Human 2026 Movie Review Trailer Poster
Is a film about a somewhat clumsy, glory-hungry man in his twenties—involving eugenics, human trafficking, and incestuous voyeurism—supposed to be this entertaining? That is the question you will find yourself asking while watching *Breeder*, Alex Goyette’s foray into the horror genre, which premiered at this year’s Tribeca Film Festival.
The film follows a college student (Daniel Doheny) who has lost the funding for his research on bees. Desperate, he ends up visiting a mysterious poodle breeder (Dot-Marie Jones) at her isolated ranch. Patti offers to cover his financial needs, but with one condition: he must procreate with her daughter.
As it unfolds, *Breeder* becomes claustrophobic, rapidly transforming into a kidnapping-themed horror film, much like *The Black Phone*, *Fresh*, or *Split*. Yet, it is the initial premise that truly stands out. The viewer learns enough about Russell to understand why he might accept Patti’s outlandish proposal. In a cultural climate shaped by discussions surrounding the "male loneliness epidemic" and the "manosphere," it is particularly compelling to see how horror films like *Breeder*—or *Obsession*, released last month—brilliantly illustrate the potential consequences of men feeling marginalized or disempowered.
Unlike many other films in the genre, the horror in *Breeder* is not merely psychological; it is ideological, transcending the typical cat-and-mouse game. After all, regardless of whether or not one has children, the prospect of being *forced* to sire them—with the emphasis on the word "forced"—is profoundly unsettling. Even the term "breeder" itself is inherently offensive. Although it originally emerged within the antinatalist movement, the term has been reappropriated by the queer community: some use it ironically, while others—from an earlier generation that showed no interest in marriage equality or adoption—use it without any irony at all. In essence, the word "breeder" carries a sense of contempt toward people—especially heterosexuals—who wish to reproduce.
The way Goyette plays with this idea is bold and dangerous, especially in an era when the United States government prioritizes human reproduction above almost anything else. Furthermore, the term "breeder" has long been associated with another work of horror and comedy: Jonathan Swift’s 1729 essay, *A Modest Proposal*, in which the author makes a dark, satirical suggestion about consuming babies to control population growth.
Although Patti displays a cannibalistic disregard for human life, her goal is, paradoxically, to create it; specifically, she seeks to engage in selective breeding aimed at intelligence. An avowed proponent of eugenics, she decides to make the leap from breeding show dogs to breeding future scientists. Patti does not merely pressure or coerce Russell into accepting her proposal to procreate; she openly threatens him—and that is where the true horror begins. One of Jones’s successes is making the viewer feel deeply threatened by her character, whether one imagines oneself in the role of the "stud" or the "female" destined for reproduction.
And while one might feel pity for Patti’s daughters, Goyette also manages to make the viewer fear them. There is something animalistic about these young women and the way they move in formation.
As a battle of wills unfolds—between Russell on one side, and Patti and her daughters on the other—a stomach-churning sense of unease begins to take hold. While watching Goyette’s film, you might think you know where the plot is headed, but *Breeder* takes unexpected turns that defy all expectations. The film’s visual beauty helps keep you engaged: from the shadowy corners of the poodle farm at night, to the raw, unsettling quality of the rural daylight, and finally to the sickly fluorescent glow of the bunker where Russell is held captive and exploited for his semen.
Jaryl Lim perfectly captures the film’s various nuances, just as Goyette succeeds in blending horror with humor. A story about a selfish young man, an ambitious eugenicist, and the twisted, coerced pact they strike could easily have ended up being relentlessly grim. But if you’re anything like the audience at the film’s Tribeca premiere, you’ll find yourself bursting into laughter—even when you don’t mean to.
Comments
Post a Comment