Editorials

‘Slashers’ Has No Patience for Reality TV

December 15th, 2023 | By Darcy McBrinn

No two genres in horror combine the cosmic potential and lackluster filmographies of the found footage and death game films. Found footage plagued the noughties with predominantly factory-produced dross that has still left a lasting scar on its reputation to this day. On the other side, death game films of recent years have fallen into the stale camps of either teen drama (like The Hunger Games) or exhausting torture porn (such as modern Saw or Hostel). But before their stagnation, both genres experienced a revival at the turn of the century, and Maurice Devereaux’s Slashers weaved them together into one cohesive ensemble of lunacy.

A Canadian production, Slashers concerns the titular game show (stylised $la$her$). $la$her$ is a Japanese bloodsport in which contestants must outlive several themed killers throughout a varied labyrinthine arena for a chance to win millions. And in the show’s first all-American special, we follow Seattleite Megan Lowry (Sarah Joslyn Crowder) through the gauntlet.

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Megan is a naïve university student who rashly joined the show to protest its barbarity. Wide-eyed and inept, she is guided through the frenzy by her more experienced competitors. They include ex-Marine Devon White (Tony Curtis Blondell) and Slashers enthusiast Michael Gibbons (Kieran Keller), who hysterically channels the energy of Jim Carrey’s Riddler from Batman Forever.

Despite its shoddy acting and glaringly low budget, Slashers is great. The Slashers themselves devour the scenery every moment they’re on screen, embodying the flamboyant style of WWE wrestlers throughout. Chainsaw Charlie (Neil Napier) is my personal standout. While not always incredible, the gore effects have an enjoyable absurdity to them, and the commitment to the Japanese game show aesthetic – a la the eighties game show Takeshi’s Castle – is very commendable.

Unlike Slashers’ found footage peers, it is not the protagonists holding the camera but the game itself. This seemingly innocuous detail elevates Slashers beyond its found footage and death game foundations.

Found footage is defined by the raw intimacy between the characters and the audience. Distinct from any other cinematic structure, this form allows characters to engage in direct one-way dialogue with us. It is no longer the metatextual director’s story but that of the characters themselves. But the death game of Slashers strips agency from the contestants, as the camera is naturally bestowed to the antagonistic show. The contestants have been depersonalized. 

Death games, too, often focus squarely on the tragic stories of the doomed contestant. The inner workings of the games in The Running Man or Squid Game are often secondary, which is not a trend continued in Slashers. Here, the found footage aesthetic intrinsically pulls the attention away from the contestants and into the formulation of the game itself. This direction allows Slashers to be more aware of the wider game at the expense of intimate characterization. 

Ultimately, it is the blending of these genres that both drains the other of their intimacy and, paradoxically, enlivens Slashers. Both in the narrative and outside of it, the characters become mere pawns. It is this depersonalization that is at the heart of Slashers and represents its ultimate didactic commentary: that the superficiality of reality television is actively hostile to its contestants. 

Reality TV boomed in the Slashers’ era, as shows like Big Brother, the Idol, and Survivor were global phenomena. The sincerity and humanity of these shows steadily collapsed as they were engineered for mass public appeal. The contestants quickly became commodities as corporations preyed on desperation for fame and wealth for their own financial gain. Tragic backstories are pried out of contestants to force a false emotional connection. Women are sexually exploited and objectified to cater to the male gaze. Artificial drama and violence are steadily spliced throughout. These contestants ceased to be people and transformed into puppets for the producers, tools for higher TV ratings.

Slashers acts as a camp dystopian take on the future of this reality television. It is a world where this depersonalization has reached such an apex that even their lives are forfeit for the production of content. Reality TV itself has become a slasher villain, stalking and picking off innocents greedy enough to challenge it. This personification of Slashers as a killer can be seen no more strongly than in the show’s sole cameraman, Hideo (Takaaki Honda).

Hideo is a strange man. As the show’s omnipresent cameraman, Hideo experiences the events alongside us from beginning to end. At the same time, Hideo is completely faceless and almost entirely silent. Even his minimal dialogue is dubbed over the film, lending his voice a detached narratorial quality. His primary purpose is to drive the interests of the show and encourage contestants to divulge their histories. His lack of real depth means he largely acts as an indifferent extension of the show – less of a cameraman and more of an animated camera. 

Ironically, it is within the placid Hideo that we find our most active character. As Hideo is the only cameraman – and to ensure that no excitement is missed by the viewers – the Slashers can only appear to terrorize the contestants while Hideo is present, a fact the film somewhat excessively reiterates. When Hideo is not present, the characters must passively wait for him to appear to do anything.

Thus, not only is Hideo the only character with agency in Slashers, but he is also responsible for lending this agency to others. He is the sole driving force of the film – the only character that can excel, make an impact and manifest their goals. For Devereaux and his Slashers, the only entity that can survive exploitation within reality TV is the reality TV itself. Only the show can win.

Slashers is a film laden with subtext. Its killers are clear critiques of corrosive elements of the Clinton and Bush administrations in America, and the film is also deeply interested in the complicity of the producers, employees, and even viewers (the ‘Nuremberg defense’ is satirically used throughout the film to justify participation). But at its core, Slashers is a pure condemnation of the amoral reality TV industry beginning to simmer in the early 2000s. By blending two relevant genres together that were similarly experiencing a steady rise, Slashers subverts and reforms both.