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Posted on June 7, 2020

Delivered: Misery Meets Slavery

Dawn Keetley

Released on May 8, 2020, Delivered is the Mother’s Day entry in Hulu’s ongoing Into the Dark anthology horror series from the television branch of Blumhouse Productions. It’s the eighth in the twelve-episode second season and is directed by Emma Tammi, director of The Wind (2018). Delivered has been compared, including by the director itself, to Rosemary’s Baby (1968) and Misery (1990). However, it also, I argue, evokes Toni Morrison’s Beloved (1987) and Jordan Peele’s Get Out (2017). And that makes it even more interesting.

Delivered follows a pregnant Valerie (Natalie Paul), a woman who is clearly ambivalent about her pregnancy. She also seems less than happy with her husband, Tom (Michael Cassidy), and it soon becomes clear that there is another man in her life, Riley (Micah Parker), to whom she refuses to talk. Valerie’s alienation from her life is effectively expressed by Natalie Paul and by director Tammi. She appears to be uninvolved in her life, detached from things and people around her, going through the motions of doctor’s appointments (which she doesn’t tell her husband about) and “Mamaste” childbirth classes. Read more

Posted on May 30, 2020

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

Guest Post

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

Guest Post

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.

Posted on May 17, 2020

Jordan Peele’s Get Out: Political Horror

Dawn Keetley

I am very happy to announce the publication of the edited collection, Jordan Peele’s Get Out: Political Horror, just out from Ohio State University Press (2020) in their New Suns Series , edited by Kinitra D. Brooks and Susana M. Morris. It has a stunning cover design by Black Kirby.

I have a long introduction that explores Get Out within the political horror film tradition and that takes up, among other things, the way that the politics of blackface work in the film. But I wanted to excerpt, below, my description at the end of the introduction of the wonderful chapters written by my contributors so you can see the scope of the collection and the wealth of varied interpretations they offer.

Posted on May 13, 2020

Candyman as Horror Noir

Guest Post

When people talk about the golden age of horror, the 1990s are hardly ever mentioned. Still, it is worth mentioning that this was the decade that began with a horror film winning the “Big Five” Academy Awards: Jonathan Demme’s Silence of the Lambs (1991). The “realistic” horror of the ’90s featured protagonists facing crazed serial killers in films such as Silence and David Fincher’s Se7en (1995). Horror noir was in, but there’s one film that gets overlooked that could also fall into this category: Bernard Rose’s Candyman (1992).

Where there is isolation, horror tends to follow, which is why it makes sense that urban horror is relatively uncommon. What genres such as film noir and neo-noir have noticed and frequently reflected on is that even a densely populated city can still be a place of isolation and alienation. This is something that horror does not usually focus on, but in Candyman, the Chicago setting is vital to understanding the themes Rose develops. Candyman is mostly set in the now-demolished Cabrini-Green housing project. Called Little Hell in the nineteenth century, the area where Cabrini-Green was built had been largely populated by white immigrants before becoming 90% black by the 1990s. Given Cabrini-Green’s infamous reputation for crime and violence, Rose’s use of it as the setting for Candyman brings an element of real fear into the film. The true horror of Candyman is a dangerous combination of poverty, classism, and racism. Through this combination, Cabrini-Green becomes an area that is both alienated by white society and alienating to protagonist Helen Lyle (Virginia Madsen), who investigates the area as part of her graduate thesis on urban legends. Read more