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Posted on April 7, 2019

Pet Sematary as Folk Gothic

Dawn Keetley

A couple of articles have suggested that the 2019 Pet Sematary (directed by Kevin Kölsch and Dennis Widmyer) amplifies the “folk horror” of Stephen King’s novel (1983) and of Mary Lambert’s film (1989). It does, perhaps most noticeably in the addition of the masked children forming a “procession” to the cemetery (though this ritual ends up being much less important to the film than the trailer makes it appear). As I began thinking about Pet Sematary as folk horror, though, it occurred to me that the film actually seems more akin to what we might call “folk gothic”—and that there is a significant difference between the two.[i] So, while recognizing the slipperiness of both “folk horror” and “folk gothic,” this essay represents my effort to think through, with Pet Sematary, what “folk gothic” is.[ii]

Posted on March 31, 2019

Doppelgängers of Death: Talking Us (2019)

Elizabeth Erwin

Jordan Peele’s Us (2019) has inspired a multitude of think pieces dissecting everything from its ridiculously good soundtrack to its striking visuals to its very open to interpretation plot. While few would argue its status as an interesting film, does that make it a good horror movie? We’re a divided crew on this episode of Horror Homeroom Conversations!

And here’s a list of some of our favorite Us related reading! Read more

Posted on March 28, 2019

The Female Gaze and Agency in Anna Biller’s The Love Witch

Guest Post

“The male gaze,” a term coined by British film theorist Laura Mulvey in “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema,” is something of a staple in feminist film criticism. It implies that the lens of the camera, at least in the majority of films made in the early to middle of the twentieth century, is almost exclusively wielded by men. Thus, the “eye” of the camera becomes the “male gaze,” everything we are subsequently shown is from a male point of view. Therefore, as women are more and more involved behind the camera in the film production process, the topic of the “female gaze” is an inevitable one. How do we re-articulate film theory from the point of view of women? And is the “female gaze” even possible? Anna Biller in her 2016 film The Love Witch sought to bring these questions to the forefront, as well as conceptions of the “woman as auteur,” as she had a hand in every single aspect of production, from costumes (which she sewed herself) to cinematography. Read more

Posted on March 22, 2019

Breaking & Entering: Talking The People Under the Stairs (1991) & Don’t Breathe (2016)

Elizabeth Erwin

On this episode of Horror Homeroom Conservations, we’re tackling two of our favorite films: Wes Craven’s The People Under the Stairs (1991) and Fede Álvarez’s Don’t Breathe (2016). While both films share a startling number of similarities, there is a pointed difference in where the audience’s sympathies ultimately reside. Is The People Under the Stairs an indictment on Reagan’s America? Does Rocky in Don’t Breathe have any redeemable qualities? And how do both films leverage an urban/suburban landscape to increase the terror? We’re breaking it all down on today’s episode! Read more

Posted on March 20, 2019

Perfection, Psychosis and Pupillo: Il boia scarlatto (Bloody Pit of Horror, 1965)

Guest Post

M.B.S. Cinematografica released Il boia scarlatto (Bloody Pit of Horror or The Crimson Executioner) in Italy on 28 November 1965. Grossing 65 million lire during its domestic theatrical run, it was subsequently purchased by Pacemaker Pictures in the United States, where it opened as a double feature with director Massimo Pupillo’s Cinque tombe per un medium (Terror Creatures from the Grave, 1965). Completing Pupillo’s trilogy of gothic horror was La vendetta di Lady Morgan (Lady Morgan’s Vengeance), released in the same year.

The plot of Il boia scarlatto is relatively simple: in 1648 Italy, the Crimson Executioner (uncredited) is sentenced to death for pursuing his sadistic and murderous fantasies. In the dungeon of his castle (the actual location of which is Bracciano, just outside of Rome), the Crimson Executioner vows his revenge as he is entombed in an iron maiden, or virgin of Nuremberg—a medieval torture device, traditionally shaped like a coffin or sarcophagus with the face of a maiden, which slowly kills its victims via strategically placed spikes that do not penetrate any major organs. The narration—the apparent ruling of the tribunal against the murderer—is layered effectively over the scene and informs the audience that the Crimson Executioner is eternally damned, as is the dungeon and the castle itself, which has seen “such indescribable horrors.” As the Crimson Executioner slowly dies, the device is sealed and the narrator issues a warning: no man should ever dare to break it.