If you ever thought your family reunion was awkward, wait until you see Growth. This 2010 body-horror gem directed by Gabriel Cowan takes the “Daddy has a secret” trope and injects it—literally—with parasitic mayhem, bad decisions, and a surprising amount of shirtless existentialism. Imagine The Fly had a baby with The Thing, and that baby went to community college to major in evolutionary biology. That’s Growth—equal parts goo, gore, and glorious absurdity.
🧬 “Parasites Are the New Botox”
The movie starts in 1989, when a group of well-meaning (read: completely unhinged) scientists on Cuttyhunk Island decide that humanity has peaked somewhere between fire and microwave burritos. Led by Mason Lane, they start injecting people with microscopic parasites meant to “advance evolution.” You know, because nothing says progress like willingly swallowing space worms.
At first, the experiment works—everyone becomes fitter, faster, smarter. Then, like every self-improvement fad from CrossFit to cryptocurrency, it goes too far. Within weeks, three-quarters of the island population is dead, proving once again that human evolution tends to skip the “ethics” chapter.
Fast forward twenty years, and we meet Jamie (played with the right mix of trauma and beachwear by Mircea Monroe), Mason’s daughter. She heads back to Cuttyhunk with a group of friends who look like they were assembled via stock footage of “attractive people who make bad decisions.” There’s Kristen, the flirty one; Marco, the comic relief; and Justin, who radiates the kind of confidence only found in horror characters destined to die creatively.
🌊 “Welcome Back to the Island, Population: Regret”
As soon as the group arrives, Jamie starts having flashbacks—memories of her father’s experiments and her own tragic backstory. If Freud had directed this, it’d be called Daddy Issues and the Parasite Within. But this isn’t that kind of movie. Instead, Jamie meets Larkin, a scientist who looks like he’s been carrying guilt and a clipboard for two decades. He tells her she’s about to lose her inheritance—because of course there’s a will. In horror, rich families always leave behind more than trust funds; they leave biohazard labs.
Meanwhile, Kristen and Justin are engaging in some lakeside flirting that can only end in infection. She dares him to tread water to win “whatever he wants.” Spoiler: what he gets is a faceful of parasite delivered via a mysterious hooded figure lurking nearby. Nothing kills the mood like invisible worms slithering into your bloodstream.
Justin wakes up with heightened senses, superhuman reflexes, and the libido of a werewolf on Red Bull. He hits the local bar, picks a fight, makes out with someone else’s girlfriend, and possibly kills her mid-kiss. Ah, young love.
🧟 “The Evolution Revolution Will Be Televised”
As the movie progresses, Growth morphs from science fiction into full-blown parasitic chaos. People’s skin bubbles like microwaved pudding, eyes dilate like they’ve seen the Wi-Fi password from heaven, and everyone starts behaving like they auditioned for Venom but missed the callback.
When Kristen stumbles upon a graveyard full of 1989 victims, she’s promptly attacked and forcibly fed a parasite through the mouth. It’s gross, it’s uncomfortable, and it’s kind of funny—because at this point, the movie’s commitment to mouth-based horror borders on Freudian art.
Jamie and Marco find themselves face-to-face with Dr. Macavire, a scientist whose name alone sounds like he runs a shady supplement company. He claims he wants to help, but anyone in a lab coat in a horror movie is one bad monologue away from a nervous breakdown. Sure enough, by the time his pants start wriggling (thanks to a leg-climbing parasite), it’s clear he’s not here for the cure—he’s here for the chaos.
👨🔬 “Daddy Dearest: The Final Mutation”
The mysterious figure stalking everyone turns out to be none other than Mason Lane—Jamie’s father, back from the dead and looking like Jeff Goldblum halfway through The Fly. He explains that he’s been working on an antidote, which is touching, considering his previous hobby was infecting an entire island with face worms. Family legacy, you know?
Mason has that mad-scientist energy where every sentence sounds like a TED Talk given by someone who’s been awake for 11 years. Jamie, realizing her father’s “I did it for science” excuse doesn’t quite cut it, decides to douse him in salt water—proving once again that table salt remains the most powerful weapon in low-budget horror. Mason dissolves into a human smoothie, releasing a cloud of angry parasites like he’s auditioning for Fear Factor: Apocalypse Edition.
🚤 “Escape from Cuttyhunk: The Wettest Ending Since Jaws”
Jamie escapes the lab with the antidote, only to find that Justin—her friend, love interest, and newly crowned king of bad timing—is also infected and completely unhinged. He kills Larkin (of course he does; scientists never make it to the credits) and begs Jamie to stay with him on the island.
She refuses, proving that even in horror movies, boundaries matter. But as she sails away, Jamie discovers she’s infected too. In a poetic act of self-sacrifice (or possibly a metaphor for breakups), she throws herself into the ocean to drown both her sorrows and her parasites.
Cue the final scene: six months later, in South Korea, a hint that the parasites are still alive and spreading. Because why kill your franchise when you can leave it squirming?
💉 “A Surprisingly Smart Stupid Movie”
Here’s the thing: Growth shouldn’t work, but it kind of does. Beneath the schlock and slime, there’s a sharp little satire about the human obsession with perfection—how far we’ll go to “improve” ourselves, even if it means hosting brain-eating micro-worms. It’s a cautionary tale about evolution gone wrong, and in 2025, it feels more relevant than ever.
The pacing is brisk, the effects are just gross enough to be fun, and the cast sells every ridiculous line with earnest conviction. You almost believe that these characters think “Let’s go to the abandoned island full of dead scientists” is a good idea. Almost.
Visually, it’s impressive for a low-budget horror. The island setting feels genuinely eerie—equal parts paradise and petri dish. The cinematography balances glossy horror-movie sheen with the grit of a late-night fever dream. The parasites themselves? They look like spaghetti that grew up watching Alien.
🧠 “The Evolutionary Takeaway”
Where Growth really shines is in its ability to balance body horror with accidental comedy. It’s gross, it’s absurd, and it knows exactly what it is. When Justin starts showing off his newfound powers like he’s auditioning for X-Men: Parasite Edition, you can’t help but laugh. When Mason monologues about humanity’s next step in evolution, you half expect someone to hand him a multilevel marketing brochure.
And that’s the beauty of it. Growth doesn’t take itself too seriously, even when it’s drenched in fake blood and pseudo-science. It’s a movie about how humans are always trying to be more—stronger, smarter, better—when maybe, just maybe, we should be content not to turn into biohazard sushi.
🧬 “Final Thoughts: Humanity, Hold My Parasite”
Growth is the kind of movie that belongs in the cult horror hall of fame—right next to The Stuff and Society. It’s weirdly charming, disgustingly fun, and smarter than it lets on. Sure, it’s full of clichés—mysterious scientists, tragic daughters, shirtless men—but it wraps them in a slick, gooey layer of satire that goes down easier than it should.
It’s a film that says: yes, humanity is doomed, but at least we’ll go down with glowing veins and abs of steel.
Final Grade: A- (for “A little absurd, but absolutely infectious”)
In the end, Growth might not evolve the horror genre, but it definitely proves one thing: some bad ideas never die—they just mutate, grab a boat, and head for the sequel.
