After a lifetime of seeing autonomous hands in works from The Addams Family to horror-comedies such as Idle Hands and Evil Dead II, the quietly devastating French animation I Lost My Body arrives with a tone you won’t be expecting. The film alternates between the eerie, solitary trek of a severed hand through the underbelly of Paris and the parallel story of the young man it once belonged to.
Jérémy Clapin’s notable 2019 feature debut is far from a conventional horror film — it’s an elegiac, slightly uncanny meditation on grief, longing, and the awkward edges of adulthood. That said, it doesn’t shy away from visceral imagery: a detached hand scavenges and fights its way through tunnels and sewers. The movie ultimately confronts the unforgiving permanence of death and the strange persistence of life for those left behind — a kind of existential dread that differs from the shock tactics of slashers and viral shock-characters. (review.)
The source novel was written by Guillaume Laurant, known for Amélie, but Clapin’s adaptation sheds Amélie’s whimsy for something more austere and introspective. The protagonist, Naoufel — voiced by Hakim Faris in the original and Dev Patel in Netflix’s English dub — is a Moroccan expatriate living with detached relatives after a family tragedy. Working as a pizza delivery driver, he develops a fragile, yearning connection with a customer, Gabrielle (Victoire Du Bois / Alia Shawkat), and makes choices that cross boundaries in his attempt to be closer to her. His loneliness explains his behavior, though it doesn’t excuse the consequences when she discovers how he inserted himself into her life.
Structurally, the film weaves several timelines: the present-day journey of the hand trying to reunite with Naoufel; recent flashbacks that lead to the moment the hand became detached; and older, dreamlike memories that suggest the hand itself harbors recollections. The narrative pieces slowly align, building to two converging revelations that explain both how the hand was severed and the origins of Naoufel’s loss.
The movie’s power lies in metaphor: the wandering hand becomes a concentrated emblem of all the ruptures in Naoufel’s life. It’s less about gore than about absence — the persistent ache of what’s been cut away and the stubborn, often futile desire for reassembly. That emotional yearning is more unsettling than any typical ghost or monster story.
Where to watch: Netflix
Polygon’s annual Halloween Countdown is a 31-day series of short recommendations highlighting standout horror films, shows, episodes, and seasonal streaming picks. You can view the full schedule here.
Source: Polygon
