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Episode 23: Zena Dixon Summons ‘Dead Mary’

Behold, the untapped potential of the 2000s direct-to-video market. Like the current landscape of streaming releases, the direct-to-video market of old offered viewers a potential goldmine of underseen and underappreciated releases. You may have to dig – and dig, and dig, and dig – but true horror fans know that any amount of dumpster-diving is worth that one unearthed gem.

READ MORE: Punishing the Male Gaze in ‘Teenage Cocktail’

In this episode of Certified Forgotten, the Matts are joined by Zena Dixon – aka The Real Queen of Horror – to discuss Dead Mary, a 2007 direct-to-video release from director Robert Wilson. With elements of both The Thing and Evil Dead, Dead Mary shows what happens when you take a handful of strained adult relationships and throw an evil witch into the mix.

READ MORE: ‘The Hole in the Ground’ Adds Irish Horror to A24

Join us for a spirited conversation on the horror genre, as Zena opens up about her own experiences as a horror fan and explains the drive behind “Being Enough in the Horror Industry,” her standout video from June that laid bare some of the racism she’s experienced as a video creator and horror fan.

You can stream Dead Mary on Amazon or Tubi. Check out the rest of our podcast episodes on our Podcasts page.

Unfolding The Character-Driven Surrealism of Eric Valette’s ‘Maléfique’

A haggard prisoner looks up from the journal he holds. His free hand plunges into the open wound of a fellow prisoner lying on the floor, next to the other cellmate’s charred remains. With his victim’s blood, the first prisoner scrawls runes on the wall before returning to his book and reciting a Latin incantation. At first, nothing happens. But then the runes begin to glow, and the wild-eyed prisoner walks toward the wall. So begins Maléfique, Eric Valette‘s 2002 French horror film unlike any you’ve seen.

If Americans know Valette at all, it might be for his 2008 remake of Takashi Miike’s One Missed Call or the 2012 low-budget Christine knock-off Super Hybrid. But Valette’s career began with Maléfique, a surreal character-driven nightmare that deserves a second look from fans of Clive Barker’s body horror and A24’s psychological drama.

Maléfique stars Gérald Laroche as Carrère, an unscrupulous businessman convicted of fraud. He shares a cell with three others: the transgender Marcus (Clovis Cornillac), her infantile charge Pâquerette (Dimitri Rataud), and the elderly intellectual Lassalle (Philippe Laudenbach). Even in prison, Carrère carries himself with the arrogance of a successful executive, confident that his lawyers and money will get him out of jail. But this confidence shatters when his wife (Félicia Massoni) divorces him, takes his fortune, and bars him from his son Hugo (Paul-Alexandre Bardela).

READ MORE FROM CERTIFIED FORGOTTEN: ‘Raw’ Is a Coming-of-Age Story With Bite

Carrère’s bad luck coincides with the discovery of a diary that belonged to Charles Danvers (Geoffrey Carey), a former prisoner whose 1920 escape via black magic – depicted in the movie’s opening – has become the stuff of convict legend. Desperate to punish his wife and to be with his son, Carrère begins studying the book. When Pâquerette accidentally casts a fire spell, the quartet realizes that Danvers’ journal may be the path to freedom.

As these references to black magic suggest, Maléfique takes some dark turns. The diary draws forth the prisoners’ deepest desires, making them manifest in nightmarish ways. Despite these flourishes, Valette, alongside screenwriters Alexandre Charlot and Franck Magnier, keeps the proceedings subdued, even when dealing with supernatural events.

One of the best examples occurs near the end of the second act when Pâquerette’s eating compulsion gets the best of him. After a particularly stressful moment, the cellmates find different ways to decompress. Carrère pounds on the cell door, Lassalle stars serenely through the window, and Marcus collapses onto her bed. 

But Pâquerette nervously grabs Danvers’s diary and retreats to a corner. As the camera peeks around his bunk, it reveals Pâquerette pushing pages of the diary into his mouth. A harrowing noise on the soundtrack accompanies push-ins on each of the prisoners as they realize too late what Pâquerette has done. His body ascends into the air, arms stuck to his side as if they were pinned by spikes. Faint whimpers creep from his stuffed mouth, but no one, not even Marcus, moves forward to help. 

READ MORE FROM CERTIFIED FORGOTTEN: How National Trauma Shaped Alejandro Amenabar’s ‘Tesis’

In the same way Pâquerette crumpled the diary, the forces protecting the book crumple Pâquerette. His arms twist into knots, a sharp crack sounding as his bones give way. His ankles crack as his feet turn backward. His body bends unnaturally until he folds in half, collapsing to the ground in a heap. 

