Piercing (2019)

Piercing is the kind of midnight thriller that feels like it’s been sharpened to a point: neon-slick, nervy, and wickedly funny in the way only a film confident in its bad intentions can be. Nicolas Pesce stages the night like a twisted dance between control and chaos, and Christopher Abbott and Mia Wasikowska are terrific partners—he all tightly wound calculation, she all unnerving spontaneity—making every exchange crackle with danger and dark wit. The vibe is part giallo fever dream, part psychological cage match, with bold visuals and abrupt left turns that keep you deliciously off-balance without relying on cheap surprises. It’s not for the squeamish or anyone allergic to sexual violence-adjacent tension and body-horror touches, but if you want a stylish, unpredictable thriller that commits to its own warped rhythm, Piercing is hard to shake.

Piercing wants to be a slick, neon-lit psychosexual cat-and-mouse game where a “perfect murder” plan collapses into something stranger and more chaotic, and you can feel Nicolas Pesce aiming for audacious, art-horror tension. The problem is that the film often mistakes provocation for depth: the characters can feel like stylish sketches, the dialogue leans performative, and the psychological turns don’t always land with the emotional weight the setup promises. If you need coherent motivations, a satisfying payoff, or horror that builds dread rather than vibe, this may leave you cold—especially given the heavy mix of sex, BDSM imagery, self-harm, and gore. Still, Christopher Abbott and Mia Wasikowska commit hard, and the movie’s sound/design and visual confidence might hit the spot if you’re in the mood for an abrasive, mood-first thriller that’s more about sensation than meaning.