When it comes to films that boldly mix horror and fantasy, the indie film My Animal stands on its two feet and howls at the moon. Released in the fall of 2023, it grabbed its fair share of attention—mostly from those who prefer their media full of symbolism and hidden social commentary. Directed by up-and-coming filmmaker Jacqueline Castel, the film possesses a flair for the dramatic and the unsettling, qualities that naturally have stirred up some debate. Situated in a small, snowy town that time seems to have forgotten, My Animal revolves around an isolated young woman who harbors a peculiar secret, which makes you wonder if the tagline should’ve been 'Monsters exist because humans do.' It’s exactly the sort of narrative liberals feast upon: a storyline deeply intertwined with themes of identity, society, and repression.
Let's cut to the chase—because the film sure doesn't. Movies like My Animal come shouting with themes that whisper across the broad spectrum of human emotion and experience, expecting the audience to connect dots that sometimes aren't there. However, there’s no denying Castel’s magic on camera. Technically speaking, the cinematography is rather enchanting, capturing snowy landscapes that either elicit fear or a chilling beauty, depending on who you ask. Just like some are wont to argue for its either insightful or overbearing storyline.
The main character, our mysterious young protagonist, is played by a fresh face who brings a sense of raw vulnerability paired with an earthy intensity. She walks quietly through her sleepy town, bearing a burden that she can’t—and perhaps doesn’t even want to—share. Now, let’s not misunderstand; she isn’t a metaphorical representation of some wild leftist idea. The film uses her story to explore age-old themes surrounding personal identity and the impositions of society. It’s relatively non-political for such a narrative-heavy film, though it does flirt with themes some would argue have political undertones.
For anyone who’s a fan of metaphors, My Animal provides quite the feast. Every scene has layers for those who love a good nibble on the symbolic. For instance, the snow isn’t just snow—it's blanketing isolation. Stillness and silence echo themes of suppression and the calm before a metaphorical storm. If you’re a liberal, perhaps you’ll see the protagonist as a sort of revolution incarnate, resisting societal norms as she navigates a world that isn’t accepting of her truth.
Now, here’s where it gets interesting. This movie does what every good supernatural horror film does: it presents a duality. Duality of character, of nature, and morality. The protagonist’s secret aligns her closer to nature than to her fellow humans—a point that the eco-friendly crowd might applaud as a clever nod to environmental themes. But anyone with an eye on reality sees that this isn’t just about 'being one with the earth,' but rather makes a deeper dive into the concept of alienation—not just in a human world but in a world that feels increasingly disconnected.
My Animal ultimately falls under the umbrella of films that are as much about self-discovery as they are about survival. Its intricate dance of predator versus prey, human versus monster, is a tale as old as time. There's an eerie allure to it all, one that draws the viewer in and holds them hostage until they’ve begun to reflect on their own perceptions of the world. If nothing else, the movie subtly challenges how viewers reconcile who they are with the way the world views them.
Despite its mystical presence, My Animal isn't entirely a color-by-numbers creature flick. It navigates its subplot with dexterity, another tick in its favor. Considering Jacqueline Castel’s ambitious direction, one can understand the relevance of themes focusing on repression and rebellion. The movie doesn’t shy away from the uncomfortable conversation about identity, which is bound to provoke some eye rolls depending on where you stand politically.
Sure, some may walk away grumbling, 'well, that was melodramatic.' But Castel likely intended to stir those very emotions. Given the contrasting cinematography and deliberate pacing, the film blends sensitivity with tension, offering more than just deliberate scares—it’s a blend of poetry and prose on film.
To the individual who practices cautious skepticism toward media with underlying social commentary: this film might just be the kind of narrative you chew apart at the Sunday dinner table. Whether you think it’s brilliant or a concoction of allegorical mush, one thing’s for certain—My Animal manages to make a statement. So, if you're itching to watch it, go ahead. Just heed my warning: approach it less with an expectation of a blockbuster thrill ride, and more as a pondering presence through the human condition filtered through a fantastical lens.