On today’s episode we’re talking The Curse of La Llorona (2019), Michael Chaves’ ode to the popular Mexican folk story in which a ghostly woman in white stalks and kills young children. Does this horror film introduce some much needed Latinx representation into American horror film or does its potential go unmet? And how does the film’s positioning of a white woman as the heroine impact audience spectatorship? We’re a divided Horror Homeroom crew on this episode, so stay tuned!
The Conjuring universe had a bumper crop this year with two films being released within four months of each other. The Curse of La Llorona (Michael Chaves, 2019) is technically a spin off—and quite far spun out at that—from the diegesis established in the main Conjuring series and its popular Annabelle sub-series. La Llorona came out in April and the latest chapter on said doll, Annabelle Comes Home (2019), was released in late June. Having grossed nearly $2 billion dollars, the Conjuring franchise shows no sign of slowing down.
A certain intertextuality has long been recognized as a hallmark of horror cinema. The genre is notoriously self-referential. Even so, those who spent a few years drinking in the Paranormal Activity films (2007–2015) beginning in the middle of the last decade will perhaps notice some distinct similarities to The Conjuring franchise. Indeed, The Curse of La Llorona stands out from other films in its universe–similar to the way in which Paranormal Activity: The Marked Ones (Christopher Landon, 2014) relates to the main story of its series. Both involve Hispanic communities, feature a botánica and even involve some of the same rituals associated with Hispanic folk tradition. This could reflect nothing more than the fact that religions that used to be called “syncretistic” bear certain similarities. Nevertheless, this particular form of religion in horror is a form of exoticism for the white mainstream, and it draws on very similar motifs in these two films. Some backstory might be useful right about now. Read more
Andrew Michael Hurley’s third novel, Starve Acre, is due out from John Murray on the highly appropriate date of October 31, 2019. Hurley is the author of two prior novels—the critically acclaimed The Loney (2014) and Devil’s Day (2017)—both of which fall loosely within the ‘folk horror’ subgenre. Fans of Hurley’s first two novels, and of folk horror in general, will be happy to hear that Starve Acre is positioned still more firmly within the folk horror tradition; it is a brilliant interweaving of psychological realism, folklore, and the haunting presence of the supernatural. I would put it in the company of some of M. R. James’s fiction, Daphne du Maurier’s ‘Don’t Look Now’ (1971, and Nicolas Roeg’s 1973 film), Piers Haggard’s The Blood on Satan’s Claw (1971), and Ira Levin’s Rosemary’s Baby (as well as Roman Polanski’s 1968 adaptation).
In April 2019, New Line Cinema released James Wan’s production of The Curse of La Llorona, directed by Michael Chaves. It brought mainstream US attention to the important Mexican legend of “La Llorona,” or “the wailing woman.” In most versions, La Llorona is a banshee figure, often dressed in white, crying for her children whom she has killed after herself being betrayed by a lover. The figure has been connected to a broader history of colonialism in Mexico, as this excellent article by Dr. Amy Fuller explains. Numerous cinematic incarnations of the legend of La Llorona precede Chaves’s film, many made in Mexico. La Maldición de la Llorona, made in 1961 but released in Mexico in 1963 and in the US in 1969, and directed by Rafael Baledón, is a version worth watching despite its limitations. It should be stated up front that one of its principal limitations is that La Maldición is devoid of any taint of colonial critique; the film’s reference point is the Hollywood horror tradition more so than the historically- and politically rooted La Llorona of Mexican folklore.
Alexandre Aja’s Crawl (2019) is a dark, tense, and claustrophobic animal horror film. It delivers on its promise of alligator attacks, scary scenes (I even shrieked once in the theater), and visceral horror. Its premise is simple: a young woman, Haley (Kaya Scodelario), drives to her family home to find her father, Dave (Barry Pepper), as a Category 5 hurricane approaches. When she arrives, she finds him unconscious and injured in the crawl space beneath the house after an alligator attack.
Because the premise is so simple, if what it describes is what you want from the film, you will be satisfied. Most of the film takes place in the cramped, dark basement as Haley and her father try to keep from being eaten by the invading alligators and make it out of the slowly (and then more and more quickly) flooding space before they drown. This setting and premise allow for lots of close calls and slow, building tension. The tension is amplified by the darkness of the space and the murkiness of the water, neither of which is ever so dark or murky that you can’t tell what’s happening. Aja is clearly invested in the alligator attacks themselves, and they are frightening and impressive. (Brian Fanelli’s Horror Homeroom post about the film provides excellent commentary on the film’s success in these terms.) Read more
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