Synopsis
Meet Margot.
She’s had enough.
Review
Margot is having a bit of a crisis. She’s got a good job, a sweet boyfriend, and a pretty good life. But none of that is really doing it, and what begins with small rebellions against societal expectations for how women present themselves, soon escalates into a full on Tyler Durden-esque rejection of social norms. In no time, Margot is unemployed, unwashed, and eating rotten food out of garbage cans.
In the world of Feral, Gemma Amor’s stand-alone story, this transformation is a positive thing. Partly, it’s a feminist rejection of the endless primping and sculpting of the female body to make it “presentable,” but it’s something more than that as well.
Feral is a little battle cry for everyone who has stared into the tree line and considered simply walking away from their life, from the world, from the whole crazy experiment known as civilization.
But, of course, this is isn’t quite that kind of story.
There is a tragedy, just as Margot is waffling, standing on the precipice between her old life and the new wilder world she’s uncovered while running wild at night, and Feral transforms suddenly into a revenge narrative. It’s a brutal, nasty little revenge arc, that doesn’t quite deliver on the promise of the story’s first half, but certainly delivers cathartic bloodshed and also cements Margot’s decision for the life she wants to lead.
In the end, Feral is maybe a touch too short to really pull off everything its ambitions first act sets in motion, but for a nasty little tale filled with blood, guts, filth, and body horror that slides into nearly erotic celebration, it’s remains pretty darned satisfying.
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