All Jacked Up and Full of Worms

Writer-director Alex Phillips proffers an earnest and accomplished-for-its-budget feature built around David Lynch-style elliptical plots, Cronenbergesque body horror, and a sense of urban decay reminiscent of Abel Ferrara—it’s just missing one crucial piece.

The story follows two men struggling through emotional low points who snort and eat hallucinogenic worms, descending into a drug-fueled nightmare.

Phillips flashes moments of comedic brilliance, like when one character tries the worms and deadpans, “Oh, it’s got a zip to it.” And there’s a glee about the gore reminiscent of early Peter Jackson. Consider the finale, which sees a disemboweled character’s intestines rear up like giant phallic worms and attack, choking the aggressors until said aggressors’ heads explode and spray green goop everywhere.

But the film’s failure lies in its inability to amount to more than the sum of its influences. Phillips demonstrates ample formal muscle and coaxes a fearless performance from Trevor Dawkins as an outcast with symptoms of manic schizophrenia, but the underlying exploration of self-loathing lacks any resonant insight. What is Phillips trying to say?

I look forward to seeing what Phillips does next and hope a distinct voice emerges, as it proves the missing ingredient.