They/Them

The most frightening thing about the opening of They/Them isn’t a masked killer lurking in the pines or a jump-scare chord from the orchestra. It’s a smile. Specifically, the terrifyingly polished, aggressively "approachable" smile of Kevin Bacon, playing Owen Whistler. He welcomes a group of queer and trans teens to his lakeside retreat with the kind of practiced empathy that makes your skin crawl. He’s not there to yell slurs; he’s there to tell them he "respects" them while systematically dismantling their souls. It’s a brilliant setup for a horror film, signaling a shift in the genre where the monster doesn't wear a hockey mask—he wears a Ralph Lauren polo.

I watched this on my laptop while my cat, Barnaby, spent forty-five minutes trying to climb inside a discarded Amazon envelope, which honestly provided more sustained tension than the film’s second act. But that’s the frustration of They/Them. It’s a movie with a vital, righteous heart that constantly trips over its own slasher-movie shoelaces.

The Slasher with a Social Conscience

Director and writer John Logan—the man who gave us the scripts for Gladiator and Skyfall—makes his directorial debut here, and you can feel his theatrical roots. The film thrives when it focuses on the campers. We have Jordan (Theo Germaine), a non-binary lead who serves as the group’s skeptical anchor, and a supporting cast including Quei Tann, Austin Crute, Monique Kim, and Anna Lore. These aren't the disposable archetypes we usually see getting picked off in the woods; they are deeply human, nuanced characters whose survival you actually care about.

The film operates in the "Elevated Horror" space that has dominated the last decade, following in the footsteps of Get Out and Midsommar. It understands that for many LGBTQ+ people, the real-world horror of conversion therapy is more terrifying than any supernatural entity. The scenes where the staff uses psychological "treatments" to coerce the kids into gender-conforming roles are genuinely harrowing. Kevin Bacon is a masterclass in soft-spoken villainy, playing a man who believes he’s the hero of his own story. It feels like a full-circle moment for him, returning to the woods forty-two years after he was famously offed in the original Friday the 13th.

A Tonal Tug-of-War

However, They/Them suffers from a massive identity crisis. On one hand, it’s a sensitive, character-driven drama about queer resilience. On the other, it’s a derivative slasher movie about a mysterious killer in a mask hacking people to death. The problem is that these two movies barely talk to each other. The slasher elements feel like they were mandated by a board meeting at Blumhouse to ensure the "Horror" tag stayed on the Peacock landing page.

The kills are sporadic and, frankly, uninspired. In an era where X and Pearl have revitalized the "killer in the middle of nowhere" trope with style and grit, the gore here feels sanitized and the mystery feels perfunctory. When the killer finally shows up, it feels like an interruption to the much more interesting psychological battle happening between Jordan and Owen. The slasher plot is essentially a distraction from the movie's own message, leading to a climax that feels rushed and a "whodunnit" reveal that lacks the necessary breadcrumbs to make it satisfying.

Streaming Era Stumbles

Released as a Peacock original in 2022, They/Them (pronounced "They-slash-Them," a clever bit of wordplay that the marketing leaned into) is a victim of the "content" age. While the cinematography by Lyn Moncrief captures the oppressive beauty of the Georgia woods, the overall production has that slightly flat, "made-for-TV" sheen that plagues many mid-budget streaming releases. It lacks the cinematic texture that might have elevated its atmosphere from "unsettling" to "legendary."

Despite its flaws, the film’s existence is a marker of how far the industry has moved. A decade ago, a major horror production centered entirely on a diverse group of queer characters would have been a "niche" indie release. Here, it’s a mainstream Blumhouse vehicle. There’s a musical number in the middle of the film—a group sing-along to P!nk’s "Fkin' Perfect"—that is undeniably cheesy, yet strangely moving. It’s the kind of earnest, "representation matters" moment that contemporary audiences either love or loathe, but it proves that Logan** was more interested in celebrating these kids than in watching them bleed.

They/Them is a noble failure that is absolutely worth a look for the performances alone. Theo Germaine is a star in the making, and seeing Kevin Bacon return to the genre that launched him is a treat, even if the script doesn't give him enough to do in the final act. It’s a film that wants to dismantle the tropes of the past but ends up becoming a prisoner to them. You’ll come for the slasher, but you’ll stay for the quiet, defiant strength of the campers.

Ultimately, it’s a movie that knows exactly what it wants to say but isn't quite sure how to scream it. It’s a fascinating snapshot of the 2020s horror landscape: ambitious, socially conscious, and slightly overwhelmed by its own ideas. If you’re looking for a traditional bloodbath, you’ll be disappointed, but if you want a horror film that actually thinks about its victims as people, give it a stream. Just don't expect it to haunt your dreams.