The idea of soul mates is a theory as old as time, and it still manages to sit at the center of how we think about relationships today. Are soul mates actually real, or is it just another result of society’s wildly unrealistic dating standards? Who’s to say. One of the more fascinating theories about soul mates traces back to Ancient Greece. In Symposium, Plato suggests that humans were once fused together, two bodies in one with four arms, four legs, and two heads, until Zeus split us apart to keep us occupied with the lifelong search for our missing half. This idea, both metaphorical and strangely literal, is at the core of Together, the directorial debut of Michael Shanks. A body horror satire that will make some people gag, others outright vomit, and a few seriously reconsider their relationships, it is a wildly unhinged piece of cinema.
We follow longtime couple Tim and Millie, played by real-life couple Dave Franco and Alison Brie, as they move to the remote countryside. Millie is a successful, well-educated teacher and the clear breadwinner of the household. Tim, on the other hand, is an aspiring musician whose dream of playing to the masses is starting to fade after nearly two decades of trying. They’ve been together for over ten years and still love each other, but their relationship is clearly going through a rough patch. They’ve grown so comfortable with each other that they’re now bored of each other, and beneath the surface, old resentments are starting to bubble up. Tim is frustrated with his stalled career and jealous of Millie’s stability, while Millie is growing tired of Tim pulling away as he continues to struggle with the traumatic loss of his parents. Still, they can’t imagine life without one another, which makes their relationship, whether they want to admit it or not, undeniably co-dependent.
Their time in the countryside only accelerates the resentment brewing between them, and in an attempt to ease the tension, they go on a hike to calm their nerves and get a feel for their new surroundings. But during the hike, a storm hits, and they end up falling into a cave, where they’re trapped until the weather clears. With little water, they drink from a pool inside the cave. After they return home, though, things start to shift. Something feels off. They’re pulled toward each other by a strange, supernatural force that begins to twist their lives, their love, and eventually, their flesh.
If there’s one takeaway from Together, it’s this: don’t ever drink still water without filtering it first. But beyond that, the real lesson is that being in a relationship isn’t all sunshine and rainbows. Together dives headfirst into the uncomfortable, messy reality of long-term love. Sure, Dave Franco and Alison Brie being a real-life couple definitely helps with their on-screen chemistry, but the connection they portray isn’t the steamy spark of new romance. It’s the lived-in chemistry of two people who’ve shared a home, a life, and a whole lot of awkward silences for over a decade. You can feel their history. How they know exactly what makes each other tick, and how to push each other’s buttons. It’s not traditionally romantic, but it’s still a love story. A love story about two people who are so comfortable with each other that they’ve become bored. And in that boredom, they’re forced to confront the fact that relationships have highs and lows and the only real way through them is by getting vulnerable and intimate, really intimate.
And when we talk about intimacy in Together, we’re not talking about candlelit dinners or long walks on the beach. No, the intimacy here is of the grotesque, body-melding variety. The kind of body horror that Together fully leans into, as Tim and Millie’s bodies are suddenly, uncontrollably drawn to each other like magnets. Not cute fridge magnets either. We’re talking full industrial-grade magnets with an agenda. An agenda to fuse, to merge, to become one flesh, whether the couple is emotionally ready for that or not. The body horror here is twisty, sticky, and just the right flavor of cocaine-fueled fever dream to make your stomach churn. It’s grotesque, absurd, and strangely hilarious in all the best ways. Taking clear inspiration from the likes of John Carpenter’s The Thing, the film goes all in on practical effects. Oozing, stretching, pulsing moments of physical transformation that feel like a love letter to the golden age of 1980s body horror. Every squelch and snap feels tactile, grounded, and deeply uncomfortable in the most satisfying way. This is intimacy as invasion, as possession, as mutation and it’s as compelling as it is disgusting.
All in all, Together is a disgustingly fun ride that’s equal parts cringe-inducing and oddly heartfelt. It manages to walk a fine line between absurd body horror and brutally honest relationship drama, delivering just as many laughs as it does gags, sometimes both at once. With enough unsettling moments to make audiences squirm and enough sharp romantic tension to keep things grounded, it’s the kind of horror film that knows exactly what it’s doing. It’s gross, it’s weird, and it’s surprisingly thoughtful beneath all the goo and gore. If you’re looking for a horror movie that goes beyond the usual jump scares and dares to explore what happens when love festers, literally. Together is well worth your time. Just maybe don’t watch it with your significant other… unless you’re feeling brave.
My Rating: B+
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