I watched Rabid and I liked it. 3.5/5
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David Cronenberg’s Rabid (1977) dives deep into the filmmaker’s fascination with body horror, combining raw, visceral thrills with social commentary on modern medical practices. This early work by Cronenberg is far from polished, yet it carries enough intrigue and dark, intellectual curiosity to hold its own. It’s a gnarly, infectious beast of a horror film that remains memorable, if imperfect, within his body of work. A 3.5 out of 5 for me—a film that may not hit every mark, but still resonates with Cronenberg’s signature blend of the grotesque and the cerebral.
Rabid follows Rose (played by adult film star Marilyn Chambers in a daring career pivot), who undergoes experimental surgery after a brutal motorcycle accident. Instead of healing her, the surgery triggers a grotesque mutation that turns her into a kind of vampiric Typhoid Mary. She develops a blood-sucking organ under her armpit and an insatiable hunger for human blood, spreading a rabies-like infection to anyone she encounters. Soon, her insatiable appetite creates a pandemic in Montreal, causing mass hysteria and societal breakdown.
This film’s visuals are modest, showcasing the low-budget limitations but also leaning into Cronenberg’s talent for visceral horror. Cronenberg’s use of practical effects is both simple and effective; the armpit stinger and the infected citizens’ disturbing symptoms are more about discomfort than gore. The practical makeup gives Rabid a grounded horror aesthetic that complements its cold, clinical tone. There’s a tactile quality to the makeup and effects work that feels grimy and unsettling, giving the film a gritty texture that enhances its visceral impact. Even if it doesn’t reach the aesthetic heights of his later works, Rabid shows early signs of Cronenberg’s flair for memorable imagery.
Chambers’ performance as Rose is an interesting choice that works, surprisingly. Cronenberg’s decision to cast a porn actress was a calculated risk, adding layers to the film’s subtext on sexuality and desire. Chambers brings a unique, almost haunting vulnerability to Rose; she’s both predator and victim, consumed by a monstrous hunger she cannot control. The film doesn’t dwell on her past as a sex symbol, but it does add an unspoken layer to the character’s relationship with her newfound sexuality and body horror.
The story itself can feel repetitive, as Rose moves from one unsuspecting victim to another, each encounter escalating the spread of infection. The pacing is uneven, especially as the middle act bogs down with somewhat redundant scenes of Rose’s “feeding” escapades. While the film builds a mounting sense of dread, it doesn’t quite maintain momentum, sometimes feeling more like a series of connected vignettes than a cohesive narrative. There are moments where the pacing falters, especially when the film shifts away from Rose’s perspective to focus on the authorities’ attempt to control the outbreak. These sequences often feel like padding, diluting the tension rather than enhancing it.
That said, Rabid thrives in its exploration of themes that have since become Cronenberg staples. The film taps into societal fears surrounding science, medicine, and bodily autonomy, questioning the ethics of experimental treatments. Cronenberg suggests that medical science, while promising miracles, often breeds unintended consequences. Here, he’s less interested in providing easy answers than in probing the moral ambiguities that arise when humanity plays god with flesh and blood. It’s a theme he would explore with far greater sophistication in The Fly (1986), but Rabid lays the groundwork with its chilling portrayal of medical hubris gone wrong.
The film’s climax is suitably bleak, with a final act that fully embraces Cronenberg’s nihilistic worldview. There’s no easy resolution, no clear message—only the grim realization that humanity’s greatest enemy might be itself. The film’s social commentary resonates even decades later, especially in an age where public health crises are all too familiar.
Rabid may not be Cronenberg’s masterpiece, but it’s an essential piece of his oeuvre. It’s a raw, unfiltered exploration of themes that would define his career, packaged in a pulpy, midnight-movie aesthetic. It’s not a perfect film, and its pacing issues and repetitiveness hold it back, but it remains an intriguing, visceral ride. For those willing to embrace its flaws, Rabid is an early glimpse into the mind of a director who was only beginning to explore the horrors lurking beneath human skin.