Pop: Crisis of Existence in the City of Angels

In Chaucer’s day, every physical manifestation from boils to lesions meant there were immoralities lurking beneath the surface. A gap between your front teeth meant licentiousness, pockmarks meant gluttony, fat rolls were greed. Before zit-popping YouTube videos and Fortnite dances, this is how we marked those who were different, lesser than, the serfs of society.

Jump to 2018 California where blemished skin and a dirty apartment are the new mortal sins. Picture hundreds of bloated Barbie dolls swiping through Snapchat filters in an eternal quest to cover their true selves behind puppy ears and soft lenses. Think of Stepford wives with grande latte enemas, fake breasts, and million-dollar homes. In a place where raw food is in and humanity is out, our star, Renee (Chloe Farnworth) gets her revenge one popped zit at a time.

From Unmanned Media, makers of the beautiful and dark slasher End of the Road (2015), comes a new horror comedy you don’t want to miss. Pop (2018), written and directed by J. Spencer, packs witty social commentary, grotesque special effects, and memorable scenes into a short 15-minute film. We’ve all seen 90-minute slashers that failed to create even one memorable character. Yet Pop is shorter than a celebrity marriage and accomplishes everything a horror film should. We get villains, conflict, violence, aliens, and weed. What else is there?

Though the real villain of this story may be humans’ inability to see past the surface of others, there are some badass supporting villains too. Kasia Szarek is well-cast as aptly-named, mean girl, Heather. With fiery red hair and an obnoxious hot dog phone case, Heather is the perfect villain. Juxtaposed with dabbing, zit-popping Renee, the film provides intelligent commentary on the great spiritual death of our time. People like Heather, they just walk around talking about spiritual leaders, energies, and chakras, while spreading negativity and judgment. What would Jesus not do?

As Renee fights her daily battle with her scarred face, Grey Gardens apartment, and hoarding, supporting characters float in and out of her life, criticizing, judging. What makes Renee such an interesting character is that while she spends most of her days looking in the mirror, she doesn’t see herself. Renee doesn’t see the strong person who fights to get out of bed every day. The badass bitch that perseveres in the face of the Heathers of this world. What Renee can’t see is how brave and courageous she is, choosing not to be an emotionless automaton, Instagramming unicorn frappuccinos while cities burn and people starve.

What Renee realizes about this world, is that we’re all just dying and forgotten beings, rotating on this floating rock for all of eternity. What we wear, what we say, how the world perceives us, none of that matters if we’re dead inside. What matters to Renee is dank nugs and bad sci-fi TV. The pretty fuck boys in her bed are nice, but they’re more setting than character. Aren’t all men? Even her hilariously neutered sitcom gay, Travis (Travis Coles) doesn’t seem to have much of an effect on Renee. It’s as if all a girl needs to be happy are drugs and bad TV.

Then, just when you think this film can’t get any better, Renee’s zits take on a life of their own. In true, retro Body Snatchers form, the zits emerge from her face like tentacles. The scene is beautifully done, with impressive reality from an indie budget. As the tentacles emerge, you get that unnerving feeling deep in your bones like you’ve stumbled on a fatal car crash you can’t look away from. As Renee’s zits pull her humanity from her body, picture brain matter being sprayed off the highway with a fire hose. Renee transforms into a genderless, emotionless, droid just like the space slaves of the kitschy 70’s sci-fi show blaring in the distance. Suddenly our leading lady becomes everything the world wanted her to be, silent, clean, sterile.

Renee transforms herself into the perfect woman, one who is seen and not heard, one who privileges surface beauty over any semblance of inner peace. Hot dog Heather loves the new Renee as does her fiercely gay roommate. Because who gives a fuck who you really are? What matters is appearance, perception, the illusion of peace. So go ahead and treat people like the disposable trash they are. Don’t bother getting to know another human being. Keep swiping, scrolling, bullying. Keep tearing people down until we’re nothing but popped zits on the bathroom floor of a dying planet.