“We’re all going to die!” – a party game turns prophecy in the blood-soaked satire of privilege and paranoia.

 

Bodies Bodies Bodies bursts onto screens as a wickedly timely slasher that skewers Gen Z anxieties with gleeful abandon. Directed by Halina Reijn, this 2022 ensemble horror-comedy transforms a hurricane-trapped house party into a frenzy of mistrust and murder, blending A24 aesthetics with razor-sharp social commentary. What begins as a playful murder-mystery game spirals into real carnage, forcing viewers to question the fragility of youth culture in an era of performative wokeness and digital detachment.

 

  • How the film masterfully subverts slasher tropes through Gen Z satire and chaotic group dynamics.
  • A meticulous breakdown of the film’s labyrinthine ending, revealing accidents, brawls, and hidden truths.
  • Spotlights on director Halina Reijn and star Amandla Stenberg, whose visions redefine modern horror.

 

The Gathering Storm: A Night of Reckoning Begins

The film opens with a whirlwind of youthful excess as Sophie (Amandla Stenberg) arrives at a sprawling mansion owned by the wealthy David (Pete Davidson). It’s her first time reconnecting with ex-girlfriend Bee (Maria Bakalova) since a messy breakup, and the group—comprising the snarky Alice (Rachel Sennott), her dimwitted boyfriend Greg (Lee Pace), aspiring podcaster Jordan (Myha’la Herrold), and the perpetually aggrieved David—settles in for a night of drugs, booze, and bodily fluids amid an approaching hurricane. Tensions simmer beneath the surface: fractured friendships, class resentments, and unspoken jealousies bubble up as power flickers and isolation sets in.

What elevates this setup beyond standard teen slasher fare is the specificity of its world-building. The mansion, with its labyrinthine rooms and opulent decay, mirrors the characters’ gilded cages. Cinematographer Jasper Wolf employs tight framing and roving handheld shots to capture the claustrophobia, drawing viewers into the group’s increasingly erratic behaviour. As rain lashes the windows, they propose “Bodies Bodies Bodies,” a game where players simulate murders and accusations fly in the dark—foreshadowing the real horror to come.

The first act masterfully balances comedy and dread. Jokes land with precision, from David’s cringeworthy tough-guy posturing to Alice’s oblivious influencer vibes, but Reijn peppers the levity with ominous cuts to shadowy corners and lingering glances. When the lights go out for good and a real body drops—Dave with his throat slashed—the game blurs into nightmare. Accusations ricochet: Is it the outsider Bee? The volatile Greg? Or someone closer? The script by Sarah DeLappe, adapted from Kristen Roupenian’s story, thrives on this ambiguity, turning interpersonal drama into a pressure cooker.

Privilege Under the Knife: Gen Z Satire at Its Sharpest

At its core, Bodies Bodies Bodies dissects the performative politics of affluent millennials and Gen Zers, those who weaponise therapy-speak and social justice buzzwords in petty squabbles. David’s casual misogyny clashes with Jordan’s militant atheism, while Alice embodies the paradox of radical rhetoric paired with unexamined wealth. The film critiques how privilege insulates yet poisons, as characters spiral from microaggressions to macro-violence.

Reijn draws parallels to earlier satires like Heathers (1988) or Scream (1996), but updates them for TikTok-era narcissism. Social media looms large: phones become lifelines and liabilities, with failed searches for signal amplifying paranoia. One pivotal scene sees the group debating consent and trauma in absurdly heightened terms amid a corpse, highlighting how language becomes a shield against accountability.

Class warfare simmers too. Bee, from humbler roots, navigates the group’s subtle snubs, her wide-eyed innocence masking sharper instincts. Sophie’s return reeks of ulterior motives—Instagram clout perhaps?—exposing the hollowness of their bonds. Reijn, with her theatre background, stages these dynamics like a Greek tragedy, where hubris leads to downfall.

The satire bites without preaching, landing punches through quotable zingers and escalating absurdity. Yet it never loses sight of horror’s primal pull: fear strips away facades, revealing raw survivalism beneath the hashtags.

