Some movies don’t just scare you—they cut you open and stitch themselves inside you. May is that movie for me. Lucky McKee’s debut feels like a horror film, a tragic character study, and a dark fairytale all at once.

Angela Bettis gives one of my all-time favorite performances as May, a painfully awkward young woman who grew up lonely, isolated, and desperate for connection. She fixates on people not as whole beings but as perfect parts—their hands, their necks, their smiles. When those pieces don’t add up to the love she craves, she decides to build the perfect friend herself.

On paper, it sounds like your standard “crazy girl” horror story, but what makes May unforgettable is its compassion. McKee doesn’t treat May as a monster—he treats her as a deeply broken, heartbreakingly human character. You root for her, even as she unravels. Her loneliness is so raw it feels dangerous, and when the film shifts from tender to horrific, it hits even harder because you understand exactly how she got there.

And then there’s the ending. That final image—May lying with her creation, whispering for love—is devastating and beautiful in a way only horror can be. It’s grotesque, it’s shocking, but it’s also tender. To me, it’s one of the most haunting endings in horror history.

May has everything:

• Angela Bettis giving her career-defining performance.
• Jeremy Sisto as the artsy love interest who underestimates just how strange May really is.
• Anna Faris as her flirtatious coworker, injecting queerness and comedy into the story.
• The perfect early-2000s vibe—low-budget but intimate, raw, and weird in all the best ways.

But beyond all that, May is personal for me. I first discovered it in high school, during a time when I was utterly alone and bullied every day. My escape was Hollywood Video, where I became fast friends with the older guys who worked there. They were my film school, my safe space, and the ones who put May into my hands. They took care of me when I felt invisible everywhere else, and this film felt like it was speaking directly to me. May’s loneliness, her yearning to be loved, her awkward, off-kilter way of moving through the world—I saw myself in her. And for once, that didn’t feel like shame. It felt like recognition.

May is one of the most important horror films of the 2000s, and I stand by that. It’s unsettling, funny, sad, and unforgettable. If you’ve ever felt like an outsider, this movie cuts deep. And if you haven’t seen it yet—consider this your invitation.

🖤 May is my horror home. 🖤