The cellmates respond to this death with unspoken sorrow. Marcus unfolds Pâquerette and gently carries him back to his bunk, caressing his hair like a mother grieving her child. Carrère and Lassalle say and do nothing, still stunned by what they’ve seen. 

Marcus briefly pushes Lassalle aside to throw the diary through the window. Carrère threatens Lassalle for a moment when the older man reveals that he knows more about Danvers than he previously let on. But the violence is slight and short-lived. Carrère releases Lassalle, and Marcus lets the diary drop. What more can they do? Instead of pushing the trio into hysterics for the sake of obvious drama, Valette lets the characters respond like humans suffering real emotional trauma from what they just watched. 

This calm approach, combined with the film’s single location and small cast, sometimes makes Maléfique feel like a stage play. But despite the grimy setting and green-gray tones, Valette and cinematographer Jean-Marc Bouzou keep the visuals interesting. When the camera isn’t floating through the cell in unbroken takes, clever editing clarifies the relationships between characters. We follow Carrère on his first night as he picks his meal tray up from the floor and carries it alone to his bunk. But then a series of insert shots capture the rituals Marcus and Lassalle use to prepare for their ostentatious dinner. When Carrère joins in the proceedings at the next meal, we understand how the convicts have bonded. No exposition is required.

READ MORE FROM CERTIFIED FORGOTTEN: The Brutal History Behind ‘The Nightingale’

Valette can tell a grounded version of a weird story because he’s joined by an outstanding group of actors. The character descriptions seem to call for a cast of scenery-chewers: a vengeance-fueled father, an old man driven to murder by his library, an intellectually disabled man who eats everything (including his six-month-old sister), and a “brute” midway through the gender reassignment process. But these actors treat their characters as humans in extraordinary circumstances. Cornillac makes Marcus’s maternal care for Pâquerette feel congruous with her bullying of the others. Pâquerette has his outbursts, but Rataud never lets him become a caricature. Laroche and Laudenbach make the most of their expressive faces, imbuing their often-silent performances with subtle intensity. 

Maléfique may have a quiet tone but make no mistake: this is not dour realism. The film contains some genuinely bizarre imagery, including an eyeball appearing in a fleshy vagina popping out of a porno magazine collage, and death by reverse aging. Bucking the trend of other horror films of the 2000s, Maléfique uses CG sparingly, choosing practical effects whenever possible. It even gives us a blessed bit of stop-motion animation. The few CG shots don’t look great, but they tend to feel like the unconvincing digital composites favored by David Lynch – unsettling because they are unrealistic.

Maléfique also is not a slow burn movie. At 86 minutes, it doesn’t have the time. But it is exceedingly efficient as it blends pathos with phantasmagoria. The movie’s climax builds with sudden shocks of violence, in which Lassalle castrates Marcus and then meets his grisly doom when letters bubble up across his skin, and his body melds with the book. But it just as quickly moves away from these heated scenes for more serene terror. Lassalle remains calm as he becomes a human book, and Marcus seems to transcend peacefully to a higher realm. Throughout it all, Carrère hardly raises his voice or even registers disgust. 

Why do the characters stay so calm? Why do the rituals take these turns? The movie doesn’t explain. After giving us scenes of walls eating hands, bodies being transformed into unnatural shapes, and blood spilled for arcane rituals, the film also ends by giving Carrère a bloodless fate. These turns may irritate some viewers, but others will appreciate the narrative jumps. They leave the audience just as confused as the movie’s protagonists. 

This mix of Barker-esque magic, body horror, and psychological drama didn’t play with audiences when the New French Extreme was gearing up in Valette’s home country. It also felt out of place among the bland A-Horror remakes dominating American cinemas. But now, moviegoers waiting for the latest from Ari Aster or Robert Eggers would find a lot to love in Maléfique.

Of course, that’s easier said than done. With no presence on streaming services and English-subtitled DVDs long out of print, Maléfique is hard to find without scouring the iffy corners of the internet. You might go that route, but maybe avoid breaking the law or consulting the dark arts in your pursuit. If the movie has any message, it’s that one should stay far away from prison – and magic.

Visit our Editorials page for more articles like this. Ready to support more original horror criticism? Join the Certified Forgotten Patreon community today.

Punishing the Male Gaze in John Carchietta’s ‘Teenage Cocktail’

For as long as movies have existed, a vast majority have been dominated by the vision of a very particular brand of human. The existence of the male gaze is not the problem, rather the lack of diverse gazes available to the masses. Despite a recent and overwhelming push for moviemakers to offer films that appeal to those outside the dominant male gaze, this gaze still largely prevails. Sometimes it looks like harassing actresses from mega-movie properties for simply existing. Sometimes, it’s negatively review-bombing movies before they come out in an attempt to ruin box office runs like Captain Marvel or Ghostbusters

And then there’s a film like director John Carchietta’s Teenage Cocktail, shot completely with the male gaze in mind, solely to help point out what a piece of shit you are for enjoying the world from this perspective.

