One of polite society’s few remaining taboos is the concept of weight and self-esteem. Though it’s always acceptable to share dieting tips or the latest trendy workout routine, we rarely dig beneath the surface to discuss the dehumanizing pain of fatphobia or the damage caused by toxic body positivity.
For years, social media has blasted us with conflicting messages about how to achieve a “healthy weight,” while the medical establishment continues to push outdated information about the body mass index. With Looksmaxxing and 90s thinness now dominating online spaces, it’s never felt more frustrating to live comfortably in a human body.
Writer/director Natalie Erika James combines this highly-charged topic with one of horror’s oldest taboos in Saccharine, a body horror tale about the confluence of cannibalism and diet culture. With the tag line, “you are who you eat,” this surrealist film blends girly pop style with the devastating experience of disordered eating.
Hana (Midori Francis) is a medical student obsessed with losing weight. Hoping to impress her gym crush, Alanya (Madeleine Madden), she signs up for a 12-Week Challenge in which she’ll monitor her caloric intake while completing a series of intense group workout sessions. As Hana diligently tracks her plateauing progress, an old friend reappears with a miraculous, yet pricey, diet pill. Using her scientific expertise to recreate the formula, Hana makes a horrific discovery and must decide if she’s willing to consume the unthinkable in order to achieve the physique of her dreams.
James’ powerful film combines supernatural elements with grounded gore while exploring the pain and grief of self-acceptance. To unpack this surrealist vision, Bloody Disgusting sat down with the Australian-American filmmaker for a candid conversation about the horror of diet culture and the art of human consumption.
Bloody Disgusting: I’m obsessed with movies about cannibalism. It’s my favorite cinematic taboo, but it can be equally taboo to talk about diet culture and body image. What led you to combine these two topics?
Natalie Erika James: I was fascinated by this idea of desire towards another person as an avenue in which to fill a void in yourself, or projecting your aspirational self onto someone, and how that can morph into a desire to possess and objectify. I think that’s what cannibalism does. It is the ultimate possession and the ultimate way to objectify someone.
BD: I felt really seen by Saccharine. Who would you say your target audience is, and what message do you hope to send to people who may have a complicated relationship with food and their own bodies?
NEJ: My aim was to speak to an audience that has dealt with similar struggles, with eating disorders or body dysmorphia. When I was growing up, there wasn’t anyone talking about this kind of subject matter in such an explicit way. I think horror allows you to do that. Whereas a lot of the films that I saw on the subject seemed to have this neat packaging around it, an almost moralistic kind of messaging. I didn’t feel like it captured both the thickness of certain feelings and the highs of compulsive behavior. That was what I was trying to accurately convey. But at the same time, I feel like the audience is broader than that. It’s anyone who would want to have an insight into that experience or can relate to it through any sort of addiction or compulsive behavior. I think all of us have something, whether it’s scrolling or shopping addiction, anything that relates to the feeling of trying to fill a lack in yourself through external means.
I know that the topic of eating disorders can be difficult to navigate because it’s often very triggering. What was the culture like on set, and how did you approach developing Hana’s character with Midori Francis?
We definitely had a real awareness of the sensitivity of the subject matter. We consulted with The Butterfly Foundation [an Australian charity dedicated to serving those impacted by eating disorders and body image issues] and had an intimacy coordinator who was on set for our actors as a backup resource. We also had language and tone setting meetings with the crew to create an environment in which these things aren’t taken lightly. It’s definitely the nature of diving into an uncomfortable topic that you have to have a lot of uncomfortable conversations. Oftentimes, I found that what makes things uncomfortable is that people are very well-meaning and try to be almost overly sensitive, but there hasn’t been a discussion about what the right language is. It requires a very intentional kind of understanding from everyone.
I shared my own experience with Midori, and she was very open to leaning on some of that as well. I think in the film, there are so many fantastical kinds of heightened moments, but we were always able to come back to, okay, what’s the real-life experience of that, and how do we build a performance?
I think that comes through in the film. In the spirit of uncomfortable conversations, I want to be careful how I ask this question because I make it a policy not to comment on people’s bodies. But I think in a film like this, it does matter. I really love Danielle Macdonald’s performance as Josie. Why was it important to feature this role and different types of bodies in this movie?
I think Josie is so crucial to Hana’s story because she almost acts as a foil to Hana, but is also her anchor. She’s a woman in a larger body who is so self-possessed and confident. She thinks of herself as worthy and has love in her life. It’s all the things Hana really wants for herself, but is trying to achieve in the completely wrong way, by becoming smaller. And so she really is the voice of reason for Hana and also a source of connection. I think the act of being seen or accepted by someone is what really shrinks that sense of shame that Hana carries around. Josie is crucial in so many ways, and I think Dani as a person just embodies Josie. She is that grounded and has this effortless confidence in herself. She’s the perfect fit for the character.
Watching Josie push back on this idea that smaller is better was so refreshing, but the moment that made me cry was a scene in which Hana looks at herself in a really vulnerable position and seems to finally find compassion. Is this a story about self-acceptance and body grieving?
Yes. Hana’s arc goes from one of self-destruction to self-acceptance, at least for a while. It’s about dismantling a sense of shame in yourself and recognizing how much that shame can imprison you. That scene is so pivotal because I think you hear the word self-love a lot, especially in online and wellness spaces. But what does that look like? How do you cultivate it? It can be as simple as looking back at a younger version of yourself and having empathy for where you were and an acknowledgement of how hard you’re trying. I’m glad to hear it resonated.
