Capitalism hates us. We needn’t look far for proof. Firestorms, hurricanes, floods, derechos—capitalism is inimical to the continued existence of life on Earth. Twenty-first century investment banks may trumpet their commitments to climate policy, but the people who run so-called responsible investing units show how little they care about this destruction. In a 2022 conference presentation, the head of responsible investing for HSBC’s asset management unit said: “Climate change is not a financial risk that we need to worry about. . . . Who cares if Miami is six meters underwater in 100 years? Amsterdam’s been six meters underwater for ages, and that’s a really nice place. We will cope with it.” It is precisely this lack of concern that we see in the Trump administration’s assault on the regulatory state, in billionaires constructing apocalypse hideaways, and in the global rise of fascism. Capitalism encourages those with resources to assume that they’ll be able to cope, while the rest of us burn, drown, or starve.
American Horror Story: Indigenous Folklore and Contemporary Issues in Wendigo Stories
Guest PostRebecca L. Willoughby
Mother Earth has been pillaged, / Stripped of her life’s blood. / A violation that has awakened / The malevolent spirit. / Seeking the lost, the frail, / And the depraved… (Antlers, 2021)
While contemporary audiences are often aware of the wendigo legend as a result of recent films and video games, it is important to note the shifts this folk tale has undergone as it is translated from the cultural traditions of the Native American peoples from which it originated into its current form. Here, we explore the enduring aspects of the legend as it has moved into the present time and popular culture, and discuss the use of this mythological figure within mostly White contexts: do these representations honor the long history of the wendigo as a cautionary tale? Or do they continue to appropriate the past as a frightening unknown in order to tell White stories?
A Rusting Nail, the Flick of the Knife Symbolic Cross-Cutting in Clive Barker’s Hellraiser
Guest PostJames Rose
It is the pivotal scene in Clive Barker’s Hellraiser (1981): moving into their new house, husband Larry (Andrew Robinson) helps the removal men carry the marital mattress up the stairwell while his wife, Julia (Clare Higgins), waits pensively in the bedroom. Barker elegantly cuts back and forth between these two characters and spaces, steadily constructing a complex sequence of symbolic cross-cuts that culminates in one of the film’s most vivid and spectacular practical effects, the (re)birth of Larry’s hedonistic brother, Frank (Sean Chapman/Oliver Smith).
William Burns
‘Thinking back to all the details is not at all unpleasant. I rather enjoy it.”—Peter Kürten quoted in Dr. Karl Berg’s The Sadist
While postmodern thinkers may scoff at “grand narratives” and “human nature,” the one topic that seems to link human beings across time and space is a fascination with crime and criminals. The real life what, how, why, and who of criminality have fed pretty much every form of human expression: myths, epic poems, folktales, ballads, songs, poetry, novels, short stories, plays, radio shows, films, TV shows, comic books, journalism. documentaries, videos, web sites, video games, podcasts, ad nauseum. Rather than as a way to facilitate communication, perhaps media was invented to highlight and share accounts of the dark side of human behavior to the thrilled fascination of its audiences whether around a fire or an iPhone. In the 21st century, cable TV, social media, video platforms, and streaming services are overflowing with true crime movies, documentaries, podcasts, and programs based on the most heinous of offenses. Felonies such as fraud, theft, abuse, identity theft, racketeering, bank robbery, drug trafficking, conspiracy, smuggling, and sex crimes have all been fodder for our entertainment, giving us the ability to live vicariously through wicked criminals and then feel satisfied and superior when they are apprehended for their social violations.
Cullen Wade
Recently, I watched Andrew McCarthy’s 2024 documentary Brats (not to be confused with Bratz which is actually worth your time), in which a 60-year-old movie star grapples with the psychic toll of someone calling him a brat four decades ago, and it got me thinking about slasher movies. Let me explain.
“The Brat Pack” refers to a loosely-delineated group of young actors who starred in popular teen movies of the 1980s, generally in the orbit of John Hughes. In McCarthy’s documentary, authorities ranging from Malcolm Gladwell to Rob Lowe repeatedly argue for the Brat Pack’s breakout as a seismic shift in the Hollywood profile of the teen movie. Gladwell calls it a “generational transition,” and, as McCarthy puts it, “Hollywood discovered the box office potential of a young audience … In the history of Hollywood, it had never been like this.”