And then the virus came, and the world shrank,” Lee intones.

Now Imogen and Maeve are teenagers, played by Katie Douglas and Sarah Pidgeon, respectively, and beginning to question Aunt Lee’s stern authoritarianism. Ostensibly they make big decisions collectively, using a system where they tap two fingers on the dining table to register their vote, but up until now the girls have always knuckled under.

They grow their own food, raise chickens for eggs, forage for herbs and such in the surrounding forest, and every now and then Lee drives their dilapidated truck into town to forage for supplies. When she comes back, she has tales of a blasted hellscape where people are assaulted — especially women — by roving bands of thugs and people fighting over the dwindling amount of food and medicine.

She wears extensive protective gear for these forays — mask, face shield, rubber gloves and coat reminiscent of the early days of COVID lockdowns — and is fastidiously sprayed down with decontaminate before going back inside the house.

Aunt Lee speaks of Lazareth not just as their home, a place of protection, but almost a sentient entity, practically like a deity. She chants at every mealtime about the importance of respecting Lazareth and its rules. Judd goes full wide-eyed zealot in her performance… a bit over the top at times, in my book.

Big changes come to their little world with the arrival of Owen (Asher Angel), a boy about the girls’ age. He wears face and neck tattoos, and apparently escaped from one of the places where Lee fears to go. Maeve finds him in the woods near their house, wounded and forlorn, and brings Imogen along to check it out.

He’s likely the first male they’ve ever seen up close, and it’s fair to say the sisters are both terrified and intrigued. Imogen in particular is transfixed by the unconscious lad, and convinces — bullies, really — Maeve into bringing him back to Lazareth for rest and healing.

Aunt Lee is understandably furious, and is ready to kill him on the spot. But the shifting power dynamic between the three women comes into play, and she acquiesces to letting him stay for a bit.

Predictably, Imogen begins to show carnal interest in Owen, Maeve resents this (with not a little jealousy in the mix) and Lee struggles with how to reconcile having someone who’s potentially dangerous — or moreso the people he ran away from — disrupting the ordered tranquility she’s forged.

Things go into action/thriller mode in the last act, with Edward Balaban playing the leader of a gang of interlopers who arrive to make trouble. This, along with a plot twist that’s not hard to guess, make for a conclusion that has visceral momentum but not much emotional energy.

Writer/director Alec Tibald (“The Daphne Project”) has a good touch for setting a scene and exploring the subtleties of the relationships that govern such a tiny little society. The unspoken rivalry between Maeve and Imogen is the engine that makes the story go, especially once Owen shows up and sexual yearning becomes a factor.

At 85 minutes, “Lazareth” is a tight psychological thriller that left me wanting more — more backstory on the virus, and what was left in its wake. A richer context would lend more weight to the plight of the three women and the stress they endure in having, as one puts it, “nowhere else to go.”

As is it feels like some pieces of the puzzle are missing.