Agent provocateur Pierre Tsigaridis blows another handful of toxic pixie dust in our eyes with Frankie, Maniac Woman, a distasteful deep dive into the psychological fallout of childhood trauma, normalised fat-shaming, and the euphoric catharsis of serial killing.

Frankie is a talented singer-songwriter desperately trying to fit the ingrained stereotypes of the music industry. Plagued by open hostility towards her size and looks, her fragile self-worth slides into the hopeless abyss of a failed suicide attempt. A scene that will expose your tolerance for quite literal gallows humour.

This unsuccessful bid for the sanctorium of death appears to give her inner demons human form, played by Tsigaridis himself. Egged on by his reflected vengeance, Frankie resolves to extract the mental from judgmental and become an axe murderer, in more ways than one.

Her odyssey of butchery takes her from the Hollywood Hills into the bohemian arms of all-female hypocritically inclusive desert hippies. Nobody is ever safe around the vortex of her unhinged mood swings, as she undulates from sweet vulnerability to a stone-cold killer who will cut your breasts off as easily as share a tub of ice-cream.

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It matters not where you draw your cinematic lines in the sand; this outrageous black comedy is determined to cross at least one of them. Fast becoming the master of no fucks given movies, Tsigaridis fires another acid-tipped bullet, this time in the direction of pathetic misogynists and arrogant egotists.

His partner in crime in this twisted psychodrama is the charismatic Dina Silva, who plays Frankie. It’s an astonishing performance of raw honesty that redefines masked mutilators in the horror genre and reframes the recent surge of high-end feminist cinema.

The film is rough around the edges with a desolate and depraved core, but then so is its anarchic anti-heroine. Its lack of polish, disjointed timeline, and incredulous plot swirls serve only to accentuate the surreal nightmare of its degenerate narrative.

Thematically, Frankie, Maniac Woman is as challenging as it is brave. It doesn’t necessarily care how many of them we engage with, nor if they offend; it simply happens and leaves us to sift through the carnage. The film can be digested merely as a brutal body count bloodbath, or more deeply as a scathing satire on the poisonous patriarchy that suffocates the creativity of women who don’t conform to its narcissistic agenda. Either way, it’s shamefully entertaining and often genuinely hilarious.

Frankie is the product of an upbringing in which her sex worker mother failed to shield her, a plot strand that may cross aforementioned lines for some. However, it’s the cruel discrimination of the gatekeepers of her musical dream that galvanises her internal pain into savage retribution. No longer the eager-to-please lap-dog willing to try homestyle liposuction with the aid of YouTube videos, but a crazed executioner willing to deal bloody justice to oppressors of the women around her. Even if she does end up slicing and dicing the victims she stands up for.

This nature-nurture angle is never resolved for us as we rubberneck on Frankie’s disintegration into a wounded animal that no longer needs to be backed into a corner to fight back. 

Frankie, Maniac Woman is divisive by design. A poignant ode to the underdog from a filmmaker with a voracious love of horror films, where his filter should be. Goofy, gory, and bursting with immoral energy, it demands attention, knowing full well many will reject and despise it.

★★★★

European Premiere At Grimmfest on 10th of October 2025 / Dina Silva / Dir: Pierre Tsigaridis  / 18 / TW Films

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