My quick rating – 5.9/10. My first thought was, “So, cultural decline is a rash that turns into an alien body snatcher. Gotcha.” Well, basically, that is Ick. Director, cast, and probably the guy who picked the soundtrack all lean into this idea like it’s fresh, even though zombie flicks have been riffing on cultural rot since George Romero was still smearing fake blood on extras. But hey, sometimes reheated leftovers taste good if you season them with enough style, humor, and the occasional Creed song.
We open with a montage of Hank (Brandon Routh), a weary science teacher whose life is basically “dad jokes with lab goggles.” Through quick flashes, we learn how he got here—failed relationships, school board meetings, and probably way too many PTA fundraisers. Enter Grace (Malina Weissman), the maybe-daughter who forces Hank to relive the most awkward family reunion questions of all time: “Do I call you Dad? Hank? Mr. Awkward Man With Too Many Science Puns?” Their relationship actually grows on you, carried by a mix of humor and “yikes, this is uncomfortable” energy.
The real star, though? The Ick itself. At first, it’s just an annoying growth everyone shrugs off, like a mold problem in an Airbnb. But soon it morphs into a full-blown parasitic body snatcher, grotesque and slickly designed, with enough ooze and gnarly transformations to keep horror fans happy. The creature effects shine, delivering some creative deaths that are equal parts gross and entertaining.
The humor mostly lands. The first attack scene in the weeds is a blast, the car sequence is amusing but overstays its welcome (seriously, I could’ve driven to a different theater during that), and then there’s Creed blasting on the soundtrack. Yes, Creed. Which either makes this movie instantly dated or secretly brilliant. I can’t decide. (If you are a fan, each Creed link is a different song on YouTube)
Jeff Fahey shows up as Hank’s dad and, like the cool uncle who always brings beer to the BBQ, steals every scene he’s in. Sadly, he’s underused, though he nails some well-timed comedy between infestation attacks. The prom sequence is the standout—a hilariously bad parental decision made after the military literally warned them about the alien threat. But that’s the point: it’s satire, and the joke is that humans would absolutely risk it all for bad punch and a DJ named “DJ Infectious.”
Where Ick falters is in depth. It’s stylish, fast-talking, and fun, but once the slime settles, there’s not much underneath. The metaphors about cultural decline are there, but they never cut deep; they just sit on the surface like an itchy rash. Which, I suppose, is fitting. This one should be available soon if you weren’t lucky enough to catch it at the Toronto Film Festival.
