As is the whole second half of the movie, which is a carnival of imagery mixing folk horror, Biblical allegory, and an anatomy textbook gone horribly, horribly wrong. Here’s where “from the director of Annihilation” is very much truth in advertising.


Whereas other movies merely dabble in surrealism—an incongruent montage here, a held frame in slow-motion as eerie music swells there—Men crosses the event horizon and allows itself to succumb. And what would even be the point in expressing the emotions of guilt and grief in concise, logical manner? It would be a lie, anyway. Viewers who admire when movies swing for the fences will cheer.

All of which, naturally, means many others will have their guard up, shout “what the fuck?!?” at the screen, and may even joke on the way out of the theater that they want their money back. That’s the way it is with a genuine work of art—especially the good ones.