Black Summer (2019) has polarized critics and undead fans. Some have called the show a rejuvenation of the zombie genre and others have balked at the story’s zombies and its ending. Wherever the critics and undead-lovers land on the series, there is no mistaking that Black Summer brings a new take on old lore. However, in a landscape of continually evolving interpretations of the walking flesh eater–Train to Busan (2016), Cargo (2017), The Dead Don’t Die (2019), etc.–Black Summer innovates by opposing the massive hordes and the deadeye heroes of current zombie films and television. In doing so, Black Summer masters a minimalistic horror that reignites the fear of the living dead. Read more
The history of teenage witches is tied to the uncanniness surrounding adolescence. Signifying metamorphosis, uncertainty, and an uncomfortable liminality, the teenage years are a period of intense biological and psychological tumult. Neither adult nor child, straining for independence yet perpetually fettered by the prohibitions of parental authority, teens exist in an ambiguous, in-between state. Adolescence is demarcated by a continuous struggle wherein attempts to mould an independent, authentic adult selfhood are invariably hampered as one is repeatedly drawn back to the dependent state of the child through the omnipresence of familial demands and constraints. At the same time, there is something frightening and unsettling about adolescence. After all, adolescence is perhaps the time when one feels most acutely, and most intimately, the horror of abjection.
In the loosest possible terms, the abject, as coined by theorist Julia Kristeva, refers to that which does not respect boundaries, those things which annihilate the distinction between inside and outside, self and other. Blood and other bodily fluids are archetypal manifestations of the abject; they arouse revulsion precisely because they transgress the boundaries of the body, signifying a breakdown between the protected core of interiority and the Otherness of the external world. Read more
The trailer for Velvet Buzzsaw is a chimerical thing. The first half sells a delicious send-up of the art scene. The “coastal elites” that America loves to hate lean toward expensive art. They murmur terms like “mesmeric” as they nibble their Armani frames. Halfway through the clip, the trailer rears its second head, revealing the campiest of horror as the apparently possessed paintings deliver unto these moneyed elites their bloody comeuppance.
The only through line, stitching these two movies together with Dr. Frankenstein’s hand, is thumping techno. The music, transitioning from sexy electro to dread-inducing industrial, convinces us that either of these movies would be a good time. But can they work together? Velvet Buzzsaw is true to the luxurious bite of its incongruous title. Like Frankenstein’s monster, animated by who-knows-what, pieced together from who-knows-who, this thing is alive, and it’s worth a look. Read more
Boston Underground Film Festival (BUFF) is gearing up to present its 21st annual event in 2019, and is currently calling for entries for its late submission deadline: 25th November.
Horror Homeroom guest writer Matt Rogerson (MR) caught up with BUFF’s Director of Programming, Nicole McControversy (NMcC), to talk about New England’s annual showcase and celebration of all things horror, fantasy and left of mainstream. 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