The Pope’s Exorcist (Julius Avery, 2023) was released in April to much fanfare and has just recently landed on Netflix. While it performed well enough at the box office, it failed to wow the critics. It certainly didn’t rise to the level of The Exorcist (1973). In fact, the many possession/exorcism movies that have appeared since William Friedkin’s masterpiece have generally fallen short. One of the reasons seems to be the failure to really understand the religion portrayed. Let’s use The Pope’s Exorcist as a test case.
“Make the choice” demands the advertising tag line for M. Night Shyamalan’s theocratic thriller, Knock at the Cabin (2023), which comes with a tagline as heavy with political implications as its peremptory plot. The latter’s orthodox overtones, a curious mix of cultish Christianity, archaic aggression and sectarian spectacle, retrospectively seem the plausible progression for a director whose films are littered with conspiracy theories, quasi-Christian lore, and a constant emphasis on patriarchal family values. The cornerstones of religion and reactionism are accompanied by a pattern of often intertwined key motives neatly fitting into a set of larger concepts: being chosen or singled out to play a specific role, a divine plan or predetermined fate, and an existential truth which protagonists either can’t see or refuse to believe.
Shyamalan’s forcefully forward allegories, which transmit these ideas along with an unwavering approval of the gospel, make for a curious series of faith based movies. Signs has a father regain his faith while discovering that crop circles are indeed caused by aliens. The Sixth Sense already spells out in its title the faith which the central story of purgatory is rooted. The Village pairs an exaltation of “blind faith” with surveillance schemes. The Unbreakable series mixes political paranoia with modernized myths of angels and demons. Old embraces traditional family values and the idea of big pharma plotting. Even the Edgar Allan Poe inspired low budget thriller The Visit evolves around deadly deception, validated suspicion, and the importance of biological family bonds. Read more
Now that spring’s in the air, the thoughts of horror fans turn to summer. Jaws might put us in the mood for the beach, but perhaps the most disturbing part of the movie is that women serve primarily as victims. Shark bait. Men solve the problem and men wrote, directed, and produced the movie. Why can’t women get a break with water monsters?
Guillermo del Toro’s The Shape of Water (2017) challenged many conventions, making a woman the hero (and “Christ figure” as the resurrected redemptrix), but to get a sense of why it took so long for this to happen we have to cast our eyes back to what is generally considered the nadir of American horror—the black-and-white 1950s. This was the era of irradiated monsters that were often clearly men in rubber suits, wreaking havoc on civilization, or at least beachfront property. There are a couple of unsung women behind the scenes in at least two of these films, beginning with one of the classics from that era, The Creature from the Black Lagoon (Jack Arnold, 1954).
Beau Is Afraid, Mother Is Guilty: Ari Aster’s Maternal-Horror Nightmare
Guest PostBeau Is Afraid seems like something other than a horror movie. It’s nightmare-ish at times but simultaneously absurd and rarely (if ever) scary. It includes some bodily destruction or exaggeration, but these moments are brief or bizarrely humorous rather than straightforwardly horrific. And the movie is mostly described by critics as black comedy or bleak humor, surrealist or absurdist – not as horror.
Its plot doesn’t sound much like a horror movie, either. Beau (Joaquin Phoenix), who has some serious issues with anxiety, is going to visit his mother, but a series of bizarre difficulties prevents him from doing so. As he tries to get home, he discovers that she has died, and then he is hit by a car before he can act on that information. This is merely the opening of the movie, after which he is taken in by (held captive by) a creepily friendly family, adventures through the forest and meets a theater troupe of orphans, and eventually makes it home, where there are still more twists and turns. This sounds weird, but not horrific.
This is a horror movie, though. Read more
Queers to the Front: On Creating Queer Horror Communities, a Conversation with Dani Bethea, Kay Lynch, and Andrea Subissati
Guest PostWithin the pop cultural imagination horror is often positioned as a low-brow, counter-cultural genre that screams in the face of bourgeois tastes. Yet even though the genre may define itself against mainstream or normative aesthetics, its typical fan communities nevertheless replicate the very restrictive structures the genre espouses to critique. Seemingly dominated by cis- heteronormative, white men who consider themselves gatekeepers of generic knowledge, fan communities – at least on the surface – carve out little space to actually challenge normative social values, including those that organize acceptable expressions of gender and sexuality.
Of course, the risk of normalizing this characterization of horror fandoms in the public sphere is that it erases all others who may participate and indeed help to build these communities. Additionally, the assumed alignment between horror and a very privileged fan community creates conditions whereby more marginalized participants feel the need to justify their engagement. Queer or trans fans who take pleasure in remediating horror characters or media may be confronted with backlash from others who are outwardly hostile toward their interpretations and their need to ‘politicize’ horror via their identities (see Vena and Burgess, 2022). As a result, queer and trans fans are left to defend not only their engagements with horror but their very existence in fandoms and society at large.
Although some may consider the above description to be a generalization, it is arguably the perception of who is involved in horror fan communities that is important rather than the anthropological descriptions of actual fan identities. The damage is already done if queer or trans fans perceive horror communities to be hostile and invalidating. This was my own perception of physical and online fan spaces as a trans-queer graduate student completing his doctoral work on the genre, and it gravely prohibited me from reaching out to others to share my insights and research. However, this attitude began to change when I encountered the homegrown Canadian magazine, Rue Morgue and their allied Faculty of Horror Podcast, both of which blend generic criticism with political commentary. Read more