
Touch Me: An American Love Letter to Japanese Cinema
Film Reviews
Sundance Film Review: Touch Me
Director: Addison Heimann
Glowing Tree Films, Rustic Films
Premiere: 01.28
“Touch me / It’s so easy to leave me / All alone with …” a parasitic, sex-crazed alien obsessed with tracksuits and hip-hop dancing as a form of meditation? Yes, you did, in fact, read that right. Addison Heimann delivers a second feature film that’s one endearing story of mental health, codependency-filled friendship, gore and lots of hentai. Think Superbad meets DeviantArt tentacle porn.
Touch Me stars (the highly underrated) Olivia Taylor Dudley (The Vatican Tapes) as Joey, a young woman traumatized from her last situationship with an alien named Bryan, an unrecognizable Lou Taylor Pucci (You), trying to save the world from climate change. During their last sexual encounter together, Bryan gets violent, leading to Joey fleeing for her life to the doorstep of her codependent gay best friend Craig, played by the hilarious scene-stealer Jordan Gavaris (Orphan Black). Five years after this event, Joey decides to give Bryan another chance, and this time brings Craig to Bryan’s “compound” with her for a much-needed break from the shit spewing out of their faulty shower plumbing. Does Bryan actually cum (yes, I’ve been dying to use this one) in peace?
Heimann’s writing hits the ground running and never stops during the film’s 100-minute runtime. Touch Me is a masterclass in balancing surreal body horror with raunchy, off-the-wall comedy. His “chronically online” millennial dialogue never borders on cringe, and if anything, it’s by far the best representation of how we actually communicate with each other in the present day. He also delivers a very realistic, awkward and far too close to home Grindr encounter that gave me war flashbacks of stories I’ve heard over the years from my queer friends.
Touch Me, to quote the ever so eloquent Shrek, “is like an onion — it has layers.” It’s a thematic onion full of crazy side plots that interweave to form one tightly cohesive story. Not only does Heimann excel at balancing the two aforementioned genres, he also delivers a heartbreaking and relatable portrayal of how codependency, both platonic and romantic, can disintegrate a once beautiful connection. Using Bryan’s addictive “healing” touch as a tool to deliver this message, Joey solely stays around for the chaos because whenever she experiences it, it makes all her worries melt away. Which reminds me: Check “allegory for substance abuse” off on our list of themes as well.
Heimann’s writing (and my horrible jokes) aside, Touch Me, at its core, reads as a love letter to the Japanese arthouse horror of the ‘60s and ‘70s. Beautiful “bisexual” lighting (as the kids nowadays call it), ridiculous transitions and cutaway scenes of Bryan practicing his hip-hop dancing “meditation,” along with beautifully ridiculous (and all practical) parasitic monsters and gore and comedic overlapping, all permeate the final edit. Even the way lighting is rigged to spotlight characters’ faces during pivotal moments, or how the camera tracks during scenes, brings to mind films like Hausu, Kuroneko and Jigoku. Heimann also manages to accomplish paying homage to his inspirations in a way that is so refreshing and original, a feat that almost feels impossible when compared to other modern day directors who either border on plagiarism or completely miss the point when attempting to do the same.
While it might seem “alien” compared to my last couple of reviews for darling SLUG Magazine, this is a film I can say with 100% certainty that I loved from start to finish. My very overused catchphrase is “there are no perfect films,” but Touch Me comes extremely close. While certain scenes might not be for everyone, they’re worth it once you realize the beautifully crafted gem that is the sincere and heartfelt story Heimann is delivering to you. You just have to look past the tentacle wrapping. —Yonni Uribe
Read more of SLUG’s coverage of the 2025 Sundance Film Festival.