What has made Channel Zero so consistently appealing as a horror television show is that it represents a nexus in horror, a crossroads between horror past, present, and, arguably, future. It unites subgenres of horror like science-fiction horror (seasons two and four especially), with aspects of ghost stories, slasher films, surreal Lynchian horror, and psychological horror. Indeed, Channel Zero pulls all these subgenres into one strange package that would seem scattershot if not for its consistent visual aesthetic and commitment to exploring tricky emotional territory. For every moment that courts the bizarre, there’s a moment that refuses to shy away from the difficult edges of guilt, trust, or grief that defines that human element of the show. And in season four, subtitled Dream Door, the show doubles down on both of those aforementioned aspects: the plotline is the series’ most bizarre yet, revolving around a pair of newlyweds, Jillian and Tom, dealing with a killer contortionist clown who arrives soon after a rift opens up in their marriage. It is also the most emotionally driven season of Channel Zero. And it may well be the best.
Channel Zero’s first three episodes, in particular, constitute not only the most surreal slasher to have come along in years but probably the best as well. Though the pace still veers towards the slow-burn of prior seasons (the first act of violence doesn’t come until the very end of the first episode), episodes two and three maintain a wonderful sense of tension throughout, as the murderous Pretzel Jack (played by contortionist Troy James) comes after Tom and whoever else sets off Jillian’s emotions. That the psychic connection Jillian shares with Pretzel Jack slowly becomes obvious doesn’t lessen the impact of the impeccably crafted set pieces in the season, especially those in those first three episodes. A chase through a gym in episode three, in particular, may be the best set piece in the entire series run thus far. It certainly helps that Pretzel Jack is one of the best horror villains to come along in some time, recalling everything from Michael Myers to the Xenomorph to Pennywise. At the end of the day, though, he is remarkably distinct in a way that seems new even with all the aforementioned precedents.
But what makes this season of Channel Zero so intriguing and so wonderful is that, right as the pseudo-slasher rhythm starts to become familiar, the show pivots completely, in episode four, to much stranger territory. (SPOILERS AHEAD!) As we learn that Jillian is able to psychically manifest creatures connected with her emotions (which is how Pretzel Jack jumped out of her childhood imagination and into the real world), we also learn that Ian, the couple’s neighbor, has the same abilities. It is roughly at this point, too, that Pretzel Jack goes from being our primary antagonist to being a strange sort of ally, as the real villain comes into view: Ian. Another twist comes our way as we realize that Jillian’s father, played by Gregg Henry, had another family and that Ian was also his son, and thus Jillian’s half-brother. A twist like this could be hoary in the wrong hands, but Steven Robertson’s performance as Ian is effectively creepy, recalling the creepiest moments of both Hugh Dancy’s Will Graham and Dan Stevens’ David of Hannibal and Legion, respectively. The trauma of Jillian’s father leaving, moreover, has been a weight she’s carried throughout the whole season, making Ian an ideal antagonist.
If the first half of the season is a bizarre slasher, the second-half almost recalls an art-horror Monster Squad, taking images from art-horror films like The Brood, Eraserhead, Invasion of the Body Snatchers (the 1978 version), and Twin Peaks: The Return and weaving them into a gonzo, splatter whole that should absolutely be a mess but instead is a strange masterpiece, balancing thrills, dark humor, and genuine emotion, all without slowing the momentum established in the first half of the season. And if Ian’s creations (Tall Boy and Crayon People) aren’t quite as compelling in design and performance as Pretzel Jack, they’re still wonderfully creepy and have enough presence to maintain a strong sense of suspense throughout the last two episodes’ set pieces.
The real glue of this season of Channel Zero, however, comes from two prominent sources: EL Katz, who provides the direction, and lead performers Maria Sten and Brandon Scott. EL Katz’s direction recalls the Carpenteresque visual style of No-End House while carving out its own high energy niche, blending stylized angles akin to the dutch angles of The Twilight Zone with economic long takes that have long defined classically elegant and clever filmmakers like Alfred Hitchcock and John Carpenter. Katz makes the most of the modern suburban setting, with important set pieces in winding locations, filming in one take a brilliant chase in the finale around an unfinished home. Of course, technical brilliance (and trust me, this is technical brilliance at its finest, and amongst the finest horror directing of the year) has little worth without a foundation to bind it together, and the believable chemistry of Sten and Scott provides more than enough of that. Their emotional arc is what truly drives the season, and while early chapters lean a little into the expository, their struggle remains palpable and their feelings genuine. Maria Sten’s pain as Jillian feels real and earned, while Brandon Scott’s guilt comes into focus more slowly but feels no less real, and together they provide this season with heart that feels realistic and manages not to get buried beneath the more traditionally thrilling elements of the season.
While this review has essentially become one long train of continuous praise (which, this writer believes, is completely warranted), allow me to take a moment to highlight another key player who has made this my favorite of Channel Zero’s four seasons thus far: Jeff Russo. Russo has done the music for every season so far, and done capably, typically providing music filled with drones and ominous hums, which functioned mostly to help provide atmosphere. And it certainly worked, although it rarely felt distinct in the way Brian Retzel’s similar work on Hannibal did, for instance. This season, however, seemed to incorporate significantly more inspiration from the current wave of retro-synth-wave (in works such as It Follows and Stranger Things, for instance) and made the score much more interesting, with those drones from seasons past coexisting with simple, elegant electronic themes that provide a more classically 80s slasher vibe while not shying away from musical moments that are downright dancey (listen for the music that accompanies Ian in the montage of him eating hamburgers, which is possibly my favorite bit of score on television this year).
The only real complaint I can muster up (other than brief mentions of expositions highlighted in my review of the premiere) is that the psychic activity (and the dutch angles that accompany it) can come across as a bit silly and campy, in the same way they do in films like Brian De Palma’s Carrie. But this is also a season where a murderous contortionist clown is just as often played for terror as he is for darkly humorous laughs and, surprisingly, heart. With all the good mentioned in the preceding paragraphs, though, it’s pretty easy to overlook this little bit of silliness. Channel Zero: Dream Door, like Butcher’s Block before it, is proof that Nick Antosca’s anthology is amongst the most interesting works in our current horror renaissance and a great representation of all the strange, wonderful things that horror can be.
Tim Costa is a writer and frontman for Massachusetts post-punk band Vaguely Vogue. When he’s not obsessing over John Carpenter or Swamp Thing, you might find him writing reviews like this.
