Body Horror Meets Body Image: The Disturbing Tale of 'Saccharine'
In a world where quick fixes for weight loss are just a click away, the price of perfection can be terrifyingly high. Saccharine, the latest film from writer-director Natalie Erika James, dives headfirst into the dark underbelly of body insecurity, blending real-life horrors with fantastical gore. But here's where it gets controversial: is this film a body-positive manifesto or does it inadvertently perpetuate the very fears it seeks to expose? Let’s unpack this grisly journey.
James, known for her breakout 2020 horror Relic, returns to her Australian roots with Saccharine, a film that feels both personal and timely. Shot in Melbourne on a modest budget, the movie explores the lengths one young woman will go to achieve an unattainable ideal. It’s a cautionary tale that mirrors the rise of extreme dieting trends and the psychological toll they take. But this isn’t just about weight loss—it’s about the haunting consequences of self-destruction.
Midori Francis stars as Hana, a medical student whose obsession with her body spirals into a nightmarish experiment. Despite her pledge to 'do no harm,' Hana’s self-loathing drives her to extreme measures. From binge-eating to signing up for a grueling transformation program led by the enigmatic Alanya (Madeleine Madden), Hana’s journey is as heartbreaking as it is horrifying. And this is the part most people miss: her attraction to Alanya adds a layer of complexity, blurring the lines between desire and desperation.
Things take a sinister turn when Hana discovers 'The Gray,' a weight-loss pill made from human ashes. Yes, you read that right. In a twist that’s equal parts shocking and unsettling, Hana decides to create her own version, cremating flesh from a cadaver she’s studying. The results? Rapid weight loss, but at a cost far greater than she could have imagined. The spirit of the cadaver, a cancer victim nicknamed Big Bertha, returns to haunt Hana, not just in her dreams but in her waking life, manifesting in spoons and other reflective surfaces. It’s a clever visual, but does it go too far?
While the film’s body-positive message is clear, the use of Bertha’s decaying form as a jump-scare device feels at odds with its intentions. Is this a manifestation of Hana’s neuroses, or does it risk reinforcing negative stereotypes? It’s a question worth debating. Similarly, a subplot about Hana’s family history of weight issues is teased with unnecessary ambiguity, leaving viewers with more questions than answers.
What shines, however, is the performances. Francis brings warmth and vulnerability to Hana, making her inexplicable choices feel painfully human. Showko Showfukutei delivers a touching portrayal of Hana’s mother, whose love is expressed through unrequired domestic service—a subtle commentary on familial expectations. The film’s technical aspects are equally impressive, with cinematographer Charlie Sarroff’s grimy lighting and Hannah Peel’s unsettling score creating an atmosphere that’s as suffocating as it is captivating.
But it’s the sound design that truly stands out. Robert Mackenzie amplifies every gasp, groan, and chew, turning everyday sounds into a sensory nightmare. It’s anti-ASMR at its finest, leaving you craving silence long after the credits roll.
Saccharine is a film that doesn’t shy away from controversy. It challenges viewers to confront their own relationship with body image while asking: How far is too far in the pursuit of perfection? Is this a story of empowerment or a reflection of society’s toxic ideals? Let’s hear your thoughts—agree or disagree, this is one conversation that’s just getting started.