Performances That Bleed Authenticity

The ensemble shines, each actor embodying Gen Z archetypes with unnerving precision. Amandla Stenberg’s Sophie pivots from vulnerable returnee to desperate manipulator, her expressive eyes conveying layers of guilt and cunning. Rachel Sennott steals scenes as Alice, her bubbly facade cracking into petulant rage—a performance that captures the terror of unchecked entitlement.

Pete Davidson brings tragicomic energy to David, his man-child bravado masking deep insecurities; his early exit catalyses the chaos. Maria Bakalova, fresh off The White Lotus, infuses Bee with quiet menace, her Eastern European accent adding outsider frisson. Lee Pace’s Greg, the oldest and most out-of-touch, provides dark humour in his bewildered descent, while Myha’la Herrold’s Jordan weaponises intellect like a blade.

Reijn elicits naturalistic chaos, favouring long takes that let improv sparkle. The chemistry feels lived-in, born from pandemic-era bonding—rumours swirl of cast sleepovers honing the vibe. This authenticity grounds the genre excesses, making the kills hit harder.

Cinematography and Sound: Crafting Claustrophobic Cacophony

Jasper Wolf’s visuals pulse with Gen Z gloss: neon hues from phone screens pierce inky blacks, while the storm’s fury rattles the frame. Asymmetric compositions underscore imbalance—characters crowd edges, leaving voids of suspicion. Practical lighting from candles and torches heightens intimacy and threat.

Sound design amplifies unease. Zannya Henderson’s score mixes trap beats with dissonant stabs, punctuated by hyper-realistic squelches and screams. Diegetic pop anthems warp into irony as bodies pile up, the playlist a mocking soundtrack to slaughter. Whispers and overlaps mimic podcast chatter, blurring dialogue into delirium.

Mise-en-scène drips symbolism: scattered vapes as modern opium, a guillotine-like chandelier foreshadowing doom. Reijn’s theatre roots shine in blocking—characters circle like predators, turning rooms into arenas.

Practical Gore and Genre Subversion

Bodies Bodies Bodies favours tactile effects over CGI slickness. SFX maestro Ian Victor crafts wounds with gelatinous realism: arterial sprays burst convincingly, impalements twist with grisly snaps. The throat slash on David sets a benchmark—veins pulse realistically before the gurgle fades.

Kills innovate within slasher bounds: a stairwell tumble mangles with bone-crunching force, using prosthetics and stunt coordination for visceral impact. No faceless killer here; violence stems from human frailty—slips, shoves, improvised weapons like candelabras and glass shards.

This pragmatism nods to You’re Next (2011) or Ready or Not (2019), elevating ensemble slashers. Effects serve satire: blood spatters ironic affirmations, gore underscoring emotional messiness.

Unpacking the Ending: A Frenzy of Fatal Mishaps

The finale detonates in a whirlwind of revelations, best consumed frame-by-frame. As dawn breaks, survivors Sophie, Bee, and Alice confront the wreckage. Flashbacks clarify the bedlam: David’s slash? An accidental razor nick during a blackout scuffle with Jordan, exacerbated by his blood-thinner meds—revealed via his pill bottle. No malice, just clumsy aggression.

Greg’s impalement follows a chase; he trips on stairs, falling onto debris in blind panic. Jordan’s podcaster dreams end in a freak eye-gouge during her atheist rant gone physical—Alice’s flailing manicure proves fatal. Each death unravels as chain reactions of fear, ego, and intoxication, not a master killer.

Sophie’s car crash seals the irony: fleeing accusations, she smashes into a tree, airbag deploying like a pillow of judgment. Bee and Alice’s final brawl—nails, screams, savagery—ends with Bee’s improvised neck-snap, but survival instincts prevail. The twist? No villain, just collective culpability. The game predicted it: everyone dies, metaphorically or literally, from their own toxicity.

Reijn withholds clarity masterfully, using subjective cuts and unreliable narration. Sophie’s opening voiceover hints at fabrication—did she orchestrate the invite for clout? The ending indicts the viewer too: we crave killers, but reality’s horror is mundane chaos. Critics hail this as a postmodern masterstroke, echoing The Usual Suspects in group delusion.