Teenage Cocktail is the story of two more-than-friends named Annie (Nichole Bloom) and Jules (Fabianne Therese). They dream of leaving their hometown behind in favor of greener pastures in the Big Apple. Considering they’re both high schoolers with no real savings or assets to their name, the duo begins fostering a nest egg by recreationally performing as cat-masked cam girls, happily taking money from those willing to pay to watch them do what they frequently would when the cameras aren’t rolling. Some suspension of disbelief is required considering cam sites are rigorous about ensuring talent is over the age of eighteen—compared to the Wild Wild West that was Tumblr pre-porn ban—but other than this nitpicky detail, everything else tracks. 

The relationship between Annie and Jules is one budding with teenage sexual exploration both in experience and identity. Annie’s feelings for Jules border on intoxication; while Jules is clearly the alpha/top/domme in this relationship, she’s not manipulating Annie or forcing her to do anything without her full and enthusiastic consent. They genuinely care about one another and have the irrational “love” that you can only have as a high school student. And as anyone who has ever been in love as a high school student can attest, sometimes that blind devotion makes all common sense evaporate into the ether. 

But they’re still teenagers trying to titillate an audience for money, and we, as the audience, are the voyeurs looking in on them.

Outside of queer-made media, Women-Loving-Women relationships (WLW) are almost always portrayed in order to appeal to straight men. The body positioning typically favors look over logic—scissoring is impractical as hell, y’all—the intimacy is performative and presentational, and any semblance of intimacy is abandoned in favor of appearing “inviting” to the viewer. There are moments where Teenage Cocktail slips into this gaze, presenting Annie and Jules as pink-filtered sex pots appearing and existing solely for our pleasure.

Then, as an intentionally jarring counter, the camera cuts to something that reminds us how these girls are teenagers. A shot of a kissing jewelry box underscored by the sound of Annie moaning, followed by a close-up of her clutching a pillow and tightening her eyes as Jules’ head in the foreground tricks your brain into thinking that she is providing her pleasure, only for the camera to reveal her applying a stick and poke tattoo on her hip bone. 

Wait, did you think Jules was going down on her? Is it because that’s what the movie was indicating or is it because it’s what you wanted to be happening?

As punishment, not only are you not going to get “what you want,” but you’re instead shown two girls innocently sharing their first kiss, then interrupted by Annie’s mom with a basket full of laundry, followed by a family game of Uno. 

Did you forget? They’re teenagers.

The first time Annie and Jules go on camera together, Jules delivers an under-the-clothing-without-removal sexual encounter, with Annie kicking her head back in ecstasy and declaring her love to Jules. As Annie’s pleasure mounts, the film cuts to the aftermath where a hungover Annie is now being yelled at by her mom for lazing on the couch and having an attitude problem. Enjoying a teenager’s near-orgasm means you need to be reprimanded by a stern mother for being so inappropriate.

Around halfway through the movie, there’s a moment I’ve called the “main room montage,” where scenes of Annie and Jules performing on cam are spliced with moments of their out-of-cam relationship. Every time a cat-masked scene of sensuality is put on screen, it’s ripped away for moments of typical teen life like playing with sparklers in a parking lot, smoking cigarettes outside a mini-mart, painting nails, taping postcards to a bedroom wall, and falling asleep to a movie on the couch. It’s the cinematic equivalent of being caught looking at internet porn and immediately having to switch browser windows.

One of the most gifted performers working today, Pat Healy, plays Frank, Annie and Jules’ biggest fan. He trolls the internet in private, feeding his obsession with nubile content from his family computer by sneaking out of bed at night and using this world of fantasy as a form of escapism from his mundane life. 

We’re introduced to Frank in the film’s opening moments, crashing his truck into our young lovers’ automobile and foreshadowing the horrifying third act. When we meet Frank later in “real time,” we already know the inevitable, so it immediately signals to viewers that there will be red flags worth recognizing along the way. We know that Frank’s interactions with these girls are not on the up and up, because the film hands us the message on a silver platter. This is why when Annie, Jules, and Frank’s worlds finally collide, the moment that should be the biggest pay off for the male gaze (a threesome) is indicated off-screen. We never see what happens in the bedroom the night they meet, because once again, the film is punishing the audience for craving what the male gaze frequently offers.

