Tag Archives: Noah Segan

‘Deadgirl’ Damns Those Who Do Nothing

2008 saw the release of several critically acclaimed horror films, from Lake Mungo, Eden Lake, Martyrs and Let the Right One In. But despite these successes, any of the years’ releases are not regarded quite so fondly and they have been forgotten to late 2000s history. One of these films is Deadgirl. Directed by Marcel Sarmiento and Gadi Harel, Deadgirl is a sexual exploitation horror that touches on ideas of sexual violence – and who deserves to be called out for their silence.

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The plot is quite simple. Best friends Rickie (Shiloh Fernandez)  and J.T. (Noah Segan) are skipping school and looking for somewhere secluded to drink some beers. They decide to break into the local abandoned psychiatric hospital. Classic. There, they pass time by making their way through its labyrinthine grounds, vandalising everything in sight. They run into an aggressive Dobermann who chases them deeper into the hospital, where they come across a door that seems to be rusted shut. Hoping it’s an exit, they break down the door, only to be faced with a horrifying scene. 

The room seems to have been used for covert medical practices, and in the middle of it, lies the dead, naked body of a young woman (Jenny Spain). She is strapped to a table and has a plastic bag tied over her head. While they argue about what to do with her, they realise she is still breathing. Rickie is adamant they need to call the police, or at least unchain her before whoever has done this comes back. In a bizarre turn of events, J.T. decides that they should keep the girl as a sex slave and names her Deadgirl. J.T. attempts to convince Rickie to join him, but he refuses and leaves. 

You would hope that after leaving, Rickie would tell the authorities about the abducted girl, but instead he simply goes home. Rickie grapples with the decision to help the girl throughout Deadgirl’s runtime, as J.T. invites more boys from school to take turns raping and torturing her. Things take a slight turn when J.T. attempts to kill the girl, but finds that after strangling her, breaking her neck, savagely beating her and repeatedly shooting her, she will not die. Deadgirl’s origins are never revealed, although the characters’ best guess is that she was a former patient at the hospital who was experimented on by doctors, then abandoned when the hospital closed down. 

How exactly she became a zombie – or whatever she is – is not really important. The main objective of the film is clearly to disturb, and the script and its plot inconsistencies are overlooked in favour of its shock value. Many of the films’ criticisms are directed towards the graphic sexual violence and explicit nudity, which I think are absolutely valid, but many of these criticisms overlook the message that the film was trying to convey through this violence. 

Deadgirl surprisingly gives some really interesting (though sometimes misguided) insight into female objectification, the consequences of the”’boys will be boys” mindset, the potential of rejection causing violence, and what can ultimately happen when misogynistic language goes unchallenged. Films like I Spit on Your Grave and The Last House on the Left are chief examples of the rape revenge subgenre, although they have not been without criticism. Shots lingering on women in vulnerable positions and female characters who have been given little agency are almost synonymous with the subgenre, but that doesn’t mean that the filmmakers intentions weren’t commendable, even if the final result is regrettable. For example, I Spit on your Grave was inspired by a real rape victim that the director stumbled upon after her attack. He drove the victim to the police, and was appalled by the officer’s dismissive attitude towards the victim, which inspired him to create a film where a victim could seek her own justice.

Deadgirl is unfortunately another example of a rape revenge film that may have had honourable intentions, but ultimately disregarded its original message for depicting depravity. Despite what the film says about misogyny, it only contains two female characters, Deadgirl and JoAnn (Candice Accola of The Vampire Diaries fame). They have very few or no lines, no personality, and no agency. They are only there for the men around them to project their fantasies onto and use for their own pleasure. Rickie says he loves JoAnn, but we only really see him have sexual fantasies about her. We never learn anything about her personality, interests, or why Rickie is so interested in her. Except for one notable line, when JoAnn has been abducted by the friend group. After consistently rejecting Rickie, he still confesses his love for her, to which she says “fucking grow up.”

A more recent film like 2022’s Fresh opens with a woman on a date with a man who tells her he misses when women were traditional, yet repeatedly tells her she has to pay for her own meal and makes comments about how he wished women put more effort into their looks. She is clearly offended and uninterested, yet he still tries to kiss her. When she politely rejects him, he tells her he wasn’t interested in her anyway and calls her a bitch. Fresh is gory and uncomfortable, but it’s also a joy to watch because every character is fully fleshed out and engaging, unlike those in Deadgirl. What Deadgirl says is not particularly groundbreaking, but the issues it does bring up are notable. 

Rickie is a classic “nice guy.” He is mostly passive, he doesn’t actually save the girl but he doesn’t rape her either. This is the kind of guy that falls into a tricky category. Does he want to keep a woman prisoner and use her as a sex slave? No, he does not – at least not at first. Does he take any real steps in helping her escape or ensuring his friends face justice? No, he doesn’t do that either. The film tells the audience that just because you are not actively being the worst man in the world doesn’t necessarily mean you’re a good guy either. 

If your friends catcall a girl in front of you, make misogynistic jokes, share intimate pictures with you, or do anything that you think would offend the women in your life, it is your responsibility to vocalise that. Just because you are not actively wandering the streets, looking for women to abduct, does not exclude you from the conversation or from accountability, Rickie! The characters in Deadgirl are heightened for dramatic purposes, but their real life counterparts do exist. Deadgirl is not actually so far from a possible reality. Just without the zombies.

