Having released six features since 2021, Alice Maio Mackay is quickly becoming one of the premier auteurs of cult shockers, changing the landscape of horror cinema. Mackay’s punk rock filmmaking style knows no bounds. Throughout these last few years, she has created a universe of monsters, exploring the subgenre stylings of horror, playing with monsterdom, and wielding them in such a way as to set herself apart from many of the indie films that occupy the same space. This is largely attributed to the themes in Mackay’s films, which often show the struggles of Queer-identifying people and the unaccepting culture that appears as the villains. In Bad Girl Boogey, it was a single slasher. In T Blockers, alien possession supplied massive intolerance. And, in Satranic Panic, everyday folks became demons for Mackay’s heroes to fight. But The Serpent’s Skin is different, a noir dealing with the hatred embedded within.

It’s no secret that the LGBTQIA2S+ community is facing unbridled discrimination throughout the world, made worse by governments looking to scapegoat the group as a common enemy for shitty people who simply have hate in their hearts. Hell, it’s been fuel for Mackay’s work over the last five years. But somewhere, deep down, all that name-calling and bearing witness to the devolved violent acts must sit with members of the community. I’m not a member of the community, but I find much of what they’ve endured difficult to get past. As the film starts, Anna (Alexandra McVicker) sits at the edge of her bed listening to the muffled yells of her screaming parents who are trying to understand their daughter’s dysphoria. To alleviate the burden of her disappointed parents, she begins to dig a razor blade into her upper thigh.

In the next scene, Anna has fled her home and the insular, small town of small-minded people, opting for different scenery and a more accepting populace. Moving in with her friend Dakota (Charlotte Chimes) at an apartment building, Dakota’s excited to have someone to split the increasing rent with, though Anna seems reserved, dulcet, and shy. Dakota introduces Anna to the building’s only young bachelor, Danny (Jordan Dulieu), and the two quickly make an impression on each other. However, a night of passion awakens something in a woman located miles from their location, who awakens in the throes of ecstasy, proclaiming that whoever did that “better be f*cking real.”

Honeycomb director Avalon Fast jumps in front of the camera in The Serpent’s Skin. While I thought Fast’s talented directorial prowess was impressive, her acting skills are magnificent, too. Maybe it’s the oversized coats or something about the enchanting way she smokes in front of Anna’s workplace, but Fast has moments where she looks and delivers lines like a Heathers’ era Winona Ryder. Her character, Gen, is a tattoo artist with some Scanners-like abilities who discovers Anna shares similar skills. During a robbery, Anna’s reactive response triggers a sensation like a homing beacon, allowing Gen to find Anna. From then on, it’s a whirlwind romance for the couple, whose intimacy becomes magical, as if supernatural on a cellular level.

The problem arises in The Serpent’s Skin when Danny goes to get a tattoo of an ouroboros, a snake eating its own tail. The specific design comes to Gen in a dream, but it begins to have a strange effect on Danny. Also, many people surrounding Gen and Anna begin to get seriously hurt. The couple knows something isn’t right, and it may have been a dark effect from using their secret gifts that has taken over Danny and is wreaking havoc with their community.

The Serpent’s Skin is the second film I’ve watched this week from Fantasia, Mickey Reece’s Every Heavy Thing being the other, where being a Trans person is likened to a state of higher being. Honestly, I’m inclined to concur. Any group of individuals that attains empathy, such as this community, is operating with a higher state of consciousness. Like Pearl Jam says, “It’s evolution, baby.” The whole idea of that sounds a lot like X-Men comics, which was born as an allegory for civil rights oppression, though the metaphor very much applies to the persecution of Queer groups, too. Mackay creates characters with extrasensory traits blooming out of female intuition. The film has a naturalized witchcraft feel, one that uses the flesh as a cauldron to craft its spells. As if charged through the body’s natural paranoia of wanting to be the way others see us and abandon the toxicity.

That isn’t the only thing The Serpent’s Skin has in common with Every Heavy Thing. The films also share a crew member. Vera Drew, playing Alex in Every Heavy Thing, reteams with Mackay as the film’s editor, having previously cut last year’s Carnage for Christmas. Drew’s editing continues to be on point, and it’s become a welcome change from some in Mackay’s early filmography.

Here’s the skinny on the movie: This is the best film Mackay has done yet. I’ve seen all of Mackay’s features, and I’m even an associate producer on Bad Girl Boogey. I love how Mackay thinks and the stories she’s telling. She’s bold and often brilliant in her execution of ideas. However, I’ve had trouble with her prior films’ tendencies to gloss over the connective tissue that exists between scenes. It sometimes feels like a race to get to the fun stuff, and then it’s over, leaving me wanting more character depth from those experiences. I never had that problem with The Serpent’s Skin, and I felt it dissipating in Carnage for Christmas, as well. Mackay is only twenty years old, but her directorial development is far beyond those years, as she continues to make films that simultaneously challenge and entertain.

Furthermore, Mackay and Benjamin Pahl Robinson’s script is deep and feels personal. While it’s a bit obfuscated by the demonic-looking Danny and his Lifeforce-like inclination to soul-suck for sustenance, this story has undertones of pain, silence, and tragedy, and how holding on to those traumas can threaten your relationships. While it still has some rough qualities (I like to call it indie charm), The Serpent’s Skin feels like a massive leap for Mackay as a director and storyteller, and I honestly cannot wait to see what she has planned for her future. She’s one of the most exciting horror directors working today.