We, as the viewer, are constantly being told by the film that leaning into the male gaze makes us as reckless and dangerous as the choices Annie and Jules are making, while continuing to remind us how we should know better than to follow the lead of teen girls still trying to figure out their lives. Frank is the male gaze personified.

Annie and Jules’ love and sexual relationship is not the villain of Teenage Cocktail, but villainy is present in many forms. It’s Jules’ pseudo-boyfriend who only finds out about Jules’ life on cam after breaking into her house and entering her room unannounced while she sleeps. It’s Annie’s one-time sex partner who records her without consent from the bleachers as punishment for being with someone else, what he felt was reserved for himself. It’s the school that demonized the girls for performing on camera, an institution that does nothing in regard to the students spreading their images around like a virus.

Our duo is not absolved from their participation in negligent activities because they’re young, but the problem with the male gaze is that nuance and “full-person” understanding of characters is thrown out the window in favor of what said gaze wants to focus on for its own enjoyment. 

The male gaze doesn’t want us to think about the fact Annie was uprooted and thrown into a new environment against her will. The male gaze doesn’t want us to dissect Jules’ abandonment issues from her mother leaving and her father’s lack of attention. The male gaze certainly doesn’t want us to talk about the age of consent and body autonomy. 

What the male gaze does want is for these girls to be villainized for their actions for “teasing” instead of giving themselves to the proverbial wolves. Unfortunately, as the final scene shows us, there are serious consequences for refusing to grant the male gaze what it wants. The entire movie is spent punishing us for reveling in the male gaze, only to send us home with the painful-as-fuck reminder that no amount of punishment is going to prevent the inevitability of the male gaze getting what it wants in the end. By any means necessary. 

Visit our Editorials page for more articles like this. Ready to support more original horror criticism? Join the Certified Forgotten Patreon community today.

Episode 22: BJ Colangelo Stirs Up a ‘Teenage Cocktail’

Here at Certified Forgotten, we’ve been known to cast a pretty wide net when it comes to the definition of horror. Not all films that deal with dread or terror fit neatly into the horror carousel on a Netflix page. Sometimes, some of the movies that hit the hardest are the ones that sidestep most genre conventions entirely.

READ MORE: ‘The Hold in the Ground’ Finds the Irish Horror in A24

One such film is John Carchietta‘s Teenage Cocktail, a 2016 thriller that explores what happens when a pair of high school lovers cross paths with a possessive fan who demonstrates the worst elements of toxic masculinity. For those who live their lives even semi-publically online, Teenage Cocktail is a far more frightening and realistic outcome than any number of movies about killers in the woods.

READ MORE: Exploitation and Empowerment in the Films of Sion Sono

In this new episode of Certified Forgotten, the Matts are joined by writer BJ Colangelo to discuss the ways in which Teenage Cocktail both subverts and uplifts the coming-of-age formula. The team also discusses how Teenage Cocktail avoids some of the more common mistakes with lesbian love stories.

You can rent Teenage Cocktail on Amazon or Apple TV. Check out the rest of our podcast episodes on our Podcasts page.

Uterus Horror: ‘Raw’ Is a Coming-of-Age Story With Bite

This month, Uterus Horror is going international with 2017’s hit film Raw. Written and directed by French filmmaker Julia Ducournau, Raw quickly garnered attention as rumors spread about festival goers passing out or vomiting due to the graphic nature of content. Yet it has become a favorite amongst horror fans because of the compelling story and stunning visuals.

Raw follows a young student, Justine (Garance Marillier), as she enters veterinary school. Raised a vegetarian, Justine gets her first taste of meat during a hazing ritual. She has an allergic reaction, causing her skin to break out in a horrible rash. Even more strange, is that the meat awakens a hunger inside her. At first, she thinks it’s for more meat, but she soon realizes the craving is for human flesh. As her cannibalistic urges grow, so does her sexual desire. Justine is forced to come to terms with her bizarre tastes while also embracing her sexuality and, ultimately, losing her virginity.

When I first saw Raw back in 2017 and reviewed it for The Blogging Banshee, I instantly connected with the film. That bond is partly because I adore Uterus Horror films, but it’s also because Raw, in many ways, is very similar to Ginger Snaps. I previously wrote an early Uterus Horror entry for Fangoria diving into why Ginger Snaps is one of my favorite films of all time and how it brought about a “Uterus Horror” resurgence. Both titles use horror to emphasize and exacerbate puberty, tying the character’s affliction directly to their sexuality–even showcasing the often volatile relationships between sisters. Raw may use cannibalism to emphasize the horrors of being a young woman rather than lycanthropy, but the effect remains the same.

