‘Forbidden Fruits’: Witchy Mallcore Mayhem is ‘Mean Girls’ Meets ‘The Craft’ [SXSW Review]

Meredith Alloway’s feature debut Forbidden Fruits plays like Mean Girls by way of The Craft for Gen Z. Punchy, witchy, and peppered with catchy 2000s-era needle drops like DJ Sammy’s cover of “Heaven” and the Ying Yang Twins’ “Wait (The Whisper Song),” it feels like the first movie in years that should be inducted into the slumber-party classics Hall of Fame.

Co-written by Alloway and Lily Houghton, and based on Houghton’s play Of the Women Came the Beginning of Sin, and Through Her We All Die, the film follows a coven operating secretly out of Free Eden, a Free People knockoff where the girls—misandrist ringleader Apple (Lili Reinhart), sensitive goth babe Fig (Alexandra Shipp), and bubbly ride-or-die Cherry (Victoria Pedretti, who steals nearly every scene she’s in with her breathy voice and nervous shuffling)—overcharge for trendy clothes (including a tablecloth-turned-makeshift scarf), drink potions made of menstrual blood out of a bedazzled cowboy boot, and communicate with the spirit of Marilyn Monroe.

But after new hire Pumpkin (Lola Tung) is offered a coveted job at the store, the coven suddenly finds itself questioning its sisterhood. Perhaps Apple has gone too far in her hatred of men? They can’t all be that bad, can they? And there’s that weird thing that happened to Pickle (Emma Chamberlain). They’re not allowed to talk about it, but she had it coming, didn’t she? Besides, Pickle isn’t a fruit.

Forbidden Fruits follows in the footsteps of some female rage classics while also carving out a niche of its own with its unique single-location setting, with Free Eden serving as both a refuge and a death trap. With its Mario Bava–inspired color palette, dreamy twinkle lights hanging from the ceiling, and soft, sparkling curtains, the store is a wonderland where the girls can enjoy the fruits of their labor, partying and performing rituals after closing time. But small, well-thought-out details hint at the rot lurking beneath the surface—crushed cans of Cherry Vanilla Olipop and half-eaten pastries litter the break room, severed mannequin heads are frozen mid-laugh (or scream), and the mirrors in the fitting room reveal that the inspirational neon signage actually reads something much more sinister backward.