‘Scare Package’ Is a Meta-Horror Echo Chamber

Horror buffs will find themselves seen in Aaron B. Koontz’s horror-comedy anthology Scare Package. The film sparks memories of perusing the local video store for hidden gems, insisting your friends must watch a horror masterpiece they’ve never heard of, and picking something solely for the gnarly front cover. Ultimately, Scare Package is a love letter to horror and all the nostalgic emotions that come with it. But when does nostalgia overstay its welcome? And when does meta-horror stop being a useful exercise in genre analysis and start diluting the original concept to its most basic, repetitive, and homogenous parts? When does an ode to the genre become a tool for watering down the genre itself?

Most people will point to 1996’s Scream as the progenitor of the modern-day meta-horror subgenre. But it was preceded two years earlier by an early statement-of-concept by Wes Craven in New Nightmare, a new installment to the lore of Freddy Krueger that sees him take a step into the real world, terrorizing a number of actors and creatives from the franchise playing fictional versions of themselves. Two years later, the idea would get refined into an easier-to-digest, formulaic rendering where teens realize they’re in the midst of their own cat-and-mouse slasher film. Following Scream’s success were films like 2006’s Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon and 2011’s Cabin in the Woods (the latter of which had a clear influence on this film). It’s an admittedly fun genre whose room for assumed knowledge makes writing a little simpler, particularly for indie filmmakers. But it’s also, by its nature, stating a thesis about the genre that hasn’t necessarily been pushed back on.

Scare Package utilizes several shorts that explore different types of films — from the umpteenth installment in a slasher franchise to satanic cult films — found in the VHS rental store that is the movie’s primary setting. Several directors and writers populate the creative team, including Courtney and Hillary Andujar, Anthony Cousins, Emily Hagans, Noah Segan, and others. They run a sizable, if limited, gamut of the type of films that make up the genre and cover more ground than many meta-horror installments. 

But Chad (Jeremy King) is the typical would-be guru of the horror world: a white man with a massive collection of physical horror media from decades past and the extensive knowledge to go with it, insisting on imparting his existing horror learnings on Hawn (Hawn Tran), a newbie to the genre. And while Hawn has his revenge — the film reveals he runs an experiment about horror stock characters and tropes for which he has kidnapped Chad to be the “genre expert” — the rest of the movie is still Chad attempting to live out a slasher film based on the established lore he, and people like him, have perpetuated. 

The film does incorporate some new twists. Chad is woefully wrong about who he pegs to be the “final girl” and “slut” in his experiment group, admittedly poking fun at men of his type and the way women are portrayed. However, the characters still obey the confines of this worldview. It’s not that there are no stock assignments for these characters; it’s just that Chad misjudged who was who. The assigned “slut” is still killed in the end, as is her lot in horror life. 

While entertaining and relatable for horror fans, Scare Package is not adding anything new to something that should be a larger conversation. In fact, it’s reinforcing what’s already there. Yes, slasher films employ repetitive stock characters; yes, the morally upstanding girl tends to see the light of day in the end; yes, the killer is seemingly indestructible. We know this, and we love watching the same thing happen over and over again, eight episodes into a franchise. But when you take that and mythologize it the way these films do, it stops being a helpful introspection and starts regressing all horror contributions to the mean. 

On the one hand, the current golden age of horror films owes a great deal to the meta-horror reinvigoration of the 90s. Wes Craven’s work to develop a subgenre that let the audience in on the joke was, and still is to this day, downright enjoyable. But one thing meta-horror also does is reveal the limitations of the construct it’s working in. Characters realize the rules they are bound by and operate within them rather than push back on them. This genre reflexivity can be beneficial or increasingly diluting depending on how you respond to it, as meta-horror also reveals where the genre falls short. It can and should be a critique of where things stand in the genre for women, people of color, queer people, and non-western cultures. With films like this, whose existence pontificates the horror doctrine, we risk allowing the canon to shrink without meaningful additions that stretch the bounds of what is considered canon.

It’s not a mistake that most of Scare Package occurs in a VHS store. The nostalgia for the past, when the genre was far less diverse than it is now, is part of the meta-horror mythos. We’re reaching back to a time when, whether we realize it or not, several of the horror greats of our time would have been disenfranchised in the same. In a very real way, meta-horror films have become the Gatsby parties of horror: an object of entertainment for those privileged enough to enjoy the cosplay in the past without worrying about the realities of the time. 

Like these past-harkening parties, slashers of decades past are fun to dive into if you’re willing to endure things like dated language and characters. Meta-horror has made it even more fun as you play along with the recognizable beats of the story. But the meta-horror of today, nearly 30 years removed from its first big moment, needs revitalization through a comprehensive look at what the horror landscape is today.

Metahorror as it presently exists is not a bastion for the genre-aware, analysis-seekers that it should and is often touted to be. New Nightmare was a film that came at the tail-end of a wayward franchise, igniting life and creativity into the story by being aware of its predecessors and what made the franchise scary in the first place. Scream was mindful of the faults and limitations of its slasher ancestors and invited an audience to poke fun along with it. Even Behind the Mask offered a meditation on how slashers portray violence as art. The state of today’s meta-horror hasn’t progressed to match the world around it, and Scare Package’s predictable plot is an example of a subgenre that needs to evolve to stay relevant and true to the audience it aims to connect to.