Justine is immediately presented as more youthful than everyone else in the film. While her age is never explicitly expressed and she is in college, there are still several hints that she is likely at least a year or two younger. Justine presents more childlike and innocent than everyone around her, even revealing early on that she is a virgin, and different characters refer to how smart she is, implying she likely skipped a grade (or whatever the French equivalent of that would be). Her experiences are ones that an average aged college student could experience, but her being younger makes the events fall in line more with what we typically see in Uterus Horror films.

Her youth and the fact that she was previously sheltered by her parents makes Justine’s time at the veterinary school a world of firsts. While the other students likely have been to parties and participated in at least some level of sexual activity, everything is new for Justine. She has escaped the protective bubble her parents created and is forced to navigate the world on her own. During the earlier scenes of parties and other new experiences with her classmates, Justine is an observer. She only participates when coerced by upperclassman, and it’s during one of these hazing rituals that Justine is forced to eat a raw rabbit kidney. This moment becomes the catalyst that ignites her cannibal cravings.

The way this first bite of meat affects Justine in Raw leans towards a biological explanation rather than a supernatural or psychological one. That rabbit organ causes Justine to break out in a terrible rash across her entire body, but it also sparks a hunger from within. Finding she’s not satisfied by her usual vegetarian diet, Justine tries—and fails—eating other kinds of meat. Seeking advice leads to a very unfortunate waxing incident with Justine’s sister, Alexia (Ella Rumpf), that results in Alexia losing half of her finger. Justine gets her first taste of human blood and flesh and quickly realizes it was what she had been seeking since her first mouthful of animal parts. 

As if her reaction to animal meat vs human flesh wasn’t enough to convey the biological component of Justine’s “affliction,” there is a familial connection that makes it even more apparent. After Justine eats her sister’s finger, Alexia reveals she too eats human flesh, although her methods are much more extreme and murderous.

The sexual component in Raw emerges at the same time as the cannibalism. After Justine eats Alexia’s finger, she begins to feel a sexual desire that was not present before. It begins with Justine kissing a classmate in a hazing ritual, but she ends up biting a chunk out of his lip and escalates to a very disturbing sex scene with her roommate, Adrien (Rabah Nait Oufella). As Justine loses her virginity to Adrien, she goes into a very primal and violent state where she clearly is trying to bite him but instead bites her own arm until she draws blood. It becomes clear that sexual and cannibalistic desires go hand-in-hand. A closing scene with Justine’s father also reinforces this idea, as he explains the scar on his upper lip was from the first time he kissed Justine’s mother. Based on what we saw with Justine’s first sexual encounter and the bite scars all over the father’s body, one could surmise that Justine’s mother takes a bite out of the father each time they’re intimate. 

Raw executes an emerging trope common in Uterus Horror by showcasing a complex relationship between sisters Alexia and Justine. At first, the sisters seem distant, highlighting the fact that they are at different points in their lives and development. It’s not until Alexia sees Justine eating the finger that the two discover their commonalities and become closer. Yet relationships between sisters can be volatile and turn on a dime. Obviously, Ducournau takes this to an extreme place because of the film’s themes. The last 20 or so minutes of Raw really focus on this aspect as the sisters get into a violent physical altercation one moment, but then try to help each other when outsiders get involved. The quick change from wanting to kill each other to protect each other is an unsettlingly accurate depiction of relationships between sisters, emphasized by the more disturbing side of Uterus Horror.

Ducournau’s film was well-received at film festivals across the world. Raw won awards at many of these festivals, including Austin Fantastic Film Fest, Cannes Film Festival, Stiges, London Film Festival, Monster Fest, and more. Despite these accolades, Raw didn’t necessarily earn much at the box office, but it has quickly developed a cult following. This is unfortunately quite common with Uterus Horror titles. The film is estimated to have had a budget of approximately $4 million, yet according to IMDB, it grossed just over $3 million internationally.  Only about $500,000 of that was from its US release, which is surprising considering it is currently sitting at a 92% Tomatometer score and a 76% audience score on Rotten Tomatoes

It’s possible the underwhelming U.S. box office for Raw had something to do with many American viewers’ disinterest in foreign/subtitled cinema. In the past 10 years, there has been a surge of Uterus Horror films like Raw, with the majority coming out just in the past five years. I truly believe if the film had been made in English, it would have been a bigger financial success in the states. That being said, it has grown in popularity since its initial release, especially just in the past year once it hit big streaming services such as Netflix, Amazon, and Vudu. 

