James gunn's 'slither': a grotesque relic, now getting a second look

Twenty-six years after its initial, underwhelming theatrical run, James Gunn’s 2006 feature, Slither, is resurfacing – a move that raises a familiar question: can a flawed early work be retroactively crowned a cult classic? The answer, viewed through a contemporary lens, remains complicated, though not entirely without merit.

A pre-guardians galaxy dive into b-movie mayhem

Before helming the billion-dollar Guardians of the Galaxy franchise, Gunn honed his sensibilities on lower-budget projects, and Slither, a gleefully gruesome exercise in comic body horror, falls squarely into that category. Its current reappraisal feels less a genuine rediscovery and more a consequence of Gunn’s subsequent, stratospheric success – a cinematic glow-up, if you will, attempting to recast a flawed debut as a misunderstood masterpiece. The truth, however, is less flattering. The film's science fiction premise, involving parasitic alien larvae invading a small South Carolina town, feels thin, bordering on derivative. The aesthetic leans heavily into the rubbery, practical effects and juvenile humor more readily associated with the Troma Pictures stable, where Gunn cut his teeth.

The narrative centers on Grant (Michael Rooker, a frequent Gunn collaborator), a man whose unhealthy obsession with his wife, Starla (Elizabeth Banks), is disrupted when an asteroid crashes nearby, unleashing the extraterrestrial threat. These creatures, visually resembling flaccid, sunburned phallic worms, burrow into their victims, transforming them into grotesque minions or, in the case of Brenda James’s character, into swollen incubators for further infestation. Nathan Fillion, as the local sheriff Bill, provides a welcome dose of sardonic wit amidst the escalating chaos.

But there are moments of genuine amusement to be found. Gunn's knack for deploying anachronistic music choices – a technique that would later become a signature element of the Guardians films – shines in a particularly memorable scene where a killing spree is set to the saccharine strains of Air Supply’s “Every Woman in the World.” The cast, too, appears to be fully committed, seemingly embracing the absurdity of hours spent swaddled in latex and prosthetics. The film's self-aware tone allows for a degree of enjoyment, even as its narrative shortcomings become apparent.

Slither isn’t a revelation, nor is it a work of genius. It's a rough-edged, occasionally embarrassing, but ultimately diverting glimpse into the early career of a filmmaker who would go on to achieve far greater heights. It is a testament to the bizarre, low-budget filmmaking that helped shape a major director, even if the film itself remains a cheerfully messy, and ultimately secondary, chapter in his story.