Female body horror hits different. Our whole lives are body horror. Our bodies feel both alien and somehow all that matters about us. Our bodies don’t exist for *us*. We’re taught to hide our biology, our base humanity, our stinkiness… so of course, in private, we wallow in it.
Kelsey Sullivan’s gross-out horror short makes excellent use of the sacred liminal space that all women know: the sleepover. (Her stage directions note that “there is no time”—she’s right.) Imaginative directors and designers will revel in the mayhem.
Female body horror hits different. Our whole lives are body horror. Our bodies feel both alien and somehow all that matters about us. Our bodies don’t exist for *us*. We’re taught to hide our biology, our base humanity, our stinkiness… so of course, in private, we wallow in it.
Kelsey Sullivan’s gross-out horror short makes excellent use of the sacred liminal space that all women know: the sleepover. (Her stage directions note that “there is no time”—she’s right.) Imaginative directors and designers will revel in the mayhem.