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Independent horror is driven by and thrives on the vision of individual creators. Studio projects have built-in protection; indies are pure passion projects from start to finish. That’s why a filmmaker like Alice Maio Mackay stands out from the crowd. “A transgender film” flashes in neon pink, welcoming us into her latest sumptuously inclusive entry in her collection of transphobic horror titles. You know what you’re getting from square one in The Serpent’s Skin, with brazen confidence and uncompromising courage.
Alexandra McVicker stars as Anna, a transgender girl who flees from hometown bigotry in search of acceptance and an archeology degree. She crashes with big sister Dakota (Charlotte Chimes) at her apartment, in a grungy yet inviting cityish area. It’s not long before she catches the eye of the building’s bad boy, Danny (Jordan Dulieu), an inked-up musician—but also Gen (Avalon Fast), a flirtatious tattoo artist. Anna’s in a period of transition, discovering a version of herself that hasn’t yet existed. It’s all an exciting blur, including her newfound supernatural powers.
Mackay treats The Serpent’s Skin as a witchcraft tale; Gen teaches Anna how to harness powers such as telekinesis and the violent, head-bursting act of “Popping.” Dialogue parallels the tragedies suffered by women during Salem’s witch trials, equating transgender youths to such an “other.” Mackay and frequent co-writer Benjamin Pahl Robinson speak to the ostracization of transgender individuals, especially by the American government. Danny’s “Fuck Trump” tat speaks volumes to the film’s stance against anti-trans agendas, bolstering Anna’s warmer conveyance of achieving happiness while being labeled “weird” or worse by society’s cretins.
It’s Mackay’s tenderest and possibly most crystallized vision of “Transploitation” yet. T-Blockers and Carnage for Christmas are bloodier, sloppier, and more chaotic, whereas The Serpent’s Skin speaks to friendship, self-assurance, and romantic safety. It’s largely McVicker and Fast’s show, with McVicker soulfully taking the lead as a soft-spoken, fragile trans person shedding their skin [insert DiCaprio pointing at the television meme]. Supporting players fall into place around McVicker as she wrestles with the weight of Anna’s emergence, healing the cut marks on her arms with compassion from those who embrace whatever self she chooses to be.
Genre elements exist, but aren’t flashy or overstated. The Serpent’s Skin is a stylish film, filled with bisexual lighting and shot through a hazy, almost foggy lens that carries a daydream-like quality—but emotional frequencies are prioritized. Anna uses her flame-on fingertips to burn hateful propaganda and punishes cruel people with her mind beams, yet there’s a downplayed approach to fantastical events. Snake imagery haunts Anna, especially as ouroboros designs slither off flesh; it’s just maybe too hushed about the freakiness of it all, or perhaps pedestrian is the word.
As is Mackay’s signature, The Serpent’s Skin is impressively yet meagerly low-budget. That means special effects are a mix of crafty practical applications and not-as-sharp digital visuals. You have to take SFX at face value, given the production’s limitations, which can be a challenge when execution is at its lowest point. But Mackay strives to offset these blemishes with sultry, well-shot love scenes and emphasizes the charisma between Anna and Gen. She rolls the dice on style over substance, and dodges snake eyes.
The Serpent’s Skin presents an evolving filmmaker, a talent that continues to bud, lest we forget Mackay made her feature as a teenager. The 16-year-old behind So Vam has grown, boasting tighter composition, more grounded performances from her cast, and a keener eye for cinematic beauty. There’s still a rough-around-the-edges feel to scenes that’ll require fewer and fewer Band-Aids as she continues to create, which is exciting to watch develop in real time. But that seems less important with a film like The Serpent’s Skin, which depicts valuable trans representation on screen that trans horror fans deserve. Hence the power of Mackay’s voice, and why prominent trans filmmakers like Vera Drew (this film’s editor) and Jane Schoenbrun are knocking on her door, ready to show the world what she’s made of.
Movie Score: 3/5
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