After The Substance caught a special kind of fire propelling itself out of Cannes in 2024 through an unpredictable and exhilarating run to the Academy Awards, there’s proof that not only is there still an appetite for the gruesome mutilation of flesh in the mainstream, but there’s even a measurable craving for it in the most prestige spheres of film reception. Coralie Fargeat’s weapon of choice in eviscerating body standards was not a scalpel, but rather a blood-soaked bludgeoning hammer. 

Michael Shanks’ Together enters this lineage with a decidedly different weapon of choice: a one-handed cordless self-reciprocating sawzall. How it’s used narratively is best discovered firsthand, but in a film where a couple’s codependency leads their flesh to magnetically fuse together, it doesn’t take long to connect the dots.

The couple in question, Tim and Millie (played by real-life spouses Dave Franco and Alison Brie, respectively), are on the verge of a major transition. Millie has accepted a teaching job far from their city life, while Tim clings to his increasingly tenuous dream of making it as a musician. One awkward proposal and a night trapped in an underground cave after a hiking incident later, and the emotional tension can be cut with a butter knife. 

It turns out they’ll need sharper weaponry than that to combat the mysterious circumstances of their bodies seemingly fusing together. More time glued together in the face of the emotional distancing taking place in their stagnant relationship is just what the relationship therapist ordered, and away we go into increasingly chaotic and gory circumstances that interrogate our identities as individuals and as partners under the surface of its fleshy carnage. 

Self-image today is saturated with aspirational wellness, aesthetic perfection, and algorithmic self-optimization where the body itself becomes a battleground of control, transformation, and surveillance. In this extreme paradigm of heightened bodily awareness, the refocus on body horror feels not only inevitable but essential. Pharmaceutical miracles promise rapid physical transformation with surreal fervor, and society is again confronting the limitations and terrifying malleability of the human form. This reflection in body horror is not just about gore; it’s about the anxiety of being trapped in a form you no longer recognize, of watching flesh betray you, or transform into something alien under cognitive pressure. 

It may not be fair to make the direct comparison to the blistering thematic echoes of The Substance, which reverberated with such immense potency. The character archetypes here are far more familiar, and its thematic aspirations have a ceiling by comparison. It’s far more in the category of a tasteful appetizer than a full four-course meal, particularly with some of its gnarlier moments opting to cut away to the aftermath instead of reveling in its raw rupturing of flesh. A thinly conceived plot mechanic explains away much of the greater mystery in an unsatisfying manner, but it doesn’t diminish the crowd-pleasing madness it brings forward. 

Thanks in large part to Franco’s inherently magnetic and charming presence, however, Together is unexpectedly funny. His register pairs well with the manchild archetype the writing offers him, and the editing runs with the opportunities to exploit the comedy in his behavioral absurdity. Manchildren may be the unexpected mascots of summer 2025, and Franco embraces the role with giddy conviction. His chemistry with Brie is vibrant, and it gives the film its emotional center, grounding the more abstract framework in an emotional truth that resonates.

There’s always been something intimate and sensual about the body horror subgenre. While Shanks doesn’t quite rise to peak levels of thematic sophistication or subversive audacity, he understands the strange alchemy of horror and humor, and Together walks that line with clarity and charm. The film never strikes the same nerve-rattling chord as The Substance, but it aligns with a lineage of films that understand the deep-rooted politics of the body and its emotional manifestations. Even in its more playful moments, the metaphor of flesh as both connective tissue and psychological prison lands with surprising force. 

Together’s horror isn’t just in the grotesque – it’s in the vulnerability of love, in the inability to communicate personal boundaries, in the comedic tragedy of giving too much of yourself to someone else until you can’t remember where you end and they begin. It’s body horror with heart (if not quite guts), and if nothing else, serves as a warranted reminder that when you’re at a crossroads in your long-term relationship, be sure to have a one-handed cordless self-reciprocating sawzall at the ready. 

Review Courtesy of Danny Jarabek

Feature Image Credit to NEON via IMDb