Raw contains all the classic hallmarks of a great Uterus Horror film. It depicts Justine, already an outcast for being younger and more sheltered than her peers, as she discovers her sexuality. Justine’s sexual exploration is highlighted and exacerbated by the simultaneous discovery of her penchant for human flesh. Despite not amassing blockbuster box office returns during its theatrical run, Raw has great critical acclaim and has only been growing in popularity among horror fans over the years. It has a plot reminiscent of Ginger Snaps and the acclaim and wider appeal of what I’ve dubbed the original Uterus Horror film, Carrie. Ducournau created quite a masterpiece with Raw that exemplifies my subgenre, one that stands out from the crowd with a compelling story of sisterhood and sexuality, complete with shockingly ravenous “mealtime” visuals.

How National Trauma Shaped Alejandro Amenabar’s ‘Tesis’

A young woman – battered, disorientated, and disconsolate – is tied to a chair, her hands bound behind her back with rough lengths of frayed hemp. A small, dated camcorder sits on a tripod a few meters in front of her, the red recording light blinking in dour, violent recitation. The woman sighs, gathers whatever composure she can, and says, “My name is Ángela. They’re going to kill me.”

Tesis, otherwise known as Thesis to English-speaking audiences, is the acclaimed-but-criminally-unseen 1996 Spanish thriller helmed by a pre-Hollywood Alejandro Amenábar. The film opens with an atypical content advisory: “WARNING,” the screen tells us, “the following scenes may hurt the viewer’s sensibility.” Horror films, by design and spurred by audience expectations, often subvert conventional standards of acceptable content, though few open with precursory warnings. The inherent framework of the genre is often telling enough for audience members.

Tesis, though, is an innovative horror film, conceived by an auteur of the genre. It follows Ángela Márquez (Ana Torrent) as a young film student who discovers a snuff movie where a classmate of hers is tortured to death. Toward the conclusion, Ángela learns that Bosco, a filmmaker peer, is responsible for the killings. Feminist underpinnings drive the narrative as she eschews traditional outlets – male-dominated public spheres such as the police and university administration – to inquire into the killing on her own.

Only a handful of reviews exist for Tesis on sites like RottenTomatoes and Metacritic, in part because its release predated the mega-aggregate’s launch in 1998. This might also be because the movie has yet to find a dedicated audience since its initial theatrical and home video runs. Tesis did not win seven Goya Awards (Spain’s premier national film awards) for nothing, however, because not only is it a worthwhile Hitchcockian slasher in its own right, it’s also an exceptional reflection on Spain’s history of violence against women, Francisco Franco’s regime, and the horror genre’s longstanding impulse to victimize women. 

Violence Against Women

Set in 1996, twenty-one years after the death of militaristic dictator Francisco Franco and the collapse of his autocratic regime, the narrative of Tesis is shaped and constrained by the metamorphosis of the public and private sphere, particularly for women, and the historical context of antecedent global initiatives for gender equality. For instance, in 1995, The United Nations held the first-ever Fourth World Conference on Women, “fourth world” being a subpopulation within any given society whose identity and regional habitation manifests in severe political and economic disadvantages. The United Nations determined, for this specific conference, that women occupied this “fourth world” given political and sociocultural ordinances and pressures that subordinated them, even within the parameters of an ostensibly progressive, first-world country.

Most cultures, particularly in the West, have a morbid fascination with violence, but why is that more desirable, and more lucrative, when the violence is against women? Tesis endeavors to answer that question as it explores the dichotomy between female violence and the untold differences between the private and public sphere. For instance, the subject of the first violent video Ángela finds while writing her thesis on audiovisual violence and family is Vanessa, a student at Ángela’s university who went missing two years earlier. While Ángela is at first reticent to watch the film – listening only to its sound – she is directly encouraged by her classmate, Chema (Fele Martínez), and later indirectly by her thesis advisor, Professor Castro (Xabier Elorriaga), to watch the movie. The moral here is the requisite necessity of violence and spectatorial participation in the aberrant torture of women.

Indeed, Spain’s contemporary history of gendered violence began during the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939). Francisco Franco led Nationalist forces in overthrowing the Second Spanish Republic during the war, and soon after, appointed himself dictator, beginning the decades-long period known as the Francoist dictatorship. During that time, both during and after the war, sexual violence against women was common among members of Franco’s Nationalist forces. Women of all ages and occupations were raped, tortured, and killed to instill terror among the local populaces. The violence against them was often committed in public spheres (e.g. cemeteries and hospitals), and later rendered as some kind of perverse tyrannical agitprop. 

Most distressing, as is the case with women’s history on a global scale, is how little of this violence was ever recorded, ever committed to some written record. The quantification of their pain and deaths were erased, reduced to scattershot anecdotes and piecemeal paper trails. 

