SXSW Film Review: Together

Everyone who has been in a long-term relationship has gone through that moment when they wonder where they end and their partner begins. Adult relationship horror Together, which received its Texas premiere at South by Southwest, takes that inner fear and makes it physical.

One has to believe that Alison Brie and Dave Franco have experienced that emotion, not least because they are the modern definition of a Hollywood couple. The Community star and her Fright Night husband have previously channeled their offscreen creative partnership in horror The Rental and then bitter-sweet rom-com Somebody I Used to Know, both times with Brie in the cast and Franco as director. Together moves the dynamic, with first-time feature maker Michael Shanks taking over behind the lens and Franco joining Brie in front.

There's no stunt casting here in having the real-life husband-and-wife playing an onscreen couple. Instead, there's a shorthand of intimacy that unlocks the complicated terrors of what's happening between Millie (Brie) and Tim (Franco). There's an earnestness, a veracity about their performances that feel like they're channeling a thousand little moments without ever feeling autobiographical – well, at least you have to hope so, as Together bubbles with truly innovative body horror.

This is indeed an adult relationship horror, and not necessarily because of a little bit of graphic lovemaking. It’s because the script by writer/director Shanks isn’t afraid to stare directly at those transitional phases in a relationship, where the only options are to cut and run or get even closer than you ever expected. That moment comes in Together when Millie gets a teaching job at a small rural school, and she and Tim give up their NYC life of cool record stores and having the option to go clubbing every night, even if you’re really a little old for that. So while Mille is running full-bore towards their future of sleepy contentment, Tim still feels the tug of the life they had. Sporting the most perfect Brooklyn hipster curly mullet, Franco fills Tim with endless twinges of regret and resistance to change, even if on the outside, he appears all in.

But there’s always the magnetism of their bond, which is only amplified by their new location and the resultant isolation from their old life. It’s telling that, even as they begin to fear being together, the pair still see each other as their best confidante. Shanks’ script captures that inner push-and-pull, but it’s the performances by Brie and Franco that will induce panic attacks of recognition. As unseen forces pull them closer together, their emotional turmoil gains physical expression, finally transforming their performances into the realm of interpretive dance. Shanks trusts them to keep those scenes from becoming silly, and instead they become some of the most disturbing and transfixing scenes in contemporary horror.

Could a non-married pair of actors have given these scenes such terrifying poignancy? Of course. And there’s no guarantee that a married acting couple would have been able to translate the weight of intimacy to Mille and Tim. If anything, that offscreen chemistry rarely translates and just feels gimmicky. Brie and Franco is like watching Burton and Taylor or Newman and Woodward: as performers who know each other so well, they have synergy but also provide the space for them to reach out and pull back from each other. Their scenes together – which make up most of the film – pulsate and breathe. When those elaborate set-pieces start to add in some creatively grisly special effects, they merely clarify the visual component to the established subtext. When Together gets weird, it can do so because of how painfully relatable it is.

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Together

Festival Favorite, Texas Premiere

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