Throughout this struggle, Hana is haunted by Bertha, a ghost that seems to grow larger in relation to Hana’s compulsions. How do you view her place in the story? Is she a villain, a victim, or something else?
Bertha’s role is twofold. On one hand, she is the entity on which Hana projects all of her worst fears about herself. On a surface level, you could read it as a larger person depicted as a menace and read fatphobia. For me, or at least my intention was, we’re dealing with a character who has internalized this fatphobia. So we’re seeing Bertha through Hana’s lens. Her monstrosity is really driven by shame and self-hatred. It’s not so much about the literal size of her body. I think it’s really important that at the end of the film, we understand that Bertha is a real person and actually very loved.
I want to ask a similar question about Alanya, particularly her 12-Week Challenge. I think society creates a lot of conflicting messages about the right way to have a healthy body, and it can be really confusing. How do you view Alanya’s role in Hana’s life?
Maddie Madden had an interesting challenge in the sense that again, so much of Alanya is viewed through Hana’s aspirational lens and objectification. But I think she did an incredible job of grounding the character and making her very compassionate as well. Through association, Hana tries to create a new version of herself. I also feel as though there are hints that Alanya has gone through some sort of eating disorder journey of her own.
There’s a sense that we’ve moved on from the diet culture discourse of the early 2000s, where women’s bodies were absolutely torn apart. Now this idea of thinness as an aspirational ideal has definitely come back at full force. But now it’s couched in wellness language. It’s about self-improvement, and it can be tied to mental health as well, but a lot of the underlying sentiment is the same. There is a line between self-improvement and self-erasure, something that we have to be really conscious of because it’s masquerading as something positive; there can be seeds of the same energy. I think Alanya has a mix of that. She’s well-intentioned, but even the poster that she has up in the gym has this before and after imagery. There are mixed messages there.
I don’t want to spoil anything, but I absolutely loved the ending. It was the last thing I expected. I also love how queer the film is. At one point, Josie asks Hana if she’s decided whether she wants to be with Alanya or if she wants to be Alanya, which is a question that comes up a lot when exploring one’s sexuality, but it also ties back to what you were saying about objectification and consumption. So Josie’s question becomes quite literal. Where do we leave Hana and Alanya?
In the end, Hana has an opportunity to forge something really authentic with Alanya. All the while, she’s been projecting her desires onto her, and there is this sense of fantasy tied up in it. When it comes to accountability, which Alanya kind of forces her to confront, Hana has an opportunity. But unfortunately, at that time, shame overrides it and wins. It becomes this all-consuming drive. That’s the tragedy, that she has all the tools and yet, if you can’t fill yourself up, there’s no external thing or person that’s going to do that for you.
and Midori Francis in Natalie Erika James’s SACCHARINE. Courtesy of Independent Film Company and Shudder
On a lighter note, I am obsessed with the way you film food and eating in this movie, particularly this credit sequence in which mouth-watering treats are merged with medical procedures. What do these moments say about the connection between food and the body?
Throughout the film, food is many things. At some points, it is a dopamine high and the ecstatic thrill of consumption. It’s kind of like a ride. That’s why we tried to infuse it with color and texture. On the other hand, it can be this source of nauseating, inescapable oppression. So the mix of those two things is what we tried to capture in those end titles. At the same time, food is also nourishment. It’s the first nourishment we get from our mothers as babies. It’s love. It’s caretaking. It’s Hana’s dad cooking her pancakes inexplicably, as well as her mother’s use of food as a means of control. So it’s many things. It’s not just nutrition. It’s very charged.
It’s also something we can’t escape. Unlike other substance abuse issues, we have to eat to survive, and so we’re forced to navigate a relationship with food. I think a lot of the way we do that is shaped by how we were raised. What role do Hana’s parents play in the story?
It felt crucial to truly understand the depth of Hana’s preoccupation with weight, food, and her body. When you think of appearances, it can feel very artificial or superficial. Who cares if you’re 10 kilos, 10 pounds heavier? What does it matter? But so much of how Hana views those things is tied up in love and value and acceptance. Once you understand that, then it becomes an existential crisis. It’s not just about looking good so you can go to a party or something superficial like that. It’s like, how do I exist in the world and feel okay? That’s what’s at stake for her.
Well, speaking of existential crises, I am a huge fan of Relic (2020) and Apartment 7A (2024). Along with Saccharine, I think they both feature elements of female life that we don’t often talk about. Why do you think it’s important to bring issues like aging, caregiving, abortion, and disordered eating to the screen?
When I start a project, there’s nothing more exciting than asking questions you don’t know the answer to, the things you want to think about or explore within the work. I think it’s inevitable that the things I grapple with are female-skewed and uncomfortable, but worth talking about because it’s territory that feels unmined or unearthed.
I find that you’re often telling these stories in a surrealist way. I’m particularly thinking of the dance sequence in Apartment 7A. Sometimes I find that your films are softening the edges, and sometimes I find them sharpened in a really appealing way. How do you approach telling these heavier stories?
I think particularly with that [scene], there was a very conscious sense of spectacle, like masking something horrific. But I’m always concerned with the subjectivity of the character and how she experiences it. The hard-hitting moments come later, after the fact, when something’s already occurred. I’m always concerned with how to externalize what’s happening internally. And often, surreal elements of horror are great for doing that.
I think horror allows you to push things a little further, always with the intention of having the right emotional impact as well. It’s not as effective to just push things for the sake of it. It always has to be tied to some emotional truth. But I think horror allows you to go to places where you can balance absurdity alongside these really harrowing subjects.
Saccharine opens in theaters on May 22, 2026 from Independent Film Company and Shudder.
