Obviously, if you’re here, you know I’m a blind film critic. Or maybe you don’t. Maybe you found this review, clicked on it thinking it was just another review of Monstrous Me, and just learned that a blind film critic exists. I’m also an advocate for audio description. So pretty much whenever somebody comes to me and says, “Hey, will you review my movie? It has audio description,” I go, “Sure.” I want to support films that bothered to snag an audio description track for people like me, since major studios are still releasing titles without them. It’s funny that this little 16-minute documentary short somehow magically acquired audio description, yet I’ve seen several feature films from multimillion-dollar studios released this year without it. Isn’t it funny how, when your priorities lie in a certain area, it’s really obvious? And in other areas, the lack thereof speaks volumes as well.

So what is Monstrous Me? This is what I call perfect timing, because around the same time as having to screen Monstrous Me, I also screened Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma, which I’ll be reviewing soon after. What’s interesting about both films is that they’re coming from the perspective of underrepresented, marginalized communities looking at themselves and seeing themselves in horror. Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma takes that from a queer perspective, while Monstrous Me is a roughly 16-minute documentary short directed by and featuring Ariel Baska, a disabled filmmaker discussing how their own journey led them to see themselves in Freddy Krueger. Both films are about horror, both are about slashers, and both are essentially highlighting 80s horror franchises. Teenage Sex and Death at Camp Miasma leans heavily on Friday the 13th and Sleepaway Camp, while Monstrous Me brings out Freddy Krueger.

That’s sort of an interesting person to relate to. I cannot speak from the same exact perspective as Ariel because disability is a spectrum. It would be like me as a gay film critic also speaking for someone who is transgender. It’s just not the same thing. We have different experiences. But there is something specific about Freddy Krueger and his monstrous appearance, the fact that he is made to look grotesque because he’s a burn victim. Of course, we also know Freddy’s backstory and why he became a burn victim to begin with, and I would say that’s probably the more problematic part of the representation. It’s not just that you see yourself in a monster. It’s how the monster became the monster that you hopefully don’t rest too heavily on. It’s sort of like telling me you relate to Hannibal Lecter. I would be curious as to what part of Hannibal Lecter you relate to, and I would remain concerned until you told me.

Still, Freddy Krueger is an icon, and a horror icon at that. Growing up with specific skin conditions that alter your appearance from that of the people you see around you, to the point where one of the only characters you’re able to relate to is the altered Freddy Krueger, is both a touching and realistic entry point into the horror genre. Ariel is also a big part of the Access:Horror Film Festival, which allows disabled filmmakers to submit their short horror films and gives them a place to screen their work. I know previous editions have been available through AMC+ and Shudder, although I did not see last year’s edition there. There is clearly a larger mission here about allowing disabled people to take ownership of horror instead of simply being used by it.

And yes, of course, the film has a wonderful audio description team. I did not catch every name in the credits or the name of the group responsible, but Cheryl Green, Oliver Baker, and others who consistently produce high-quality audio description brought their attention to Monstrous Me. I think a lot of the success of the description hinges on describing Ariel and Ariel’s condition, because, as I’ve mentioned, disability is such a spectrum. Properly identifying what the audience needs to know about Ariel allows blind and low-vision viewers to better understand and relate to their experience. I thought this was handled fairly well, although I’m still not fully sure I understand Ariel’s condition. The unfortunate comparisons to Mask, which I did see before I lost my vision, gave me an immediate visual starting point.

I suppose if my choices in life were to identify with Mask or Freddy Krueger, I would choose Freddy Krueger. At least he’s got the claws. Mask is exactly what Ariel clocks it as, which is inspiration porn for sighted people, where a disabled character is used to uplift everybody around them until such time that the only way they could possibly inspire anymore is by dying. Obviously, not wanting to use that as your North Star moving forward, it feels much better to join a franchise like A Nightmare on Elm Street, where its key villain continues to come back no matter what. Freddy has certainly proven harder to kill than most inspirational disabled characters Hollywood has put on screen.

Is it perfect? No. If I had one major criticism, which is what I’m supposed to do when critiquing a film, I felt Ariel delivered virtually every line like they were doing slam poetry. It felt like I was sitting in a dim coffee shop on open mic night, and it’s one of those overly pretentious coffee shops too, where for some reason people are still smoking, so there’s a haze in the room and one weak light casting a shadow above whoever is standing at the microphone. Ariel walks up to that microphone, gives me the slam poetry version of their life, and then leaves. Maybe that’s completely intentional, but it kept me a little disconnected from the story because the delivery felt oddly performative instead of like someone simply sharing their experiences and allowing the story to live or die on its own elements.

I also think there’s an inherent challenge when you’re directing a documentary about yourself. It can be difficult to give yourself the kind of feedback another director might, or to critically analyze your own performance and wonder whether something is going to be perceived the way you intended. That doesn’t mean Ariel’s story doesn’t work. It does. I just think some of the emotional honesty gets filtered through this deliberately performative structure, and for me, that created a little distance between the subject and the audience when the story itself didn’t need it.

As I mentioned to Ariel when I got the screener, I don’t usually do short films. However, I make good on my promises. When somebody sends me something with audio description, I really do try to give it a platform. So that’s what I’m doing for Monstrous Me. I don’t know if this is going on the Tomatometer as I write this. I don’t know if it even has a page. But I do know that a significant part of my target demographic, the people who read me, are blind and low vision. Should Monstrous Me cross your path at another disability-centric film festival, a horror film festival, an upcoming iteration of Access:Horror, or however you can get your hands on it, there’s a truly honest story here and something that will give many disabled people an opportunity to reflect, especially those who enjoy horror movies and see themselves somewhere within them.

Even if your character isn’t Freddy Krueger, Monstrous Me might spark that thought inside your head. It made me wonder what this would be as a feature-length documentary, with Ariel as just one of many subjects. How many disabled people out there relate to movie monsters because those are the only characters they’ve ever seen on screen who resemble them? That feels like an entire documentary waiting to happen. I noticed executive producer Lilly Wachowski was attached to this, so maybe Lilly can help find the financing to turn Monstrous Me into a feature someday.

I liked Monstrous Me, but it’s not perfect. It’s a deeply personal story that needed just a little more honesty in its presentation and a little less performative structure in its testimonials. But Ariel Baska has taken something that traditionally has been used to make disabled people feel monstrous and reclaimed one of horror’s most recognizable monsters as something strangely empowering. And, most importantly, Monstrous Me kept me awake, which kept me away from Freddy Krueger. So that’s something.

Fresh: 7.9/10