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Posted on June 26, 2020

Followed: A Clever Use of Found Footage and a Smart Critique of Influencer Culture

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Ever since the massive success of 1999’s The Blair Witch Project, found footage has been a staple of the horror genre. Even George A. Romero experimented with it in one of his last (and also criminally underrated) films, Diary of the Dead (2007). Yet, now, more than 20 years after The Blair Witch Project, the subgenre has become stale. The grainy, shaky shots have become cliché. Even Blair Witch Project became such a part of the zeitgeist that it was spoofed mercilessly. At this point, for any director and screenwriter to use found footage as a technique, they better do something innovative. Cue Followed, the directorial feature debut by Antoine Le, written by Todd Klick. The film’s uniqueness lies in its method of storytelling. Followed’s narrative is told through vlogging, and by using this method, the movie updates the found footage technique to reflect and comment upon influencer culture. It’s a smart take on what has generally become an exhausted subgenre. The plot unfolds click by click, through a series of vlogs sequenced on a website.

Posted on June 20, 2020

Midsommar and Cross-Quarter Day Horror

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Halloween has long been the basis for horror celebrations, but it was made canonical for horror films with John Carpenter’s debut film, Halloween (1978), which uses the holiday as the basis for a supernatural Michael Myers to take vengeance on naughty teenagers. The origin of Halloween is Samhain, one of four Celtic cross-quarter days. The other three, one of which already has an iconic horror film associated with it, are Imbolc (February 2), Beltane (May 1), and Lughnasadh (August 1). Cross-quarter days fall roughly midway between the solstices and equinoxes, each of which also has ancient religious celebrations. The iconic cross-quarter horror film mentioned is, of course, Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man (1973), and it is set during the time of Beltane.

Apart from seventies styles, The Wicker Man has held up remarkably well. Sergeant Howie, a Scottish police officer, is lured to Summerisle, a remote Hebridean island, to investigate a missing child. He’s been set up, however, by the islanders who need an outsider to sacrifice on their May Day celebrations. Although they never call the holiday Beltane, that is the title of the Gaelic spring festival that dates back to the tenth century. The Wicker Man has received accolades that have grown over the years. It’s been a kind of gold standard for intelligent horror.

Posted on June 17, 2020

The Haunted House Movie: The Affective Experience of House of 1000 Corpses

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Rob Zombie’s 2003 directorial debut House of 1000 Corpses was critically panned, with people like James Brundage saying that the film was a series of unrelated “cheap scary image[s]” and The New York Times arguing that Zombie’s “encyclopedic approach” to horror made the film “crowded” and “frenzied.” And on one level, they weren’t wrong; It is undeniably true that the film hops, skips, and jumps between subgenres of horror, from a The Hills Have Eyes-esque family of murderous rednecks to a Satanic Panic-inspired ritual to the final scenes which seem to be an interpretation of Hell. But, despite criticism to the contrary, the film is not damaged by these genre-bending leaps: rather, the entire enterprise is paying homage to another storied horror tradition, the haunted house. By having the film tackle so many subsets of horror, House of 1000 Corpses effectively mimics the experience of walking through a physical haunted house attraction. Thus, we have to consider the film not simply as a piece of genre cinema, but as a total affective experience that attempts to emulate a distinctly embodied set of sensations. Read more

Posted on May 30, 2020

So, We’re Just Going to Ignore the Sunlight Then? Aesthetic Whiteness in Midsommar

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When we look at the history of horror and the gothic, we see that the aesthetic investment in establishing darkness as an easy visual cue for badness is largely taken for granted. That the dark is the place where monsters dwell, unseen and always threatening, is perhaps the most deeply rooted cultural and linguistic paradigm propping up the interlocking systems of white supremacist capitalist patriarchy—that is, it is among the most banal gestures of anti-Blackness in which we all participate daily. As such, horror films historically have been, well, dark.

As much as aesthetic layers undoubtedly inform the genre, real-life occasions of horror rarely arrive with packaging so convenient. That is, horror tends to be experienced as a sort of absurdity or cognitive dissonance: the feeling of suspension, of lacking gravity, of time collapsing.

My point is that horror lives in the mind, as a way of seeing.

In Darkly: Black History and America’s Gothic Soul, a hybrid of memoir and cultural critique, writer Leila Taylor speaks to this point succinctly: “Darkness is everywhere, even in the oppressive glare of the noonday sun.”

Posted on May 20, 2020

Sea Fever and the Working-Class Weird

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There is an unrecognized privilege at work in the experience of the weird or strange, or at least that is what Neasa Hardiman’s Sea Fever (2019), a claustrophobic sea horror, suggests as it follows the crew of the Niamh Cinn Óir in their encounter with a glowing and parasitic creature under the waves. When presented with the monstrosity in the ocean’s waters, the green goo seeping into the ship’s hull, or the eyeless dead of the vessel N-29, the blue-collar crew of the fishing trawler don’t hypothesize where or how this creature came to be—that is a job for the antisocial behaviorist. Instead, they are far more concerned with how the beast will affect their ability to turn a profit and keep the ship afloat.

While other critics are quick to place Sea Fever in the lineage of The Thing (1982) and Alien (1979) or cite how incredibly timely this horror film is given the events of a real-world pandemic, I want to make the case here for Sea Fever’s position on labor and the experience of horror along class lines. To be clear: the glowing nightmare terrifies everyone on board the trawler eventually—the raw fear the beast inspires applies as much to a fish hauler as it does to an academic. However, what is different and important is how these economically diverse characters interact with the weirdness of the monster. As in Alien, the regular crew of the Niamh Cinn Óir have one thing on their minds: making a proper share of profit.