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Posted on September 10, 2020

Us & the Horror of the Class System

Guest Post

Privilege and classism are vivid themes of Jordan Peele’s second feature, Us (2019), both working as accompaniment to the core subject of social separation: topographically, physically and ultimately, by a drastic act of metaphoric self-restriction, mentally. By re-imagining an eerie scenario nearly as old as horror cinema itself (dating back to the earliest expressionist films like 1913’s The Student of Prague), Peele exposes the concept of social advancement as a fairy tale, established to silence the conscience of the advantaged and to denounce the frustration of the disadvantaged.

Although exploitative structures are less obvious than in Peele’s astute debut Get Out (2017), the Tethered’s puppet-like subjection to their upper-world doubles indicates the underprivileged’s subordination to the actions of the prosperous. In this world of Us – or ours, as Red’s declaration “We are Americans“ emphasizes – decline comes as easy as stepping on an escalator. However, the only way up from mind-numbing deprivation is hostile acquisition. Red turns out to be the little girl who entered the hall of mirrors in the prologue and now reclaims her place from an imposter.

Posted on September 3, 2020

The Evolution of Mental Illness’ Monstrosity in Horror Films

Guest Post

Horror cinema’s engagement with mental illness has evolved tremendously from the 20th to the 21st century. These periods of growth are in conjunction with the growing understanding and awareness of mental illnesses within the professional field of psychology, as well as the general population. The increased knowledge reinforces the concept that people with mental illness are not innately monstrous – something taken up in contemporary horror films.

In his essay in Monster Theory, Jeffrey Cohen explains that the purpose of a monster’s existence is to represent a fear rooted in the attitude and culture at the time of its creation or revival.[i] Fear of disease was captured with zombies; fear of immigration was represented by extra-terrestrials; fear of nuclear weapons created Godzilla; the list goes on.[ii] I propose that the fear of the unknown, the “other” or an alter ego to society’s normal state of being, is explored through mental illness – a disrupted state of being.

Unknowability creates a fascination that can be described through the idea of privacy. Psychoanalyst Josh Cohen, the author of The Private Life: Our Everyday Self in an Age of Intrusion, says that the “guiding principle of our culture might be formulated not so much as ‘I should know everything’ as ‘nothing should remain unknown to me.’ It’s not, in other words, a question of wanting to know so much as a fear of what might remain unknown, inaccessible, in the dark.”[iii] Mental illnesses, however, are not an easy concept for general audiences to wrap their brains around. Nevertheless, cinema provides an opportunity to explore mental illnesses visually – making the unknown known. “Nothing should remain unknown to me”; therefore, if it won’t reveal itself, the cinema will make it so.[iv] Mental illness has always produced fear, but how has cinema in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries represented this fear to capture the cultural temperament? How has this fear changed from one century to another? Read more

Posted on August 26, 2020

Burnt Offerings: What’s in a Name?

Guest Post

While mostly overlooked now, the horror film Burnt Offerings, directed by Dan Curtis, won six awards in 1977, the year following its October release. The movie doesn’t rely on jump startles as much as on a pervasive mood of menace. Its pace is leisurely, fitting for its summertime setting, as it slowly builds to the real horror near the end. While it isn’t the best haunted house movie ever made, it embraces some sophisticated concepts that draw from religious tropes. The very title, borrowed from its eponymous 1973 novel by Robert Marasco, suggests as much. Making a burnt offering is, by definition, a religious act.

Needing a break from city life, the Rolf family moves to a very affordably-priced mansion available for rent during the summer. Parents Marian (Karen Black) and Ben (Oliver Reed), their son David (Lee Montgomery), and Ben’s aunt Elizabeth (played by irrepressible Bette Davis) try to settle in, but strange things start happening. Keeping in mind that The Shining was still four years away, the elements of the unstable father falling apart in isolation play throughout the background in anticipation of Jack Nicholson’s famous performance, as Ben questions his sanity. And Marian loves—really loves—the house. That’s the set-up, of course. Roz (Eileen Heckart) and Arnold Allardyce (Burgess Meredith), the apparently eccentric owners, move out in the summer so the house can repair itself. The renters must include someone who truly loves the house because, in perhaps the creepiest premise of the plot, the aged Allardyce mother never leaves it. The renters must take her food up to her, but will never see her. Small price to pay for a summer away, right?

Posted on August 16, 2020

The Only Good Indians: The Bloody Marrow of Tradition

Guest Post

The Only Good Indians (2020), Stephen Graham Jones’s latest novel, often feels weighed down by a distant, but strong, tradition. For horror fans, there is a lot to like in its pages: haunted houses, breaching of cultural taboos, spectacular but rarely overdone gore, hybrid monsters, and an ever-present deniability of the supernatural. Many reviewers celebrate Jones’ style, citing his creation of likeable and realistically flawed characters as the novel’s main strength, with its horror coming in a close second. While these elements are certainly strong in The Only Good Indians, I found that the change in the novel’s structure after the first section to be the real strength of the novel. Presenting readers with a horror novel turned into hopeful allegory, Jones creates characters that battle with or ignore their indigenous traditions and identities only to have them caught, destroyed, and changed by those same traditions. By its conclusion, The Only Good Indians becomes less a tale of horror, grief, and trauma, and more one focused on acceptance and reconciliation of one’s sense of identity.

Posted on August 11, 2020

The Christian Worldview of Annabelle: Creation

Guest Post

At the start of Annabelle: Creation (David F. Sandberg, 2017), the Mullins family is introduced as a typical, Christian American family in the early 20^th Century. They live happily together, play games together, and, most notably for the film’s plot, attend church together. Their faith forms the backbone of the movie’s backstory, as the parents, Samuel (Anthony LaPaglia) and Esther (Miranda Otto), pray to see Annabelle again after her untimely death, beginning the hauntings revolving around the Annabelle doll. Ultimately, the Mullins are not the focus of the film, however; rather, it is the two orphans, Linda (Lulu Wilson) and Janice (Talitha Eliana Bateman). In being shifted to the periphery, however, the Mullins become representative of the average person in the film’s setting—one who does not have plot armor to carry them through; instead, they are caught in the cosmic struggle between Good and Evil, God and Satan.