1990s media (film, television, etc.) portrayed New York City as a sticky, sweaty, and thrilling concrete jungle of sexual liberation and pure abandon. It makes sense, then, that filmmaker Corrin Evans places her story during the peak of post-grunge and Lilith Fair, a period which saw youth growing increasingly reckless in their pursuit of freedom from their Boomer parents. Out of Fantasia Film Festival, Corpus, co-written with Lily Cowles, dives neck-deep into the dirty, garbage-strewn waters of rat-infested city streets. Evans explores queerness, human desperation, and the sharp numbness that comes with constantly chasing the next high.
Sayo (Jeff Walhberg), a photographer and drug dealer, finally frees himself from the thorny underbrush of a past relationship. He’s in a good place and doesn’t have time for Vince’s (Brodie Townsend) psychotic mind games when Vince pops back into his life. The two are like oil and water together. But their relationship was and is fraught with intense sexual connection that you don’t get very often in this life. Before he knows it, Sayo is caught up in Vince’s web of lies, deceit, and undeniable physical attraction that could pump blood up into a rocket engine. They’re not good for one another, but they’re so good for one another. It’s that contradictory and erosive war that drives the story forward before plummeting off the cliff. Corpus understands the grave implications of toxic, inseparable relationships that we humans can’t get enough of.
Vince invites Sayo and their friend Ross (Michael Vlamis) to a party several hours outside the city. Billie (Cowles) and Cata (Ching Valdes-Aran) welcome them with sheepish smiles and warm embraces. Another young woman, Wren (Nuha Jes Izman), appears detached and deranged, always lurking on the outside while beheading chickens. A ritualist dinner scene is not exactly the party Ross had in mind—but Cata’s spiritual exercise quickly gives way to a drug- and alcohol-induced haze. Billie, Cata, and Wren harbor something ungodly that threatens the lives of their guests, who learn that Wren’s bloody, bludgeoned prey aren’t the only things that’ll be skewered.
Corpus tangles the strands of Bound (1996) and the alarming bodily seizure of Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1978), with a pinch of folk horror thrown into the delicious elixir. Corrin Evans hypnotizes the audience with stardust magic and a sadistic hunger for carnal pleasures. So often it’s these base human desires that get us in the most trouble. Wahlberg and Townsend were made for this seductively naughty and gripping descent into hell, their chemistry crackling and popping off the screen.
Corrin Evans delivers a hyper-stylized tale of pure cinema that rattles you down to the core. Corpus does a bit of bloodletting as it vaults to a surprising finale that tests the limits of commitment, love, and adoration. From its gummy visual aesthetic to remarkable performances across the board, the film emerges as one of the year’s best horror films and a pinnacle of queer storytelling.
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