Even though Algernon Blackwood’s ‘The Willows’ is one of my favourite weird tales, possibly even my most favourite, I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve read little of his less-known work and hardly any of his non-fiction writings. This is doubly shameful as not only is there a huge amount of work beyond stories like ‘The Willows’ and ‘The Wendigo’ but also much of it is concerned with a love which I share with the writer: a deep love not only of enjoying nature (or Nature, as editor Henry Bartholomew reminds us of Blackwood’s love of capitalisation) but of becoming lost within it. I’ve never been to the Canada that Blackwood described as ‘the nearest approach to a dream come true I had yet known’, but I have explored the jungles of Borneo, trekked across Andean passes and skirted Himalayan foothills. As Blackwood would’ve known, these are all places where reality itself seems to become thin and one’s soul expands outwards to fill the void left behind. They are, in short, weird places.
Auto-fiction as Nightmare: A Review of Bret Easton Ellis’s The Shards
Guest PostSince bursting into the literary scene in 1985, author Bret Easton Ellis has remained a divisive and controversial figure in popular culture. His debut novel Less Than Zero (1985) was described by revered critic Michiko Kakutani in The New York Times as “one of the most disturbing novels I have read in long time” and, most famously, his magnum opus American Psycho caused such intense public outcry that it was temporarily withdrawn from publication and later banned in some countries. The reason for all the dispute and infamy surrounding Easton Ellis – which has only solidified his subsequent reputation as a literary enfant terrible – is primarily due to the graphic depictions of sexual violence which feature throughout his work. Women are brutally tortured and murdered in the most extreme and nauseating fashion in American Psycho – and Less Than Zero infamously ends with a twelve-year-old being drugged and viciously gang-raped by a group of coked-up rich kids. While the content of these scenes alone is enough to shock and offend the average reader, it is the cool and dissociative tone of Ellis’s narration that imbues these scenes with a lasting and disturbing significance, elevating the violence beyond the realm of snuff into something much more darkly existential. Indeed, at the core of Ellis’s success as a writer is his unique ability to evoke a haunting and all-pervading sense of dread and ennui, which he then uses as means to provoke, unsettle and, perhaps most importantly, horrify his readership. The Shards, Ellis’ latest novel after a thirteen-year absence, is a timely remainder of this. Read more
In today’s episode, it’s an old-Hollywood tinged journey into repression and murder via Ti West’s Pearl, the sequel to his massively successful X. Set against the final days of World War 1, the film follows Pearl (Mia Goth), a young woman who feels trapped by her mundane farm life and who yearns to take her place alongside the Big Screen stars she idolizes. But when those dreams get dashed, the film segues into unadulterated horror territory. With its sympathetic look at madness and its homage to the Golden Age of film, Pearl is a character study that all but ensures that you will never look at a scarecrow the same way again. We’re going to spoil the hell out of this film, so stay tuned.
Is a house a structure inhabited by us, built for our protection and comfort, designed according to our needs? Or does the house live through us, sucking up our time and energy with constant needs for repair, changing us to fit it, all the time watching us die? The question of who owns whom, and the challenge posed by a capitalist culture of status defined by display of wealth, are at the heart of Enda Walsh’s amazing animated anthology The House (2022).
The titular building housing a trilogy of terror written by Walsh and directed by Emma de Swaef, Marc James Roels, Niki Lindroth von Bahr, Johannes Nyholm, and Paloma Baeza looms threateningly like a toy shop model for Shirley Jackson’s Hill House. But the connective construction of the Irish playwright’s scary stories is in many ways much more material, even materialist, than Jackson’s quintessential haunted house: a metaphorical mansion whose creation, contrivance and contraptions unfold in Emma de Swaef’s and Marc James Roels’ first segment. Playing out like a puppeteering prologue, “And heard within, a lie is spun“ is the most dread-inducing and desolate of the features, each of which bears the unique artistic signature of its directors. Read more
John Hyam’s SICK (2022) is a wildly divisive film that had us debating both its merits and its place within slasher film canon. Situated in the early days of the pandemic, the film follows friends Parker (Gideon Adlon) and Miri (Beth Million) as they quarantine at a remote lake house owned by Parker’s parents. They are joined unexpectedly by DJ (Dylan Sprayberry), Parker’s friend with benefits, who is eager to make their relationship exclusive. But their idyllic reprieve is soon interrupted when an unexpected threat starts stalking them.
On this episode, we debate the wisdom of setting a slasher within a real life collective trauma while also considering the importance of generational spectatorship in film reception. In the end, the only thing we agree on about this film is that Erasure’s “A Little Respect” still bangs. Listen to the full, spoiler-filled episode below!