On today’s episode we’re talking The Curse of La Llorona (2019), Michael Chaves’ ode to the popular Mexican folk story in which a ghostly woman in white stalks and kills young children. Does this horror film introduce some much needed Latinx representation into American horror film or does its potential go unmet? And how does the film’s positioning of a white woman as the heroine impact audience spectatorship? We’re a divided Horror Homeroom crew on this episode, so stay tuned!
The Conjuring universe had a bumper crop this year with two films being released within four months of each other. The Curse of La Llorona (Michael Chaves, 2019) is technically a spin off—and quite far spun out at that—from the diegesis established in the main Conjuring series and its popular Annabelle sub-series. La Llorona came out in April and the latest chapter on said doll, Annabelle Comes Home (2019), was released in late June. Having grossed nearly $2 billion dollars, the Conjuring franchise shows no sign of slowing down.
A certain intertextuality has long been recognized as a hallmark of horror cinema. The genre is notoriously self-referential. Even so, those who spent a few years drinking in the Paranormal Activity films (2007–2015) beginning in the middle of the last decade will perhaps notice some distinct similarities to The Conjuring franchise. Indeed, The Curse of La Llorona stands out from other films in its universe–similar to the way in which Paranormal Activity: The Marked Ones (Christopher Landon, 2014) relates to the main story of its series. Both involve Hispanic communities, feature a botánica and even involve some of the same rituals associated with Hispanic folk tradition. This could reflect nothing more than the fact that religions that used to be called “syncretistic” bear certain similarities. Nevertheless, this particular form of religion in horror is a form of exoticism for the white mainstream, and it draws on very similar motifs in these two films. Some backstory might be useful right about now. Read more
Andrew Michael Hurley’s third novel, Starve Acre, is due out from John Murray on the highly appropriate date of October 31, 2019. Hurley is the author of two prior novels—the critically acclaimed The Loney (2014) and Devil’s Day (2017)—both of which fall loosely within the ‘folk horror’ subgenre. Fans of Hurley’s first two novels, and of folk horror in general, will be happy to hear that Starve Acre is positioned still more firmly within the folk horror tradition; it is a brilliant interweaving of psychological realism, folklore, and the haunting presence of the supernatural. I would put it in the company of some of M. R. James’s fiction, Daphne du Maurier’s ‘Don’t Look Now’ (1971, and Nicolas Roeg’s 1973 film), Piers Haggard’s The Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971), and Ira Levin’s Rosemary’s Baby (as well as Roman Polanski’s 1968 adaptation).
In today’s episode, we’re wading into Alexandre Aja’s Crawl. Now, we all know that Jaws made a generation afraid to go into the ocean, but does this film’s ode to bloodthirsty alligators offer up a similar heart-pounding experience? And why are we so afraid of what lurks within the water? We’re giving some gator love on this episode, so stay tuned!
And side note, for some inexplicable reason I kept saying crocodile when, in fact, our underwater stalkers are alligators. And as my first-grade teacher, Mrs. Moon, spent many weeks explaining, there is a difference.
In April 2019, New Line Cinema released James Wan’s production of The Curse of La Llorona, directed by Michael Chaves. It brought mainstream US attention to the important Mexican legend of “La Llorona,” or “the wailing woman.” In most versions, La Llorona is a banshee figure, often dressed in white, crying for her children whom she has killed after herself being betrayed by a lover. The figure has been connected to a broader history of colonialism in Mexico, as this excellent article by Dr. Amy Fuller explains. Numerous cinematic incarnations of the legend of La Llorona precede Chaves’s film, many made in Mexico. La Maldición de la Llorona, made in 1961 but released in Mexico in 1963 and in the US in 1969, and directed by Rafael Baledón, is a version worth watching despite its limitations. It should be stated up front that one of its principal limitations is that La Maldición is devoid of any taint of colonial critique; the film’s reference point is the Hollywood horror tradition more so than the historically- and politically rooted La Llorona of Mexican folklore.
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