A Reflection You Can’t Escape

Read Time:6 Minute, 9 Second

MOVIE REVIEW
Thinestra
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Genre: Horror, Body Horror, Psychological
Year Released: 2025
Runtime: 1h 30m
Director(s): Nathan Hertz
Writer(s): Avra Fox-Lerner
Cast: Michelle Macedo, Melissa Macedo, Mary Beth Barone, Brian Huskey, Annie Ilonzeh, Gavin Stenhouse, Shannon Dang, Norma Maldonado
Where to Watch: shown at the 25th annual Screamfest

RAVING REVIEW: Some horror emerges from the shadows, while others are born in plain sight—shimmering under fluorescent lights, smiling through self-help slogans, and whispering promises of self-improvement. THINESTRA lives in that unsettling space between vanity and survival, turning a mirror toward modern body culture and daring the audience to look closer, even when it hurts to do so.

Directed by Nathan Hertz, the film follows Penny, portrayed by Michelle Macedo (although there’s more to this role, as I’ll somewhat explain later, I try not to dive into spoiler territory, but proceed with caution), a woman trapped between the constant noise of expectation and her own internalized shame. When a new miracle drug promises effortless transformation, she takes the plunge—only to find something monstrous as a consequence. It’s an idea both deeply repulsive and painfully relevant, blurring the line between body horror and psychological disintegration.

At first glance, the premise invites inevitable comparisons to THE SUBSTANCE—a comparison that director Hertz himself acknowledged when we spoke. He shared that THINESTRA was already in post-production when THE SUBSTANCE premiered, and the parallels were as surprising to him as to anyone else. Yet his perspective was clear: The Substance deals with the unattainable ideals of celebrity, youth, and fame; Thinestra, by contrast, focuses on the quiet desperation of ordinary people. It’s about what happens when the fantasy of self-reinvention collides with a culture obsessed with shortcuts, and what that obsession does to the soul.

That distinction makes THINESTRA more intimate and grounded. It’s not the sleek, neon-lit exploration of beauty at its extremes—it’s the claustrophobic, emotional unraveling of someone who could be your coworker, friend, or a reflection in the mirror. Hertz approaches this with empathy, not judgment. There’s a certain vulnerability in how Penny’s story unfolds; the film doesn’t mock her choices but instead forces us to sit with the discomfort of understanding them.

Michelle and Melissa Macedo deliver an impressive dual performance, embodying two sides of the same woman—one consumed by shame, the other drunk on newfound confidence and chaos. Their chemistry keeps the story grounded in humanity, even as the body horror spirals into madness. Michelle’s Penny is fragile and self-loathing, while Melissa’s Penelope radiates danger, embodying the appeal of control. It’s a dynamic that feels tragic rather than cartoonish, a battle of wills rather than a good-versus-evil dichotomy.

Hertz’s storytelling carries echoes of Cronenberg and early Verhoeven, but filtered through a modern lens. The imagery is raw, wet, and repulsive, yet always purposeful. The practical effects sell the horror—the leaking fat, the glistening skin, the rebirth—but what lingers isn’t the gore. It’s the metaphor: the body refusing to be discarded, the psyche fighting to reclaim itself. Even in its most explicit moments, THINESTRA never feels exploitative. It feels honest, and that’s what makes it sting.

There’s a dark humor running beneath the surface, too, the kind that creeps in when horror gets too close to reality. Hertz seems keenly aware of the absurdity of modern “wellness” culture—the idea that a person can buy salvation with one pill. The film’s title, “Thinestra,” might sound like a pharmaceutical brand you’ve seen in a late-night ad, and that’s entirely the point. It weaponizes the language of consumerism to show just how dangerous self-optimization can become.

The supporting cast enhances the world around Penny, especially Brian Huskey as her passive-aggressive boss and Shannon Dang as her coworker, each representing the external pressures that quietly feed her insecurities. Even so, the real tension lies within Penny’s mind—between who she is and who she thinks she should be. Hertz captures the subtle distortions of space and rhythm, turning mundane moments—such as a conversation in a studio or a glance in a mirror—into something nightmarish.

What separates THINESTRA from other entries in modern body horror is its emotional sincerity. Hertz doesn’t hide behind metaphor; he leans into it. There’s an understanding of body dysmorphia, the quiet cruelty of comparison, and the way self-image becomes a warzone under capitalism’s glow. While THE SUBSTANCE externalizes those fears through glamor and spectacle, THINESTRA digs into the ordinary—the loneliness, the scrolling, the desperate hope that one change might finally make everything okay. There’s a different kind of power here—a smaller, sadder, and perhaps more relatable one. Hertz doesn’t just craft horror; he crafts empathy through discomfort. He makes you feel the weight of the expectations that crush Penny long before her transformation begins.

THINESTRA doesn’t just show the price of obsession; it shows how even victory can eat at you when it’s born from self-hate. There’s tragedy in Penny’s unraveling, but also a strange catharsis. Avra Fox-Lerner’s script doesn’t end in triumph or punishment—it ends with something closer to recognition. The monster isn’t the body. It’s the mirror we’ve built to obsess over it. Hertz has crafted something haunting, timely, and deeply human. The comparisons may continue, but his film doesn’t need to compete—it stands on its own flesh and bone.

THINESTRA bleeds sincerity, grotesque beauty, and precision. It’s a film that will make you squirm and think in equal measure—a body horror for the age of self-surveillance, where the fear isn’t just transformation, but the desperate wish for it.

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[photo courtesy of DOGPLAYER, HITMAKERS MEDIA, MARY ELLEN MOFFAT, STAY LUCKY STUDIOS]

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