Here are five horror films set in frozen landscapes that you may not have heard about—and that are all really worth watching. It’s a beyond-The- Shining-and-beyond-The-Thing list—for all those who love the harsh bleakness, the existential desolation, of those snow-blasted films.
At the start of David Robert Mitchell’s 2014 film It Follows, protagonist Jay (Maika Monroe) has sex with a young man who calls himself Hugh (Jake Weary). He then chloroforms her, ties her to a wheelchair, and explains that a creature—referred to as “It”—is going to follow her until she has sex with someone else. The day after Jay’s assault, she stands in front of the bathroom mirror, looking down into her underwear, presumably examining whether “Hugh” left any noticeable physical changes. In a larger, symbolic sense, she is reflecting on her identity—asking herself whether her sexual encounter transformed her in some way. Jay is startled out of her reflection when a ball hits the window. Though Jay does not see him, the ball was thrown by a neighbor boy who is crouching out of sight to peek at the half-naked Jay. This screenshot encapsulates It Follows‘ running motifs of sexual surveillance and the transition from childhood to adulthood. By combining Jay’s internal contemplation and external objectification, It Follows demonstrates how entering adulthood entails submitting one’s body to both self-reflection and public consumption.
The slasher subgenre has long held a complex relationship with women in horror—both onscreen and in the audience. Criticized for its misogynistic representation of women as passive victims, it has been simultaneously praised for its progressive portrayal of active, strong female heroines. In the 1960s, the emergence of the women’s movement in America was a symptom of second-wave feminism, which subsequently permeated the western world. This built upon the core values of first-wave feminism and the fight for gender equality in the early 1900s with seminal campaigns like the suffragette movement. Second-wave feminism extended the focus of this quest for equality—taking on the workplace, the family dynamic, and reproductive rights in regards to women’s bodies—and lasted well into the 1980s. Slumber Party Massacre (1982) serves as a brilliant illustration of what happens when the slasher meets second-wave feminism.
In the annals of horror comedy, Mel Brooks’ Young Frankenstein occupies a unique space for both its plot-driven narrative and its subtle inclusivity. Combining satire, parody and slapstick, the film is effective primarily due to its reinterpretation of genre tropes and its commitment to illustrating how inequitable cultural systems are predicated upon illogical thinking so absurd as to be laughable. And, on the whole, it is a largely effective undertaking. Whether it is Igor’s machinations which work to dismantle ideas about the limitations of disability or Inspector Kemp’s ineptitude which calls into question our blind trust in systems of justice, there is a laudable amount of political subtext permeating the film which is why the rape scene that occurs a mere nine minutes before its conclusion is especially jarring. It would be easier if Young Frankenstein was a film that hates women but it’s not. Instead, the rape scene serves as a spectacular example of the failure of allyship. Read more
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. Read more
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