In the previous T Blockers, parasitic entities invade human bodies, turning them into monstrous versions of themselves. In both films, the threat is framed as infiltration or something that enters, consumes, and reshapes, giving birth to what they have been controlling inside. It is marginalized individuals who recognize and confront the invasion; in The Serpent’s Skin, that impulse persists, but it is less about identity and more about self-awareness. Those who survive are those who perceive what is happening beneath the surface.
Visually and sonically, the work is reminiscent of the work of Actor Joe Dallesandro in Paul Morrissey’s Flesh, a story of a male hustler that appealed to male and female audiences, and the then-underground film Trash. The danger of the music, the intrusion of outside forces, except for a burglar getting the Scanners treatment, are all present in The Serpent’s Skin.
“Where the film becomes more distinctive is in its treatment of community.”
The lo-fi effects with glowing eyes, psychic ruptures, and moments of levitation retain their rough edges. Conversations linger and are beautifully staged between all the cast, looking like this was improvised, like the Paul Morrissey films. There is in this picture a flow, with the smile, the little smiles, coy eyes, unleashed subtle and not so subtle sexuality, blunt dialogue, in short, the tonal differences of people. Encounters carry weight. The romance between Anna and Gen is given space to develop, allowing its eventual toxicity to register with greater impact.
However, the film’s ambition also reveals its limitations. The narrative feels intentionally incomplete, as though it is laying groundwork for a larger story that remains only partially realized. Threads are introduced, such as psychic networks, demonic forces, and social hierarchies, but not fully resolved.
The Serpent’s Skin may be rooted in a particular cultural moment, but its concerns are far more expansive. The film’s voice, without being vacuous as many trending in the same areas are coupled with a curated music track with the right amount of razor pain like lipstick traces on a cigarette or a glass in the lyrics, demonstrating that the stories of transformation, invasion, and survival belong to all.
"…aligns with a long lineage of horror cinema in which intimacy becomes the gateway to annihilation,"
