Men ★★★★☆

Let me start with this: Alex Garland’s Men is either a brilliantly surreal takedown of toxic masculinity or a fever dream about British folk horror that got wildly out of hand. Frankly, it might be both. But here’s the rub—it will definitely leave you with a bewildered sense that maybe you’ve just watched a guy scream “#NotAllMen” at you, while simultaneously birthing himself on repeat. You’ll need a stiff drink after this one, but in the best possible way.

Harper (played by the ever-intense Jessie Buckley) retreats to the idyllic English countryside after the tragic death of her husband (Paapa Essiedu), hoping to find solace and healing. Spoiler alert: peace is not in the cards. Instead, she’s greeted by a cast of increasingly unnerving men—all played by the magnificently unsettling Rory Kinnear—each one more bizarre than the last. What starts as an eerie folk horror slowly spirals into a deeply unsettling commentary on grief, guilt, and, oh yes, the many grotesque forms of toxic masculinity.

This is no straightforward horror. Garland uses the genre to craft an allegory, blending the personal with the political. On one level, Men examines Harper’s grief, manifesting as a nightmarish procession of men who seem to blame her for everything, including her own trauma. On another level, it’s a stark critique of male entitlement and the cyclical nature of gendered power dynamics. The rural setting, with its pagan symbols and lush greenery, amplifies this allegory, suggesting that the roots of this toxic masculinity are as old as the Earth itself.

Visually, Garland flexes his artistic muscles here. The English countryside, rendered in stunning detail by cinematographer Rob Hardy, feels both tranquil and menacing, as though the landscape itself is alive and hostile. Long, lingering shots of forests and tunnels create a sense of isolation that contrasts sharply with the surreal horror that follows. By the film’s final, Cronenbergian nightmare of rebirth (trust me, you’ll remember that scene), Garland has fully committed to an aesthetic that is as viscerally shocking as it is darkly beautiful.

Jessie Buckley is, predictably, phenomenal. She embodies Harper with a mix of fragility and steely resolve that makes her journey from sorrow to terror utterly compelling. But the real standout is Rory Kinnear, who plays virtually every man in the film. His performances—ranging from a sad-sack priest to a naked, feral stalker—are as diverse as they are unnerving. The effect is both terrifying and weirdly humorous, as each iteration of Kinnear’s characters feels like a different manifestation of patriarchal menace, all blending into one disturbing whole.

If there’s one place where Men might lose some people, it’s the pacing. The first half masterfully builds tension, drawing you into Harper’s unraveling psyche. But as the film moves into its bizarre third act, with its prolonged and grotesque climax, you might find yourself checking the time. That said, the pacing serves the film’s themes—this is a descent into madness, after all, and it’s not meant to be comfortable.

For anyone who’s ever found themselves outnumbered or overrun by the expectations of others, Men can feel unsettlingly familiar. While Harper’s ordeal is taken to grotesque extremes, it reflects a broader societal pattern where women are gaslighted, blamed, and silenced. Garland pushes these experiences to the edge, making Harper’s emotional and psychological struggle both cathartic and horrifying.

Men is not for everyone—this is a cerebral horror film that asks as many questions as it answers. If you’re looking for traditional jump scares, move along. But if you appreciate allegorical horror and don’t mind diving deep into metaphor (and a bit of body horror), this might just be your next favorite movie. It’s beautiful, disturbing, and yes, a bit pretentious—but in a way that’s worth the journey.

For the love of cinema, I give it four stars. If only because it’s rare that a film makes you feel this uncomfortable while keeping you glued to the screen.