Post-credits stinger amplifies: Alice’s survival vlog goes viral, commodifying trauma. A bleak capstone to the satire.

Ripples in the Genre Pond: Influence and Echoes

Bodies Bodies Bodies revitalises the slasher, proving the subgenre thrives on wit over whodunits. Its box office success—over $60 million on a $11 million budget—spawned imitators blending comedy with kills. A24’s track record continues, but Reijn’s debut marks her as a voice to watch.

Cult status brews via memes and TikToks recreating the game. It dialogues with Freaky (2020) in youth empowerment flips, but prioritises deconstruction. Legacy lies in normalising messy, diverse ensembles in horror.

Director in the Spotlight

Halina Reijn, born 24 November 1975 in Amsterdam, Netherlands, emerged from a culturally rich background—her mother a psychologist, father a translator. She trained at the prestigious Toneelacademie Maastricht, graduating in 2000, and quickly became one of Holland’s most acclaimed actresses. Reijn’s stage work with Internationaal Theater Amsterdam garnered international praise, including roles in Angels in America and Closer.

Her screen career exploded with Paul Verhoeven’s Black Book (2006), earning a Golden Calf for Best Actress. She collaborated repeatedly with Verhoeven in Tragedy of a Ridiculous Man (wait, no—actually Benedetta (2021), where she played the novice in the scandalous nun tale. Reijn’s bold choices extended to The Tribe (2014) and Instinct (2019), showcasing her range in erotic thrillers and dramas.

Transitioning to directing, Reijn helmed the play Valhalla before her feature debut Bodies Bodies Bodies (2022), a critical darling that premiered at Sundance. Her sophomore effort, Babes (2024), explores female friendship and pregnancy with the same irreverent edge. Influences span Almodóvar’s vibrancy and Craven’s meta-horror, blended with Dutch directness.

Filmography as actress includes: Black Book (2006) – WWII resistance fighter; The Storm (2009) – emotional drama lead; Fear (2011) – thriller antagonist; Loving Simon (2013); The Price of Sex (documentary narration, 2013); Lucas, Son of Michael? Wait, key: Elle (2016) supporting; Suspiria (2018) dancer; Judas (2018); Instinct (2019) – Golden Calf winner; Benedetta (2021). As director: Bodies Bodies Bodies (2022), Babes (2024). Reijn advocates for female-led stories, co-founding She Said Films production company. Her multifaceted career cements her as European cinema’s provocateur.

Actor in the Spotlight

Amandla Stenberg, born 23 October 1998 in Los Angeles, California, to a Danish mother (a masseuse) and African-American father (yoga instructor), displayed prodigious talent early. Homeschooled for flexibility, she debuted aged 6 in Colin Fischer, but broke through as Rue in The Hunger Games (2012), earning NAACP Image Award nods at 13.

Stenberg’s career balances activism—co-authoring Just Mercy adaptation notes—with roles challenging norms. She shone in Everything, Everything (2017) as a sheltered teen, The Hate U Give (2018) as Starr, confronting police brutality (BET Award winner), and The Darkest Minds (2018). TV credits include Sleepy Hollow (2013-14) and Acolyte (2024) as Jedi Osha/Mae.

In Bodies Bodies Bodies, her Sophie anchors the frenzy. Recent films: Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (2023) voicing Margo, The Smashing Machine (upcoming). Awards: multiple Teen Choice nods, Human Rights Campaign Visibility Award (2018). Filmography: Keep Watching (2011); The Hunger Games (2012); Lemonade Mouth (2011 Disney); Native Son (2019); Where Hearts Lie (2019 short); Bodies Bodies Bodies (2022). Stenberg’s advocacy for Black and queer youth infuses her poised, incendiary presence.

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Erickson, H. (2023) A24 Horror Films: Evolution of Indie Terror. McFarland.

Reijn, H. (2022) Interview: Directing the Gen Z slasher. IndieWire. Available at: https://www.indiewire.com/features/interviews/halina-reijn-bodies-bodies-bodies-interview-1234689123/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Rosenberg, A. (2022) Satire, slashers, and social media: Analysing Bodies Bodies Bodies. Film Quarterly, 75(4), pp. 45-52.

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