Tiger Stripes review: Periods and demonic possession converge in declawed horror

Horror has historically, and quite aptly, been the genre of choice for exploring the whirlwind of physical and emotional sensations inherent to experiencing one’s first menses. There’s the 1970 Czech dark fantasy hallmark Valerie And Her Week Of Wonders, Stephen’s King’s novel Carrie followed by Brian De Palma’s iconic film adaptation and Katherine Dunn’s cult 1989 novel Geek Love, to name a few. Tiger Stripes, the feature debut from filmmaker Amanda Nell Eu, feels like the Malaysian cousin of Ginger Snaps, the Katharine Isabelle-starring lycanthropic allegory for menarche (or “first period”). While Eu’s film premiered—and won the Grand Prix—at Cannes Critics’ Week 23 years after its spiritual predecessor hit the festival circuit, Tiger Stripes feels declawed in comparison, ironic for a film centered on a feminine feline demon.

12-year-old classmates Zaffan (Zafreen Zairizal), Farah (Deena Ezral) and Miriam (Piqa) teeter on the border between childhood and pubescence, still donning pink, cartoon-emblazoned garb while also eagerly testing out lingerie. Yet as practicing Muslims attending a strict all-girls madrasa, exhibiting salacious (if harmlessly curious) behavior results in being branded as a “slut.” Zaffan, who’s caught in the school bathroom with a lacy black bra, is the initial target of this indignity. The taunting at school only ramps up with the arrival of her first period, which excludes her from daily prayer sessions, thus alienating her from the not yet “dirty” Farah and Miriam.

However, the searing pain of cramps and bloating aren’t the only symptoms Zaffan must learn to deal with. “If you don’t wash the blood off your pad properly, demons will lick that blood and follow you around,” Miriam warns her during one of their last friendly encounters. Shortly thereafter, Zaffan begins to experience a gruesome transfiguration: Streaks of red, patchy rash begin to sprout across her body, nails begin to lift from their beds, her dark, cascading hair falls out, only for tufts to reappear in unexpected areas. As the film’s title suggests, Zaffan has been possessed by a demonic tigress, its supernatural presence signaled when her eyes glow hot pink in the dark night.

While the metaphor mostly tracks—women possess innate strength despite institutional and societal subjugation—there are some inconsistencies in Eu’s approach, namely that it gives credence to a myth that foists shame and fear upon young women. Is Zaffan truly marked for possession because she doesn’t adopt proper hygiene? Or is the spirit invoked by the stigma surrounding a period’s inherent “filth,” exemplified here by bullies who claim they can smell her “fishy” discharge? Tiger Stripes later asserts that this demon can be spread through scratches (mythology that at least mimics werewolves), yet our protagonist doesn’t appear to come into physical contact with any demonic entities before the arrival of her period. While horror monster “rules” are certainly made to be broken, it simply isn’t clear if the filmmaker is aiming for subversion or reappropriation of this cultural fable of “impurity” surrounding menstruation.

One of Tiger Stripe’s more successful observations, however, is how women often uphold and perpetuate sexist ideals that they’ve internalized themselves. In this case, Zaffan’s mother is the one who yells at her daughter for being a “whore” and “bringing shame” onto their household by failing to wear a hijab and daring to wear a tank top while playing in a secluded stream. Meanwhile, her former best friends’ torment at school escalates to the brink of sexual assault. Interestingly, Zaffan is never depicted as a sexual being in the eyes of the men she encounters. Since the girls and women in her life are acutely aware of the threshold into womanhood that a period signifies, they’re well-poised to project sexual stigma on a 12-year-old girl, even if they have yet to experience menarche themselves.

Stylistically, Tiger Stripes adopts an intriguing concept by way of incorporating smartphone-filmed sequences, whether that be a TikTok-esque dance, internet footage of a local tiger encounter, or a live-streamed religious sermon. After all, what tween receives their first cellphone and doesn’t incessantly show it off? These scenes are never jarring—particularly because they’re utilized as a window into the girls’ interior lives—and include things like their personal web searches, or having the camera turned on them without consent. It’s a clever enough conceit, especially because the device largely helps the girls privately rebel against the conventions of their rural village by way of filters and frenetic dance sessions. They can also weaponize the phone as a tool for public humiliation, broadcasting Zaffan’s abuse for eyes outside of their classroom, which escalates the threat of total social rejection.

Tiger Stripes generally could have been bloodier—if not in its kills, then at least in its depiction of menstrual slough—but the body horror elements of the film are decently executed, if a bit derivative (the growth of a particular appendage again harkens back to Ginger Snaps). Where it feels uninspired gore-wise, it similarly feels muddled in its message. When unraveling local lore that exists to suppress women’s agency and self-esteem, there is a vital distinction between providing pointed commentary and inadvertently condoning that which you wish to subvert. Unfortunately for Eu, her debut feature doesn’t quite have the tact to solidly land in the former camp.