Every decade has its cinematic misfires. The 1980s gave us Howard the Duck, The Apple, and then this oddball: Possibly in Michigan, a 12-minute musical horror short that answers the question, “What if Little Red Riding Hood did acid in a department store and then ate the Big Bad Wolf?” Written and directed by Cecelia Condit, this strange shot-on-video experiment has gained cult status thanks to the internet, TikTok, and the undeniable human urge to rubberneck at a trainwreck.
Let’s be clear: this is not a movie you watch. This is a movie that happens to you, like food poisoning or getting cornered at a party by someone who wants to explain their screenplay.
The Plot: Cannibal Soup for the Soul
The setup sounds like a parody of a parody. Two women, Sharon and Janice, go shopping for perfume in what looks like the saddest Kmart ever built. Enter Arthur: a masked stalker in a black suit whose mouth hangs open like he just learned that all-you-can-eat shrimp has a two-hour time limit. He follows them home, breaks into Sharon’s house, and delivers the least romantic ultimatum in cinematic history: “I’ll either eat you now or dismember you slowly.”
Naturally, Janice shows up, shoots him, and the women immediately get naked, carve him up, and make soup out of his body. They feed scraps to the dog, smoke cigarettes, and then casually take the bones out with the trash. Because nothing says “bonding” like a little light cannibalism followed by Marlboros.
If you’re wondering, yes: all of this is set to music. And not good music—this is like if Rocky Horror was rewritten by someone who failed Intro to Composition but still had access to a Casio keyboard.
The Look: Department Store Purgatory
Shot on early video, the film has all the visual polish of a corporate training tape about workplace harassment. The “department store” looks like it’s been going out of business since 1974. The homes look like your aunt’s split-level suburban nightmare, complete with shag carpeting and lamps that should’ve been donated to Goodwill decades ago.
Everything looks flat, washed-out, and faintly sticky—like the entire movie was filmed through the bottom of a used fish tank. It’s folk horror by way of public access television.
The Music: Possibly in Tune
Musicals depend on music. Unfortunately, the music here feels less like songs and more like cursed nursery rhymes written by someone who’s been awake for 72 hours. Lyrics meander, vocals wander, and the score sounds like Karen Skladany leaned on an organ and decided “yeah, that’s good enough.”
Lines like “He’ll chop off my head, and then he’ll eat me” are sung with the kind of cheerful detachment usually reserved for jingles about laundry detergent. It’s like Sesame Street, but everyone’s drunk and the puppets want to wear your skin.
Acting: By Generous Definition
Jill Sands as Sharon and Karen Skladany as Janice deliver performances best described as “present.” Their line delivery is flat, their expressions blank, and yet somehow that weird detachment almost works for the dreamlike tone. Still, it’s hard to call it acting when most of the dialogue is voiceover and everyone looks like they’re rehearsing rather than performing.
Arthur, the masked stalker, is mostly played by Condit herself, which explains why he moves with all the menace of someone struggling to find the bathroom at a dinner party. When Bill Blume finally shows up for the unmasking, it’s almost jarring—like suddenly realizing you’ve been watching your neighbor’s home videos instead of a movie.
Horror? Comedy? PSA About Red Flags?
So what is Possibly in Michigan? Horror? Sort of—if you consider grocery-store cannibal soup terrifying. Comedy? Maybe—if your sense of humor thrives on bad wigs and awkwardly sung threats. Feminist satire? Some say yes, though watching Sharon and Janice giggle as they butcher Arthur doesn’t exactly feel like a manifesto.
At best, it plays like a parody of women’s horror, a suburban fairy tale where the princesses rescue themselves by blowing away Prince Charming and cooking him for dinner. At worst, it’s a clumsy art project stretched far beyond its shelf life.
Cult Status: The Internet Never Forgets
For years, Possibly in Michigan languished in obscurity, popping up in film schools as a curiosity and confusing VHS collectors at swap meets. Then came the internet. Clips spread like wildfire on YouTube and TikTok, where teens lip-synced its awkward songs and pretended to be cannibal fashionistas. Suddenly, this dusty 1983 experiment became a meme.
But let’s be honest: cult status doesn’t mean quality. Plenty of garbage becomes beloved once enough people ironically embrace it. Just ask The Room. Possibly in Michigan is less a lost classic and more a reminder that the internet will repackage anything—no matter how moldy—if it’s weird enough.
Symbolism: A Sledgehammer to the Face
Like many art films, Possibly in Michigan is dripping with “symbolism.” Masks represent identity! Cannibalism represents toxic relationships! Singing represents… well, probably just the director’s hobby.
But subtlety is not on the menu. Every metaphor arrives gift-wrapped and screaming. Arthur wears so many masks he forgets who he is—yes, we get it, men are fake and dangerous. Sharon and Janice eating him symbolizes female empowerment—yes, we get it, women reclaim power by devouring their abusers. After the 15th reminder, you wish they’d just eaten you instead.
The Real Horror: Twelve Minutes That Feel Like Fifty
At twelve minutes long, Possibly in Michigan should be painless. Blink and it’s over, right? Wrong. Time here slows to a crawl. Every song feels like an eternity, every scene drags like a bad dream, and by the time the women are spooning up Arthur’s flesh, you’d swear you’ve aged a year.
If time is money, this short film robs you blind.
Final Thoughts: Possibly in Michigan, Definitely in Purgatory
Possibly in Michigan is the cinematic equivalent of finding a severed ear in your soup: bizarre, unpleasant, and yet weirdly memorable. It’s an artifact of early video art, a feminist revenge fantasy, and a terrible musical all rolled into one sticky VHS package.
Yes, it’s gained cult fame. Yes, it has its defenders. But for most viewers, it’s an endurance test wrapped in off-key singing and bargain-bin production values. Watching it once is enough. Watching it twice means you’ve either lost a bet or joined a very specific support group.
