A fire rages in a small town somewhere in Kyrgyzstan. As the officials rush to put it out, a group of villagers huddle in a convenience store, each wondering what could have happened. Three of them have a theory, each similar, yet not quite the same. They agree on who set the fire, but the how and why differ. As the night goes on, they recount what they saw, and what they think it meant, as we, the audience, are left to pick up the pieces.

Burning is part horror film, part domestic thriller, and partly a riff on Rashomon. Its smart and engaging script toys with genre expectations as it forces the audience to confront their own prejudices in a bleak depiction of quiet terror many experience in their lives.

As the villagers spin their theories, we witness the same story from three different angles, each with an emphasis on a different villain. In one version, Burning adapts into a supernatural horror film about a vindictive matriarch using ancient means to exact revenge. In another, it becomes a Roman Polanski -style story of exorcism, as a young mother-to-be falls apart from stress and anxiety. And finally, it reveals a more grounded and horrifying version of abuse and terror that recontextualizes not just the main players, but the storytellers themselves.

Each story features the same cast, yet their performances are so nuanced and brilliant I could have swore they were different people. Asel (Aysanat Edigeeva) goes from suffering innocent to possessed villain and something completely different in the blink of an eye. There isn't a single false note in the performance. Her mother, Farida (Kalicha Seydalieva), transforms from abject terror to a maternal safe harbor, while the husband, Marat (Ömürbek Izrailov) is both an absent figure an a menacing shadow on the lives of everyone he touches.

The script, written by Aizada Amangeldy and Dastan Madalbekov, understands its inspirations, yet never falls for recreation. We can point to the films it emulates, yet Burning never feels like a retread. Instead, by forcing us to relive a singular event from three different angles, it puts us into the shoes of everyone involved, which allows the audience to build a bigger picture for themselves. By the time the final act reveals itself, we, too, are complicit.

This is a gorgeously acted and eloquently directed horror film that deserves your attention. Within its genre-trappings is a smart and disqueting portrait of societal issues that might take place in the far reaches of Kyrgyzstan, but is so universal that, by the end, we will look at our fellow audience members and wonder. Like the best horror films, it makes us fear the unknown, and then reminds us that terror might lurk behind every closed door, and we're surrounded by them.