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Posted on August 1, 2020

Heroic Nihilists and Conceited Heroes in Cube

Guest Post

Given the times that we’ve found ourselves in, it’s no surprise that many of us have turned to horror as a way to cope, process, or simply escape for two hours from the current politically-charged world. What horror is so good at doing is highlighting the human aspects of survival. When the status quo is in danger, how do the characters react? This question has been asked repeatedly in horror films, being handled best in small, intimate settings that make for intriguing character studies. One such example is Cube, a low-budget Canadian SF/horror film directed in 1997 by Vincenzo Natali (who most recently directed In the Tall Grass).

Posted on July 27, 2020

Mexican Gothic: Pulpy Anti-Colonial Critique

Sara McCartney

From the title on, Mexican Gothic, the latest from Mexican Canadian novelist Silvia Moreno-Garcia, leaves no doubt about its genre or its self-awareness. Fans of the Gothic will find all its greatest hits lined up and ready for savoring – the crumbling house, the family with a secret, fraught sexual dynamics, ghosts of a restless past. Moreno-Garcia delivers it all with gusto. But more than mere homage, the novel’s pulpy plot invites a closer read to its treatment of race, colonialism, patriarchy – and some very scary ecology.

Moreno-Garcia locates her Gothic in 1950s Mexico; her heroine is Noemí Taboada, a high society beauty sent to check in on her beloved cousin, Catalina. Recently married to English expat Virgil Doyle, proud owner of a defunct silver mine, Catalina’s rambling letters home have aroused her family’s concern. No swooning damsel, Noemí is vibrant, cunning, and sharp-tongued. She’ll needs all that and more to escape the machinations of the Doyle family, who decide to make the most of Noemí’s intrusion.

Posted on July 24, 2020

On “Little Monsters” and Teaching in the Apocalypse

Guest Post

No personal protective equipment, no training for the current situation, and no Clorox wipes as far as the eye can see, though you’ve never needed one more. The threat of death lurks around every corner, and your job, nominally developing your students’ minds, now requires jeopardizing your body. It may sound like Betsy DeVos’s plan for the 2020 school year in the US. In fact, it definitely is. But it is also the plot of Abe Forsythe’s 2019 Australian film Little Monsters, a zom-com in which kindergarten teacher Miss (Audrey) Caroline (Lupita Nyong’o) must safely extricate her class from a petting zoo plagued by zombie hordes stumbling over from a nearby American military base.

As US educators watching the film in 2020 (why, God, why????), we find it difficult to overlook how often our supposed “life of the mind” demands making an ultimate sacrifice of our bodies. In that regard, COVID-19 simply replays the tired old arguments around gun violence in American schools. Whether we’re told to arm ourselves with guns or antibacterial gel, our teaching is interrupted constantly by threats we’re not trained or paid to handle. What Little Monsters suggests is that this is modern-day education.

Posted on July 20, 2020

Helen Oyeyemi’s The Icarus Girl: A Bildungsroman for the Monstrous Child

Sara McCartney

The Icarus Girl, Helen Oyeyemi’s 2005 debut novel, lives at the intersection of three contemporaneous trends. Most scholarly attention locates it among Nigerian diasporic literature, which experienced a boom in American and English publishing at the start of the twenty-first century.[i] Indeed, The Icarus Girl remains Oyeyemi’s most overtly Nigerian novel. Less recognized is The Icarus Girl’s contribution to two of horror’s big turn-of-the-millennium booms – creepy kid movies, which were having quite a moment with offerings like The Ring (2002), The Sixth Sense (1999), and The Others (2001), and children’s gothic literature, whose prominent titles include The Series of Unfortunate Events (1999-2007) and Coraline (2002). Oyeyemi’s melding of these three disparate subgenres and their expectations creates a distinctly postcolonial and humanized uncanny child.

Posted on July 17, 2020

“Don’t be scared”: Change, Evolution, and The Beach House as Ecohorror

Guest Post

Jeffrey A. Brown’s The Beach House has been getting a lot of attention, largely positive, since its recent release on Shudder. As others have noted, Liana Liberato’s performance as Emily is excellent, and the film features an effectively creepy atmosphere, wonderful cinematography of the ocean (both from the beach and underwater), and one truly disturbing moment of body horror. (This is also a movie worth watching without knowing much about what you’re getting into, so please note that this is a spoiler-heavy discussion rather than a straightforward review).

Despite its tranquil-seeming title, The Beach House is fundamentally a movie about change and how we respond to it. The story begins with a young college-aged couple, Emily (Liana Liberato) and Randall (Noah Le Gros), taking a weekend trip to Randall’s dad’s beach house. They are at a transition point in their relationship and trying to reconnect (one key tension is between his dropping out of college to avoid the typical life of job, marriage, kids, and her plan to finish her degree in organic chemistry and go to grad school for astrobiology). Soon after arriving, they discover that another couple – Jane (Maryann Nagel) and Mitch (Jake Weber), friends of Randall’s dad – are already at the beach house. This couple is also at a transition point, making one last trip to the beach as Jane battles a serious illness and appears to be dying.