There is, then, an argument to make that Vanessa’s death being committed to film serves some unfortunate moral imperative whereby the violence against her is memorialized and, thus, part of recorded history – Ángela’s impelling force to uncover the truth. 

Violence in Media 

Tesis is a carefully manufactured narrative that seeks to dismantle the perpetual storification of violence against women. When the media’s influence on gendered violence is ignored or unquestioned – when considerable evidence is conflated with unfounded, illegitimate ideologies – the resounding myths preserve dour, dangerous circumstances, and experts in the field are barred from making substantial headway. As a singular aspect, viewed through a framework of violent media effects, the presentations and depictions of violence in horror texts are veritably problematic, specifically frequent depictions of women in extended states of torture. The narratives reinforce antiquated impressions of women as victims, and these unfounded gender schemas often serve to promulgate violent and dismissive attitudes toward women. 

Tesis is, in most every sense, a microcosmic interrogation of popular media’s role in the burgeoning complacency toward violence against women. The snuff films and violent deaths in the narrative are representative of the larger, historical media ecosystem whereby violence against women is commercialized and commodified. Violence against women is very much a part of the universal narrative, and Tesis, though moderately unknown, envisages the requisite need to analyze it narratively and to interrogate and question the explicit hegemony and reverence for problematic, violent ideals. 

Conclusion

Certainly, horror films are not nearly as egregious as Franco’s regime, yet the same subtle inclination to gain ascendancy over women and hegemonize their attitudes, beliefs, and behaviors still permeate even the most renowned of horror films. When young women drink or have sex and are soon thereafter killed, how else can that be interpreted other than as a tacitly threatening command for women to, quite frankly, behave themselves or else? 

Tesis, by and large, is a filmic reckoning for Spain’s long history of violence toward women. Indeed, while some might quail at the notion of a man (Alejandro Amenábar) being at the helm of such an endeavor, it is precisely men who need to reckon with the country’s longstanding sins and systemic subjugation of women. Much like the fundamental ailments that plague the United States, the men of Spain – fathers and soldiers, sons and brothers – are the ones who reaped the bounties of sin, whether they were directly responsible for them or not. Ángela was every modern woman grappling with the crimes and wickedness of her homeland’s past, and in Tesis, that journey through pain and later hope, makes for an exceptionally compelling watch. 

Though Tesis ends with the suggestion that the news media will be airing footage of the snuff films – the final step in the commercialization of violence against women – there is nonetheless the hopeful suggestion that by seeing it, by bearing witness to this facet of historical pain, change can, and will occur. However slowly, change will happen. 

Visit our Editorials page for more articles like this. Ready to support more original horror criticism? Join the Certified Forgotten Patreon community today.

Certified Forgotten’s ‘Deep Blue Sea 3’ Tweet-Along And Giveaway Details!

When friend of the podcast, Bloody Disgusting’s Meagan Navarro, and I were DM’ing about our surprising love for Deep Blue Sea 3, we wondered, how do we get more people to watch this movie? We settled on “bribe them with prizes.” Then we roped in Geeks Who Eat, who matched our prize contributions. From there? We didn’t expect today’s announcement.

On Saturday, August 15th, both myself and the real “Meg” (try and stop her Jason Statham) will be live-tweeting a viewing of Deep Blue Sea 3 at 5PM PST/8PM EST to celebrate the film’s drop this week on digital platforms for rent (use the hashtag #DrinkBlueSea). To make things a bit more fun, we wanted y’all to embrace some shark-themed challenges that’d show your fin-flick spirit or put those culinary skills to good use.

Prize Pack #1

Our first prize pack comes from the crazy chefs over at Geeks Who Eat! If you want to win their foodie-friendly giveaway package, you need to follow one of these two steps.

First, you can recreate a recipe from their Shark Week collection, like Preacher’s Perfect Omelet! Let the world see your inner Gordon Ramsay or professional mixologist.

If starting from scratch is what floats (or sinks) your boat, then you can also make up your own shark-based recipe! Maybe it’s recreated from a shark movie, or perhaps you’ve cracked some genius twist on a classic to make it aqua-horror friendly?

Prize Pack #2

Our second prize pack is on behalf of the Matts here at Certified Forgotten! We want to see who has the most “Sharky Spirit,” whether that be clothing, decorations, backdrops, whatever. Donato already has a tank top picked out plus this year’s Shark Week collaboration sunglasses from Knockaround, so think big and flashy.

The winners of our prize pack will earn a copy of Deep Blue Sea on Blu-ray, a copy of Deep Blue Sea 3 as provided by Warner Brothers, plus two surprise Blu-rays chosen by the Matts based on their favorite titles covered on the podcast so far.

