Gunn's 'slither': a grotesque blast from the past, finally revisited

James Gunn, the name synonymous with the Guardians of the Galaxy and now the ambitious DC Universe overhaul, once trafficked in a very different brand of cinema. In 2006, he delivered Slither, a low-budget, body-horror comedy that, at the time, barely registered a blip on the box office radar. Now, with a sudden resurgence of interest—and a shiny new re-release—the question arises: is this early work a misunderstood gem, or simply a gloriously messy relic of a filmmaker’s formative years?

The worm turns: a synopsis of excess

Slither plunges viewers into a small South Carolina town besieged by an alien invasion of the most unsettling kind. Picture this: parasitic worms, resembling flaccid, sunburned appendages, hitch a ride on an asteroid and begin infiltrating the local population. The initial victim, Grant (a reliably intense Michael Rooker), quickly transforms into a grotesque, slavering servant of the alien horde, much to the dismay of his wife, Starla (Elizabeth Banks, showcasing her comedic timing even amidst the carnage), and the local sheriff, Bill (Nathan Fillion). The ensuing chaos involves a litany of bodily penetrations and increasingly bizarre transformations – some becoming monstrous minions, others swollen incubators of further alien larvae. It’s a film that doesn’t shy away from the visceral.

The film's aesthetic owes a palpable debt to Troma Entertainment, a purveyor of low-budget, often shocking, exploitation films. Gunn clearly learned his craft within that arena, and Slither's reliance on rubbery practical effects and broad, often juvenile, humor reflects that influence. The science fiction elements themselves feel somewhat underdeveloped, existing primarily as a vehicle for the film’s grotesque set pieces.

Unexpected moments of dark humor

Despite its shortcomings, Slither isn’t entirely devoid of merit. Gunn's signature deployment of classic rock tracks in unexpected, often darkly humorous, juxtaposition is present and accounted for. The scene featuring a particularly brutal killing spree scored to Air Supply’s “Every Woman in the World” remains a standout moment, a bizarrely effective blend of the horrific and the saccharine. The cast, seemingly embracing the film’s inherent absurdity, delivers committed performances, suggesting an understanding, if not an enthusiasm, for the sheer ridiculousness of it all. The film’s inherent campiness is a significant part of its appeal.

The re-release feels less like a genuine rediscovery and more like a calculated move—a late-career brand enhancement leveraging Gunn’s current prominence. While it’s undeniably intriguing to see the work of a director before he became a blockbuster titan, Slither doesn't warrant the retrospective reverence being applied. It's a flawed, uneven, and occasionally repulsive film, but it's also a fascinating glimpse into the evolution of a unique cinematic voice.