Director: Jane Schoenbrun
Cast: Justice Smith, Brigette Lundy-Paine, Helena Howard, Fred Durst
My Rating: 8.1/10
I Saw the TV Glow is an enrapturing, avant-garde masterpiece that serves as one of the most profound allegory for the trans experience ever committed to film, filled with a terrifying, static-filled dread.
After I watched I Saw the TV Glow, I felt like I had been hollowed out, as it’s a film that doesn’t just show you a story, it feels like it is infecting your memories, where Director Jane Schoenbrun has tapped into a very specific, low-res trauma - the kind that comes from growing up in a suffocatingly "normal" suburb where the only lifeline is a flickering cathode-ray tube.
This isn't just a movie about 90s nostalgia - it’s about how we use media as a survival mechanism when the real world offers us no place to exist.
Owen (Justice Smith),is a shy teenager whose existence is defined by a quiet, vibrating anxiety, where his life is muted, shot in sickly fluorescent greens and damp blues, until he discovers The Pink Opaque, a fictional show-within-a-movie - a kind of pastiche of Buffy and Are You Afraid of the Dark?, featuring two girls, Isabel and Tara, who fight monsters via a psychic connection.
Justice Smith is excellent here for sure, though his performance might be polarizing for some, where he plays Owen with a permanent flinch, a man so disconnected from his own skin that he seems to be vibrating at a different frequency than the world around him.
As Owen ages into his 40s, Smith maintains this high-pitched, fragile vocal registe - —a "vocal fry" of the soul that suggests a person whose growth was stunted the moment he chose to ignore his true self.
It is an incredibly difficult task to play a passive protagonist who refuses the "call to adventure," but Smith makes Owen’s paralysis feel like a tragedy of epic proportions.
Brigette Lundy-Paine is the perfect foil too, and as Maddy, they bring a frantic energy to the screen, where Maddy is the one who sees through the veil - she’s the one who realizes that the suburb is the monster and the TV show is the reality.
Their monologue in the middle of the film - delivered in a single, unbroken take in the middle of a dark field - is haunting - they aren't just talking about a TV show, they are talking about the life-or-death necessity of transition.
Visually, the film is a masterclass in atmosphere, where Cinematographer Eric K. Yue uses 35mm film to capture the grain of the 90s, but he elevates it with a color palette that feels like it’s bleeding onto you, and it also includes a recurring visual motif where characters are lit by the oppressive, flickering glow of a TV, streetlights, or a fish tank - light sources that offer enlightenment but also threaten to blind.
Alex G’s score is also excellent - a melancholic, synth-heavy soundscape that feels like it’s being played through a decaying VHS tape, featuring queer icons like Yeule and King Woman, and when you hear King Woman scream into the microphone, it feels as if the film itself is finally letting out the scream Owen has been holding back for decades.
While you could watch this as a "creepy pasta" horror film, the subtext is purely about the trans experience, as Schoenbrun has been open about this being an allegory for the "egg crack" - the moment a trans person realizes the shell of their assigned identity is breaking.
The horror isn't in the monsters of The Pink Opaque, the horror is in Owen’s refusal to step through the hole Maddy has torn in reality.
The film captures the specific trauma of "dissociative amnesia," where Owen doesn't just forget his past, he refuses to inhabit his present.
He works at a "Fun Center" (a Chuck E. Cheese-style purgatory) where the 90s decorations are literally rotting off the walls, and it’s a perfect metaphor for the "closet" - a place where time stands still and your "real" self is suffocating in a grave while you go through the motions of a life you don't actually own.
The Bathroom Breakdown: After years of wheezing through his life at the Fun Center, Owen finally snaps during a birthday party, where he retreats to the bathroom and, in a moment of pure body horror, uses a box cutter to slice open his chest.
The Inner Light: Inside himself, he doesn't find blood or bonem he finds the glowing, neon static of The Pink Opaque, and this confirms that Maddy was right - he is Isabel, the powerful heroine from the show, and his entire "adult life" has been a psychic prison created by the villain Mr. Melancholy.
The Final Apology: In any other movie, this would be the moment of triumph, where Owen would transform and escapem but here, he stitches himself back together, walks back into the arcade, and starts apologizing to everyone for making a scene.
The "Still Time" Message: The film ends with a chalk message on the pavement: "There is still time." It’s a devastating reminder that while Owen is currently choosing to suffocate, the possibility of life - of Isabel - is still there, waiting for him to have the courage to take it.
Maddy claims she literally climbed into the television and spent years in the "Midnight Realm," but, the film leaves it ambiguous, as some viewers interpret her disappearance as a metaphor for a trans person leaving their hometown to transition, while others believe she literally became part of the show's reality.
It is a heavy homage to 90s "spooky teen" television, specifically Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Are You Afraid of the Dark?, and The Adventures of Pete & Pete.
The ending is a "cautionary tale" about the dangers of staying in the closet, because when Owen sees the light inside himself, he is too afraid of the "calamity" of change, so he returns to a life of quiet desperation.
It is a warning to the audience to "crack the egg" before it's too late.
In a surreal bit of casting, Owen's distant and vaguely threatening father is played by Fred Durst, the lead singer of Limp Bizkit.
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Also read my Montreal, Ma Belle Review, Challengers Review, and The Chronology of Water Review.
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