SUNDANCE FILM FESTIVAL — Charlie Sextro took the stage at Park City’s Library Center Theatre only minutes from midnight. He stood before a buzzing crowd, one surely lacking in sleep from a busy week of traveling and screenings. Sextro, a senior film programmer for Sundance, remarked that many of the moviegoers were likely drunk or high. Though recreational marijuana isn’t legal in Utah, he added, “if you happen to be stoned, you picked the right movie.”
The theater historically hosted premieres of selections from Sundance’s Midnights program, a group of films — often horror — designed to “keep you wide-awake and on the edge of your seat,” as the Sundance Institute website reads. Sextro added that these premieres no longer happen late at night in the theater as often anymore. He welcomed the opportunity to screen films such as “Touch Me” late at night in that venue.
“You,” Sextro said to the crowd, “are here to see some crazy, weird shit.”
“Touch Me” marks the second feature film of writer/director Addison Heimann, whose debut, “Hypochondriac,” premiered at the South by Southwest Film Festival in 2022. In an Instagram post from the first day of shooting, Heimann described “Touch Me” as a “bisexual alien sex horror comedy.” I struggle to think of a better descriptor.
“Touch Me” follows Joey, a 20-something woman living through the aftermath of an abusive relationship. In the film’s opening scene, Joey’s therapist asks her to make up a story. Describing her abuse while weaving in false, ridiculous details, her therapist says, will help her overcome the pain of talking about it. The weirder, the better.
So Joey tells a story — one involving a track-suit wearing alien, tentacle sex, a quest to conquer climate change and a relationship turned violent. The camera slowly pushes in as Joey reveals ridiculous detail after ridiculous detail. It never cuts away from actress Olivia Taylor Dudley’s five-minute monologue, an engaging introduction that feels akin to Kate McKinnon’s “Saturday Night Live” appearances as Colleen Rafferty.
But what Joey’s therapist doesn’t know (and what the audience will soon find out) is that this story lacks exaggeration. She only shared the truth. The scene works as a prologue to the film, referencing a movie of its own that we never get to see.
In the wake of her break-up, Joey moves in with her gay best friend, Craig (Jordan Gavaris). Empty takeout boxes and disposable vapes litter their home. The Duolingo ding echoes through the house. The pair coasts on Craig’s familial wealth.
The chemistry between Dudley and Garvis carries this film. The two bounce off of each other well, selling the humor and absurdity of the horror rom-com they’ve been launched into. These actors bring out the best in each other as their characters maybe bring out the worst.
Both performances work, but Garvis in particular steals every scene. The actor carries an infectious comic energy throughout the film, demanding attention in every scene without becoming overbearing. When asked to carry dramatic scenes, both he and Dudley prove up to the task.
When a sewage backup forces Joey and Craig to leave their home, they set out to crash with Brian — Joey’s alien ex, played by Lou Taylor Pucci. Brian welcomes them both into his home, a modernist compound filled with otherworldly trees, dino nuggets and Japanese decor. Pucci drives much of the film’s humor in an engaging performance, portraying Brian as an entertaining depiction of an otherworldly creature attempting to approximate humanity.
From here, “Touch Me” begins its descent into gross-out horror madness. Heimann directs the film with a strong visual eye; he, cinematographer Dustin Supencheck and their crew inject Brian’s world with vivid, otherworldly colors and dramatic shadows. Even tentacle-filled sequences of “cross-species intercourse,” as Brian repeatedly calls it, are shot with a strange sense of reverence. Editor Jess Weber heightens the maximalist nature of the film, helping drive the film through some of its weaker moments.
As Joey and Craig settle into their life at Brian’s home, both characters quickly fall under the alien’s thrall. They become addicted to his touch, granting them a heroin-like high and unburdening them from constant anxiety and lingering trauma. Brian forms a wedge between the pair, one that forces them to verbalize their shared dissatisfaction with each other — an element of their relationship that, to this point, remained unsaid.
It makes sense that this relationship feels like the film’s most fully developed element. Heimann related the film to a “friendship breakup” he experienced in real life, citing it as a massive inspiration for the movie. Heimann may have never fought aliens, but he still considers it to be based on true experiences.
While this relationship drama elevates “Touch Me,” the more plot-oriented scenes fell flat in comparison to its high-paced comedy. The visual effects look great, but “Touch Me” rarely feels truly scary. We’re told the stakes are world-threatening, but the grander narrative elements simply feel tedious.
Yet “Touch Me” falls into the same camp as many midnight movies — one where audiences hold to a social contract of enjoying the good and forgiving the bad. Every punchline and gross-out moment received raucous reactions from the audience. The crowd screamed, laughed and shouted “Ew!” in unison throughout the film, creating a wall of sound that rarely let up.
Like many films in the horror genre, “Touch Me” will live and die by a crowd. Despite some narrative flaws and tonal inconsistency, Heimann has created a film brimming with humor, personality and compelling visuals. I found myself genuinely impressed by his direction in what could otherwise be a forgettably silly creature feature. This is the kind of film that demands to be seen late at night with a vocal audience ready to see something gross.
Sextro said the crowd was ready to see some crazy shit; on this front, Heimann certainly delivered.