There are certain kinds of films that announce themselves immediately; ones that dare you to either get on its wavelength or be completely repelled by it. Touch Me, the latest feature from writer and director Addison Heimann (Hypochondriac), is very much one of those movies. It’s provocative, hilarious, and at times outright grotesque, a psychosexual horror comedy that weaponizes its own absurdity in service of something far more grounded and recognizable. Beneath the tentacles, bloodshed, and bursts of sensory overload lies a story about loneliness, addiction, and the complicated, often destructive relationships we cling to in order to feel anything at all.
From its opening moments, the film wastes no time establishing its tone. A bold, extended monologue from our main character, Joey (Olivia Taylor Dudley) sets the stage, plunging us into her chaotic psyche with a story about a past relationship with a sexy alien named Brian (Lou Taylor Pucci). Front-loading the film with something so strange and specific like this is a risky move, but it works here as both a mission statement and a roadmap for everything that follows. Joey is instantly compelling: funny, self-destructive, and disarmingly confident in her own dysfunction. Dudley (She Dies Tomorrow, The Magicians) gives a fearless performance that anchors the film even as it spirals into increasingly surreal territory.
At the center of Touch Me is the relationship between Joey and her best friend Craig (Jordan Gavaris), a codependent duo who oscillate between genuine affection and quiet resentment. They’re the kind of friends who know each other too well, who enable each other’s worst habits while convincing themselves it’s a form of support. Heimann smartly frames their dynamic as the emotional backbone of the film, even as the narrative introduces its most outrageous element: the return of Brian, Joey’s extraterrestrial ex, whose touch induces a euphoric, almost drug-like high.
Brian is less a traditional antagonist and more a living embodiment of toxic desire. Pucci plays him with an eerie mix of handsome charm and genuinely alien detachment, making it entirely believable that both Joey and Craig would fall under his influence. What begins as a strange reunion quickly escalates into something far more dangerous, as Brian invites the pair to his sprawling, surreal compound in the California hills. It’s a place that feels part therapy retreat, part cult, and part waking nightmare, and the only other resident is a strange woman named Laura (Marlene Forte) who doesn’t seem too keen on sharing Brian with anyone. It’s here that the film truly leans into its genre-blending ambitions, shifting from awkward comedy into something far darker and more unhinged.
Heimann’s direction is nothing if not confident. The film is packed with stylistic flourishes like saturated neon hues, sudden bursts in the score by Jimmy LaValle, and practical effects that emphasize texture and tactility over polish. There’s a clear love for experimental and international cinema baked into the DNA of the film, with specific nods to Japanese genre filmmaking and theatrical staging techniques that make certain sequences feel like they’re unfolding on a surreal stage rather than in a grounded reality. It’s a bold approach that won’t work for everyone, but it gives Touch Me a distinct identity that sets it apart.
That said, the film’s biggest strength - its commitment to escalating weirdness - can also be its biggest weakness. For all the time we spend with Joey and Craig, their emotional arc occasionally feels undercooked, particularly in the lead-up to the film’s more dramatic turns. A bit more time spent establishing their codependent bond before they arrive at Brian’s paradise might have given their inevitable fallout more weight. As it stands, the film sometimes feels more invested in its ideas and imagery than in fully earning its emotional payoffs, as solid as their foundations are.
Still, what keeps Touch Me engaging throughout is its willingness to go there. The film is unapologetically sexual, embracing its imagery and themes without irony or hesitation. It’s not shock for shock’s sake, either. Every grotesque or outrageous moment ties back to the film’s central ideas about pleasure, escapism, and the danger of losing yourself in something that feels too good to question. There’s also a darkly comedic edge running through it all, with Gavaris in particular delivering some of the film’s best lines, grounding the absurdity with a sharp, self-aware humor that really shows where Heimann’s writing strengths lie.
By the time Touch Me reaches its final act, the film leans hard into its horror elements with some impressively gnarly practical effects. It’s a tonal tightrope that Heimann mostly manages to walk, even if the landing isn’t quite as impactful as it could have been. Still, the film sticks the kind of ending that feels true to its characters, punctuated with a final note that’s as funny as it is bleak.
Touch Me is not a movie designed for mass appeal, and it’s all the better for it. It’s a strange, singular work from a filmmaker clearly uninterested in playing things safe, one that embraces its identity as something made for a very specific audience. For those willing to meet it on its level and get wrapped up in its alien tentacle embrace, it’s an experience that’s equal parts uncomfortable, hilarious, and oddly poignant; a reminder that sometimes the messiest, most unhinged stories can also be the most honest.
'Touch Me' is now playing in select theaters and will be coming to digital on April 2nd.
