May

At first glance, this seems like a modest indie about a painfully shy young woman struggling to connect, but by the time the credits roll, you’ve witnessed one of the most disturbing and oddly heartbreaking character studies the horror genre has ever offered. It’s not your typical slasher or monster movie either.. instead, it’s a slow, awkward descent into loneliness, obsession, and body horror that lingers long after. Angela Bettis plays May Dove Canady with an unsettling mix of fragility and intensity. From the opening scenes, May is portrayed as painfully out of place in the world, an outsider defined by her lazy eye, her mother’s cruelty, and her social awkwardness. She works as a veterinary assistant, fumbles through small talk, and drifts between moments of childlike innocence and bursts of frustration. Bettis’s performance is mesmerizing because she never plays May as a caricature. She’s sympathetic, even relatable, but with an underlying tension that suggests something isn’t quite stable. What makes May such a powerful horror protagonist (and eventual antagonist) is that her pain feels real. She isn’t some supernatural entity or masked killer.. she’s a broken person whose need for love, connection, and acceptance has curdled into something monstrous. Much of the film’s first half is built around May’s relationships, or her attempts at them. She becomes infatuated with Adam, a quirky mechanic and aspiring filmmaker. She’s drawn to his hands, literally. McKee uses this fixation to emphasize how May can’t love people as whole beings; she fixates on parts of them, fragmenting her perception of others. When Adam recoils from May’s intensity (in one particularly unforgettable scene where she acts out a violent gesture she saw in one of his films), her heartbreak is palpable. Later, her attempts at a relationship with Polly, her flirtatious coworker, end in similar rejection. Over and over, May is reminded that she doesn’t fit.. not into romance, not into friendship, not into society. Each rejection pushes her further into isolation, building toward the inevitable collapse. What makes May so unsettling isn’t just the gore or the shocking third act, it’s the way McKee makes loneliness itself the true horror. Watching May struggle to make small connections, only to fail, is deeply uncomfortable because it’s grounded in reality. Most people know what it’s like to feel out of place or unwanted. The difference is that May’s inability to cope leads her down a path of obsession and violence. The pacing reflects this psychological breakdown. The first half of the film is slow, awkward, even quirky, almost like an offbeat indie romance. But the tonal shift is gradual. When things finally spiral into outright horror, it doesn’t feel like a sudden twist but rather the inevitable outcome of everything we’ve been watching. Without spoiling too much detail, May’s loneliness finally reaches a breaking point in the film’s climax, and she takes her obsession with “perfect” parts to a gruesome extreme. The imagery in the final act is unforgettable, both grotesque and deeply tragic. What should be monstrous comes across as heartbreaking, because by that point, you don’t just see May as a killer. You see her as a desperately lonely person who never got what she needed from the world. The last shot is one of the most haunting endings in horror cinema. It’s horrifying, yes, but also strangely tender.. a twisted moment of self made comfort that lands like a punch to the gut. At its core, May is about the need to be seen, to be loved, and the destructive things loneliness can do to a fragile psyche. It blends psychological horror with body horror and doesn’t rely on jump scares or clichés. Instead, it builds dread through character, awkward silences, and small emotional cuts that add up to something devastating. Stylistically, McKee keeps things grounded. The film doesn’t look glossy.. it feels raw and lived in, which works perfectly for the story. The score, too, reflects May’s state of mind, oscillating between sweetly off kilter and unnervingly sharp. May is not an easy film to recommend to everyone. It’s slow, uncomfortable, and disturbing.. not in a fun popcorn horror way, but in a way that sticks with you because it touches on something universal! the fear of being alone and unlovable. For fans of psychological horror and character driven stories, May is essential viewing. It’s both a love letter to outcasts and a warning of how quickly longing can curdle into obsession. By the end, you don’t just pity May.. you fear how much of her you might recognize in yourself.