Beware the girl-monster, as deadly as she is beautiful. She is that compelling horror creature who is driven to bite, mutilate, and devour her victims out of an uncontrollable compulsion or appetite. She is most often characterized by her sharp teeth and unruly body, but rarely appears in the same form twice. The girl-monster is as old as the horror genre itself but, in the last 20 years, has enjoyed a renewed popularity and is, arguably, one of the most prolific horror cycles of the twenty-first century, as well as one of the least remarked upon.
What distinguishes the remarkable films of Val Lewton is not just the sorely needed life that they injected into the horror genre in the 1940’s. Nor is it that Lewton and his inner circle fashioned a unified aesthetic that, even in their lesser films, produced evocative imagery and memorably scary set pieces that still stand up today. Rather, it is Lewton’s resolute darkness of vision that sets his work apart from all others. Movies like Cat People (1942), Isle of the Dead (1945), and I Walked With a Zombie (1943) are shrouded in “an unshakeable apprehension of death’s hold on life”[i] that moves to the foreground in almost every film. The feelings that linger are horror but also a palpable sadness.
Until recently I assumed that this quality could only be found in the Lewton catalogue. But the first two films from director Oz Perkins, The Blackcoat’s Daughter (2015) and I Am the Pretty Thing That Lives in the House (2016), are assured outings that also possess an unflinchingly despondent outlook that perhaps goes Val one better. Could Oz Perkins be the second coming of Val Lewton? Let’s take a look.
For every lesbian horror victim, such as Brandy in Hallow’s End (2003), there exists a murderous lesbian, such as May Canady in May (2002), to remind us of the perversion traditionally associated with lesbian desire. Previously we looked at how Dracula’s Daughter coded its lesbian narrative in order to escape censor from the Legion of Decency. This week we will take a look at how Cat People (1942) established markers of “otherness” in order to code its queerness.
Just as in Dracula’s Daughter, the main character of Cat People, Irena Dubrovna, struggles against a part of her true identity she fears will render her an outcast. Irena, a Serbian immigrant, believes she is descended from a cursed tribe in which any woman who has her passions aroused will shape-shift into a killing panther. Irena’s life is complicated when she impulsively marries Oliver, a New York architect. Unable to be intimate with him for fear of the curse, Irena is sent to a psychiatrist in search of a cure. The audience is left guessing whether Irena’s paranoia is the result of sexual repression or whether her fears may be well founded.