Sick of Myself (2022)

Sick of Myself is the kind of audacious, squirm-inducing satire that dares you to laugh and then immediately asks what, exactly, you’re laughing at—a pitch-black comedy with a horror edge that feels uncomfortably close to our attention economy. Kristine Kujath Thorp is mesmerizing as Signe, playing desperation and vanity with such conviction that even her worst choices become compulsively watchable, while Kristoffer Borgli directs with a cool, precise eye for the absurdities of art-world status and social performance. The film’s humor is sharp and original, but it’s also willing to go all the way into gnarly body-horror territory, turning cringe into a kind of moral x-ray. If you’re allergic to secondhand embarrassment or can’t stomach some graphic imagery, it may be a tough sit—but if you like your comedy fearless and your commentary biting, this one sticks with you.

Sick of Myself is aiming for a razor-black satire of attention culture, art-world vanity, and the grotesque lengths people will go to be seen, and it commits to that idea with impressive nerve. The problem is it’s so enamored with its own nastiness that you may feel less “challenged” and more just stuck spending time with people you wouldn’t cross the street for, while the story starts to spin its wheels toward the end. Kristine Kujath Thorp is genuinely compelling, and some scenes land with a queasy, darkly funny punch, but the film’s cruelty and self-satisfied tone can make it feel like a long joke where you’re not sure you’re meant to be laughing. If you want horror-comedy that’s clever but also humane, this likely isn’t your night; if you can handle cringe, body-horror discomfort, and unlikable characters as the whole point, it may hit exactly as intended.