The only information I brushed up on before watching Animale was that it was a French "body horror" (put a pin in that) film about bullfighting. Sure, why not. I'm open to anything. What I discovered soon into the movie was a very different type of bullfighting than the cruel, bloody spectacle I'm used to seeing from Spain. (To be honest, I plead total ignorance about any bullfighting sports.) But in Camargue, it's a non-lethal sport. Teams of men rush the bull, trying to snatch tassels from its horns while trying to avoid being eviscerated. The animals aren't killed, yet the film vividly portrays the intensity of this action in a very authentic way. And that authenticity, with real bulls drooling, is what grabbed me the most. I love it when a movie brings me into an established world I know nothing about. This all felt very real and visceral, setting the stage for a drama about "bulls" in human relationships.
The story follows Nejma (Oulaya Amamra), the first woman to compete in this world of bulls and machismo. When she steps into the ring, it's a historic moment, and on the surface, everyone around her seems supportive. But the film quietly suggests that beneath the cheers lies something darker: a simmering undercurrent of toxic masculinity that Nejma has to navigate. I appreciate that writer/director Emma Benestan brought nuance to the topic.
One night, after her first match, she joins her fellow ranch hands and bullfighters for a drinking and drug-fueled drive in the countryside. Feeling a certain pull to be "one of the guys" she staggers into a dark field surrounded by bulls. She blacks out and wakes up the next day at noon: injured and unsure of what happened. Did a bull attack her? Soon, she begins to experience strange changes within herself. From there, the film evolves into a slow-burn drama that touches on body horror but resists easy classification.
Ever since the success of The Substance marketing teams have really leaned on the "body horror" label, slapping it on everything that even remotely involves the body. If you're expecting a Cronenberg style goo-fest here, it's worth tempering your expectations. Yes, there are transformations, blood, and a few unsettling moments, but the horror here is more metaphorical. It's a drama that explores identity, power, and the experience of being a woman in a male-dominated subculture. Emma Benestan reimagines the myth of the Minotaur through a feminist lens, asking what it means for a woman to inherit the monstrous strength usually reserved for men, and how that power might also isolate her. She's essentially the only woman in Animale.
What I liked most was the film's focus on character dynamics. Nejma's relationships with her fellow fighters, with the ranch, and with the animals themselves give the story its emotional weight. The bulls are both majestic creatures and symbols of danger. There's a fascinating tension between reverence for the animals and the cruelty of the humans who use them for sport. They seem to revere the things they exploit, something we can all reflect on. Even though I know no animals were harmed, it was difficult to watch some of these scenes. It's filmed with enough realism that at times I couldn't tell where the training sequences ended and the performances began. The action in the ring was heart-pounding.
Oulaya Amamra is outstanding. She carries the film with a performance that balances vulnerability and strength, capturing the frustration of a woman trying to carve out a space in a world that outwardly praises her and compliments her strength, but underneath probably doesn't want her there. You can see both the exhilaration and the exhaustion etched on her face as she shoulders Nejma's transformation.
Visually, the movie is gorgeous. Ruben Impens' cinematography is lush and dynamic, using saturated colors and striking camera movements to emphasize the bulls' presence. When the story leans into horror, the camera mirrors Nejma's disorientation, with the imagery growing darker, the color grading heavier, as if the whole film is descending with her.
That said, I did find myself wishing for a faster pace. The middle stretch feels especially restrained, like the film is holding back. What I was mostly drawn to were the scenes in the bullfighting arena, filled with dust and drool. These were fascinating and exhilarating...I wanted more. When the third act kicks in, it packs a pretty powerful payoff that I didn't see coming, but it takes a while to get there.
Ultimately, Animale works best as a drama with horror elements. It's less about scares and more about reflecting on gender and power. For me, it's a film I appreciated more than I loved. I doubt I'll revisit it, but I'm glad I saw it, if only to get an inside look into a sport I knew nothing about.
Benestan has crafted something beautiful, bold, and a little unsettling. Even if I wanted it to be wilder, it's a strong vision from a filmmaker who clearly knows how to subvert genre expectations. And it's anchored by Amamra, who makes Nejma's journey haunting and sensitive.
Animale isn't particularly scary but it is disturbing in ways that creep up on you, and I love the immersive atmosphere it creates. If it comes to streaming, it's worth a watch for anyone curious about how horror can be reshaped into something more mythic and intimate.
