May (2003)

May is the rare horror-comedy that feels like a human story first and a nightmare second, anchored by Angela Bettis’ astonishingly tender performance as a woman whose yearning for connection curdles into something unthinkable. Lucky McKee builds an off-kilter, intimate atmosphere where awkward flirtations, deadpan humor, and creeping dread coexist in the same breath, and the film’s originality lies in how it makes you empathize even as it unsettles you. When the violence arrives it’s not coy—there’s real gore—but it’s staged with a strange, handmade artistry that fits the movie’s fixation on “perfection.” If you prefer your horror purely fun or purely frightening, this tonal tightrope might not be your thing, but if you like character-driven genre films that are macabre, funny, and oddly moving, May is a minor classic worth the plunge.

May is clearly aiming for a sad, off-kilter character study that slowly curdles into body-horror, with Angela Bettis doing the heavy lifting and giving the film a bruised, oddly sympathetic center. The problem is the movie takes its sweet time getting where it’s going, and the direction/editing can feel a bit clunky, so the tonal mix of awkward comedy, heartbreak, and gore doesn’t always land cleanly. When it finally commits to the horror, it’s not subtle—this is a nasty, visceral ride with some genuinely upsetting moments that will either feel daring or just grim. If you want sleek, elegant horror or a tightly paced thriller, this will likely test your patience; if you can handle rough edges and want a strange, intimate descent into obsession, it has a memorable sting.