When real-life couples star together, the resulting film can take on a fascinating meta-layer. Although their offscreen bond doesn't necessarily blur into their characters, it inevitably hovers in the background. Mike Nichols' 'Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?' wasn't simply a searing portrait of marital warfare; it was also Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton, cinema's most famous spouses, sparring with a ferocity that audiences couldn't help but connect to their tempestuous private lives.
Likewise, Stanley Kubrick's 'Eyes Wide Shut' wasn't just a puzzle about desire and fidelity. Echoed against the backdrop of Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman's highly publicized marriage, the couple's casting lent an extra layer of voyeuristic intrigue to the film. That extra-textual dimension doesn't alter the story, but it makes the fiction feel charged in ways it otherwise wouldn't.
This is also the case with Michael Shanks' 'Together,' starring the real-life couple Dave Franco and Alison Brie. A body-horror à la Coralie Fargeat's 'The Substance,' the film follows long-time partners Tim and Millie, who have been drifting apart. After relocating to the countryside, they encounter a mysterious force that starts to reshape their lives, forcing them closer than ever. Soon, their romance becomes a macabre affair, as the boundaries between co-dependence and monstrosity irrevocably blur.
Atmospheric, visceral and laced with dark humour, Shanks' film grips from start to finish. Essentially a Cronenbergian romantic comedy, it's bloody good fun, with some thematic weight. Shanks' narrative cleverly uses the language of body-horror to externalize the often-unspoken dynamics undermining relationships. More than an external threat, the disgusting entity that binds Tim and Millie embodies their neediness for, and resentment towards, one another.
Horror has always excelled at making the abstract tangible- whether it be desire as parasite, or intimacy as contagion- and Shanks leans into that tradition with gory relish. In 'Together', the spectacle of skin and sinew isn't there for shock alone, but as a metaphor for how love can devour, how co-dependence can trap partners in a suffocating cycle of intimacy. As proceedings intensify, the couple's bond is forced into a crucible, revealing both the strength and fragility of their connection.
Shanks' strong characterisation emphasises this point, especially when it comes to Tim. He is far from a traditional macho protagonist, being a vulnerable, tentative man marked by trauma. He can't work a compass or start a fire, and relies heavily on Millie in everyday situations. His hesitancy and fragility ground the film, making the couple's descent into grotesquerie more affecting than it otherwise might be.
Millie, too, is drawn with nuance; a smart young teacher who loves Tim and wants the best for him, but whose patience sometimes frays under the weight of his insecurities. Together, they feel less like genre archetypes and more a realistic couple. Their exchanges throughout are natural, laced with a dry wit that feels true to life. At its core, the film is a love story, which works because one believes in Tim and Millie's bond- the tenderness beneath the terror.
Visually, the film is as striking as it is unsettling. Germain McMicking's cinematography cloaks the rural setting in a pall of damp greys and muted greens, evoking both isolation and decay. Further, Nicholas Dare's production design makes the world feel intimate yet suffocating, deeply alive- disquietingly breathing.
In addition, the effects work is impressively tactile, leaning on practical gore and prosthetics rather than CGI, giving things a raw, clammy immediacy. Shanks doesn't flinch from grotesque detail, yet the imagery never tips into gratuity. Just as crucial are the sound design and score: the former wringing dread from creaks, squelches and silences, the latter pulsing uneasily beneath the action without overwhelming it. Further, Sean Lahiff's editing is sharp and economical, ensuring every shock lands with precision.
As Tim and Millie, Dave Franco and Alison Brie's real-life marriage lends their on-screen intimacy a raw authenticity, making Shanks' vision of closeness-turning-hideous even more disturbing. Both deliver powerhouse performances- Franco in particular, showing a vulnerability and range rarely glimpsed in his comedic work. Brie, meanwhile, plays Millie with a sharp mix of exasperation and tenderness, anchoring the film's emotional core. Damon Herriman also does fine work in a supporting role as Millie's work colleague Jamie, whose personable demeanour belies a hidden darkness.
In conclusion, Michael Shanks' 'Together' is bloody great: a grisly reflection of intimacy, co-dependence and the messy realities of love. Dave Franco and Alison Brie work wonderfully together, grounding Shanks' Cronenbergian vision in something startlingly human. With tactile effects, evocative cinematography and a keen ear for dread, the film shows how passion can curdle into possession, with devastating consequences. In short, in the realm of body-horror, 'Together' stands apart.
