Welcome to the Island, Ladies — Hope You Packed a Knife and a Sense of Humor
Some horror movies begin with a haunted house. Some begin with a group of strangers. TEN begins with both—and a lot of pig décor.
Directed by Sophia Cacciola and Michael J. Epstein, this 2014 indie gem is what happens when Clue, The Shining, and a gender studies dissertation have a wild night together and raise the child on feminist theory, DIY gore, and grindhouse aesthetics.
Set in December 1972, TEN drops ten women into a spooky, isolated mansion on Spektor Island, where the only thing scarier than the taxidermy is the décor. Statues of pigs. Paintings of pigs. Pig masks. It’s less Animal Farm and more “Guess who’s next on the menu.”
The women arrive believing they’re there for business—but the last ferry’s gone, a storm’s raging, and someone’s about to die horribly (or fabulously, depending on your perspective). What follows is an absurdly entertaining, blood-soaked whodunit that’s equal parts parody, pulp, and political satire.
The Setup: Ten Women Walk into a Mansion…
You know that joke, “Ten women walk into a haunted house, and none of them make it to brunch”? That’s TEN.
We’ve got a delightfully diverse lineup of archetypes:
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The renegade (Jade Sylvan), who looks like she’s ready to burn a bra and a building.
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The zealot (Molly Carlisle), who probably thinks the devil’s hiding in the wallpaper.
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The real-estate investor (Molly Devon), who’s definitely wondering about resale value mid-murder.
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The medium (Karin Webb), who’s in for an unfortunate case of “I told you so.”
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The actress, the model, the singer, the student, the doctor, and the historian, all of whom are clever twists on the kinds of women horror usually sidelines.
They all think they’ve come for different reasons, but as the wine flows and the storm howls, they realize something’s not right. (Aside from the pig art, which, again, is aggressively not right.)
Soon, people start dying, secrets start spilling, and identities unravel faster than a polyester turtleneck. Turns out, none of these women are who they say they are—and the fate of the entire world might actually depend on what happens inside this gilded slaughterhouse of a mansion.
So, yes. Just another night in the 1970s.
The Style: Grindhouse Meets Art House (and They Both Bring Wine)
Visually, TEN is a glorious throwback to the garish glam of ’70s horror. Think Suspiria meets a feminist Scooby-Dooepisode directed by David Lynch’s theater kid cousin.
The filmmakers lean into their low-budget roots with style instead of shame. Every shot screams “indie love letter” to the genre—fog machines hissing, red lighting bathing every hallway, and practical effects that feel handmade and heartfelt.
You can tell this was a labor of passion (and probably several cases of cheap wine). The Kickstarter origins show in the best way—it feels personal, punk, and purposefully rough around the edges, like a midnight movie that’s proud of its fingerprints.
And that soundtrack? It’s the auditory equivalent of glittered doom: funky, eerie, and filled with enough synth to make John Carpenter look over his shoulder.
The Acting: Ten Times the Trouble, Ten Times the Fun
The all-female ensemble is the highlight here. Each actress dives into her archetype with glee, chewing the scenery like it’s the last meal before the apocalypse.
Jade Sylvan, as the rebellious Renegade, delivers lines like she’s perpetually halfway between a revolution and a breakdown. Molly Carlisle’s Zealot brings the kind of religious mania that makes you want to duck behind the nearest crucifix. And Sophia Cacciola (who co-directed and stars as the folk singer) nails that haunting mix of ethereal and unhinged—like if Joan Baez started summoning ghosts mid-concert.
The chemistry among the cast is electric. You can tell they’re having the time of their lives skewering every horror trope women have ever been crammed into. They scream, flirt, argue, and philosophize—all while trying to solve a murder and avoid becoming one.
If Agatha Christie had been a feminist film student with a fascination for psychoanalysis and pig masks, this would’ve been her dream ensemble.
The Humor: Meta, Macabre, and Magnificently Weird
Here’s the thing about TEN: it’s not just a slasher—it’s a sly, darkly funny critique of the slasher.
Cacciola and Epstein clearly know their horror history, and they weaponize it with glee. The movie toys with audience expectations—every time you think you’ve identified “the final girl,” she either dies horribly or delivers a monologue about the patriarchy before stabbing someone else.
It’s meta without being smug. The humor lands because it feels like an inside joke shared among horror fans who are also tired of seeing women die for the sake of plot development.
There’s also a delicious absurdity in how the movie embraces its pig motif. Pigs as symbols of greed, gluttony, and the basest human instincts—sure, that’s high art. But also? It’s really funny to see grown women running through a mansion screaming at porcelain pig busts like it’s Animal Planet: Apocalypse Edition.
The Message: Girl Power Meets the Apocalypse
At its core, TEN is about identity—the masks we wear, the stories we tell, and the power we hide beneath the surface.
Each woman represents something: rebellion, faith, intellect, beauty, compassion, desire. And as the film strips them down (sometimes literally, often metaphorically), we see how society’s labels have trapped them as surely as the mansion’s walls.
It’s horror with a sharp feminist edge—a reminder that the scariest monsters are often the expectations we’re forced to live under. Or, occasionally, the reanimated pig statues.
Either way, it’s about reclaiming power, one blood-soaked reveal at a time.
The Mood: A Cocktail of Camp and Carnage
What makes TEN work is its refusal to take itself too seriously. It’s campy, theatrical, and proud of it. The dialogue swings between biting wit and over-the-top melodrama. Every death feels both tragic and tongue-in-cheek, as though the filmmakers are whispering, “Yes, she’s dead, but didn’t she look fabulous dying?”
And somehow, through all the chaos—the wine-fueled paranoia, the existential dread, the occasional pig sacrifice—the film maintains a strange beauty. It’s chaotic, yes, but also strangely empowering.
By the end, you’re not entirely sure what just happened. But you know you had a great time.
The Verdict: A Bloody Good Time with a Brain
⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ out of 5
TEN is a wickedly smart, gloriously strange horror film that laughs in the face of cliché and then stabs it for good measure. It’s feminist horror done right—funny, furious, and filled with pig-shaped surprises.
Sure, it’s messy. It’s over the top. It’s occasionally incoherent. But it’s also brave, original, and dripping with personality—the cinematic equivalent of a protest march in platform boots.
If you’re tired of the same old scream queens and want to see a horror movie where women take the narrative—and the knives—into their own hands, TEN delivers.
Just don’t watch it hungry. There’s enough pork imagery to make a butcher blush.
Final Thought:
In the immortal words of one of the film’s heroines: “We’re all pigs here—some of us just clean up better.”
And in TEN, that’s both a punchline and a prophecy.
