‘Ash’ Is an Ayahuasca Trip Through a Space Mission From Hell

As this is all happening, the film completely engulfs you in psychedelic colors, images, and movements. It’s stunning and disorienting and I literally felt high after leaving the theater. My interpretation of ayahuasca is that it forces you to face your demons, but the demons—however grim—are neon pinks, purples, and greens. While you’re confronting them, you’re also soaring through kaleidoscope mosaics; the atmosphere is pulsating and you’re dizzy and terrified, but everything looks really fucking cool. Which is exactly how I felt watching Ash. There were also a couple of parts of the film where I thought I might throw up—another much-reported side effect of the psychedelic. So, if nothing else, Ash is a giant, neon ayahuasca demon.

Eventually, Riya’s memories start to return, and she experiences intermittent flashbacks—which initially make her believe that she snapped and killed everyone. But that’s only half the equation.

It takes a bit too long, but eventually, we learn that the station’s machinery has been infiltrated by some kind of parasite which I’ve since decided to call “space cordyceps,” based on the fungus from The Last of Us that turns humans into zombies. But where the Earth cordyceps is a mindless organism simply seeking a host, space cordecyps is conscious and self-aware, and kind of a dick. At one point, it says to Riya, from inside her brain, that they don’t want her species here because they’ve studied humankind and have learned that we suck. (Fair enough. It also declares to Riya: “You and your species, doomed to self-detonate.” Not wrong.) That said, if I had to choose between a parasitic fungus invading my body and turning me into a zombie monster on post-apocalyptic Earth or a parasitic fungus invading my body and turning me into a zombie monster on a exo-planet, I’d pick Earth, please. Drop me into the middle of The Last of Us and I don’t even need to meet Pedro Pascal; the Earth cordyceps look like being invaded by a warm, fluffy blanket compared to the space cordyceps.

As we near closer to the end of the film, Riya remembers that, after the crew discovered that the station’s technology was being overrun with space cordyceps wrapping around its wires, everyone wanted to follow protocol and gtfo—except Riya, who gets on a high horse about how this extraterrestrial organism is the reason they’re here. As they make plans to leave, she sneaks in to check it out and pick off a sample anyway; ultimately, she’s the only survivor of an attack she prompted. And look, it’s sad that everyone dies—but it’s also inspiring to watch a woman fully ruin everything and not face any consequences. That was my primary takeaway.

Now, was this a good movie? I don’t know that I can answer that. It’s crazy and dizzying and I for sure have some terrifying nightmares in my future. But was it good? I mean, what is good? My Ash-enlightened-slash-traumatized brain can no longer define things in such simple human terms. Let’s just say, I would never tell someone not to see it.

It was 11:30 p.m. when I left the theater and, like Riya, I didn’t know my hand from a street sign or if I was walking on a concrete road or a tunnel that only looked like a road in order to trick me into sliding back to the deep, dark depths of my subconscious; the stars in the sky, which were previously twinkling, now looked like they were maybe taunting me. Does good art make sense? Or does it scramble your brain and leave you staring into a void? Watch Ash and let me know.