Sticks and stones may break your bones, but so will love, co-dependency, and ritualistic unity.
In his directorial debut, writer-director Michael Shanks delivers a cracking entry into the body horror genre with Together, a tense, tender, and tonally inventive film. Starring real-life couple Alison Brie and Dave Franco, the film opens at Millie and Tim’s going-away party as they leave behind city life for something slower in the countryside. But what’s meant to be a fresh start quickly spirals into something far more grotesque and intimate.
Millie and Tim’s relationship is a portrait of codependency. Millie is the grounded one: the breadwinner, the planner, the “boring” partner with a proper job. Tim, meanwhile, is the classic man-child—an aspiring musician with no car, no drive (literally and figuratively), and a juvenile resentment for his partner’s stability. Their dynamic is clear: Millie mothers him, and he resents her for it. It’s a compelling emotional core, but one subplot involving Tim’s trauma feels underdeveloped and doesn’t fully connect with the rest of the story.
While on a hike, the couple falls into a mysterious cave, where they discover a cult-like shrine. Instead of checking on Millie, Tim immediately panics over his phone: “My demos were on there.” The resentment is palpable and persistent. While in the cave, they drink from a strange, glowing water source, and everything changes.
What follows is a surreal, slow-burn descent into psychological and physical unraveling. The couple begins to experience dizzy spells, delusions, and an overwhelming pull toward one another. If emotional dependence had them tethered before, now they’re physically unable to be apart. When they’re separated, they ache, literally. “Thirsty all over, but not with you,” Tim laments.
Their connection peaks in a jaw-dropping sequence involving The Spice Girls’ 2 Become 1, which, yes, plays as the couple physically fuses together into one being. This full-circle moment is weird, romantic, tragic, and kind of beautiful. It’s also a testament to the filmmakers’ vision: according to composer Benjamin Speed, the team fought hard to include the song, and the payoff is unforgettable.
Shanks takes his time revealing the layers of Millie and Tim’s relationship. The pacing works, with crisp cinematography, beautiful woodland atmosphere, and some truly well-crafted visual effects. Their physical fusion, with bones snapping and skin melting, is grotesque yet mesmerizing. Costume design subtly reinforces their bond, with the couple often dressed in matching colors, fabrics, and silhouettes. These choices make their transformation feel inevitable.
The dialogue balances sarcasm, poetic melancholy, and raw vulnerability, giving the film a unique tonal blend of dark comedy and horror-romance. Brie and Franco are the heart of it all. Their real-life chemistry radiates off the screen. When they’re in sync, the screen pulses with passion and pain.
Still, Together leaves a bit on the table. A longer runtime, maybe 15 to 20 minutes, could’ve let the horror simmer more. Some of the film’s most visceral moments are undercut by brevity, and while the body horror is well executed, there isn’t quite enough of it to tip the scale toward truly terrifying. The score is serviceable, though it never quite heightens the emotional tension the way it could have.
Together isn’t wholly original, but it breathes new life into familiar tropes with style, tension, and intimacy. The story of two people who can’t live without each other, emotionally or physically. Slippery skin, cracking bones, and all, it is twisted, touching, and surprisingly tender.