Prize Pack #3

This prize pack is a new one, thanks to some generous folks involved with the making of Deep Blue Sea 3. First, you’ll need to have entered for either #1 or #2 (or both, better odds). It’ll also require active live-tweet participation and your confirmation that you rented the movie then hung out with us to tweet, chill, and soak in the flick. We’re so excited. Check this out.

Director John Pogue (writer of Ghost Ship, U.S. Marshals, The Skulls, etc.) was kind enough to not only support our cause, but he’s donating his unworn “Cast & Crew” bucket hat that was given to everyone on the set of Deep Blue Sea 3. Exclusive merch from the actual production. But wait, that’s not all!

Lead actress Tania Raymonde stepped in with her own generous contribution. Along with Pogue’s sunshine protector, and a copy of Deep Blue Sea 3 provided by Warner Brothers, Tania is donating her personal Deep Blue Sea 3 script with added drawings/notes to Prize Pack #3. Like, legitimate exclusive memorabilia.

Prize Pack #4

Another update! Prize Pack #4 is a donation on behalf of the horror board game company Mixtape Massacre, who are giving away a bundle of both Mixtape Massacre and Escape From Tall Oaks (valued at $99.98). What do you have to do to win this tremendous tabletop shipment? We’re not announcing that until 8/15, during the tweet-along, because only those participating will be able to take home this victory.

Recap

Holy shirtballs, y’all.

So, one more time. To win Prize Pack #1, you’re bringing your kitchen A-game and impressing us with either your best-recreated dish or cocktail, if not coming up with your own. To win Prize Pack #2, you’re showing off how much “Sharky Spirit” you can muster. To win Prize Pack #3, we need to see the ultimate Deep Blue Sea fan who’ll then meet a challenge during the tweet-along whether that’s a “caption this” contest, trivia, or something else. Same for Prize Pack #4. You need to earn these ones.

That all said, how do you enter for any four of our prize packages? Simple. Follow the instructions below.

1) When the time comes, tweet your entry picture at us with the hashtag #DrinkBlueSea.
2) Follow @certifiedforgot and @GeeksWhoEat on Twitter.
3) Retweet the first tweet in this thread (also embedding below).

If you do all three, you’re in! Simple as that.

Let’s go deeper and get bluer than you ever imagined this weekend. Who’s going to be the hero who makes a cocktail in a shark onesie and becomes Donato’s favorite Certified Forgotten fan? Don’t miss out, because we might even see one or two of the film’s familiar faces tweeting along with the hashtag #DrinkBlueSea to share some anecdotes. Who knows, anything is possible!

Ready to support more original horror criticism? Join the Certified Forgotten Patreon community today.

The Brutal History Behind Jennifer Kent’s ‘The Nightingale’

The Nightingale is a graphic, brutal film full of 19th century colonial rage. The follow up to director Jennifer Kent’s debut horror tale The Babadook, The Nightingale delves into a very different kind of horror, that of the British colonization of Tasmania. 

The Nightingale is a horror film not about a supernatural evil, like Kent’s The Babadook, but the horror and brutality people can enact on each other. Both for the indigenous Tasmanian Aboriginals and the convicts that were forcibly taken to the island, life was brutal and unforgiving. 

The most horrifying aspect of The Nightingale is the truths it’s based on—the genocide of Aboriginals, and the brutality of convict colonies, all played out in the harsh beauty of the Tasmanian landscape. With The Nightingale’s recent release on the horror streaming platform Shudder, now is a timely moment to explore the history behind this haunting film.

The Historical Accuracy of The Nightingale

Set in 1825 Van Diemen’s Land (modern-day Tasmania), the film follows the 21-year-old Irish convict, Clare (Aisling Franciosi), as she and an Aboriginal tracker named Billy (Baykali Ganambarr) seek their revenge against Lieutenant Hawkins (Sam Claflin) and his retinue of abusive, drunken soldiers. 

In a statement to the ABC, Kent said, “The Nightingale contains historically accurate depictions of colonial violence and racism towards our [Australian] Indigenous people.” 

The “historical accuracy” of the film is key. Kent’s characters are based upon the real people who lived out their lives in 19th century Tasmania. Kent, who’s Australian, did extensive research before writing, working with an Aboriginal adviser to ensure that the violence portrayed in the film was true to history. “Nothing that happens in this film is fictional,” Kent told Vox in an interview. “The story itself is fictional, but the events are all factual, and worse.”

Setting the Scene

At the time the film takes place, Van Diemen’s Land was a frontier. The indigenous Tasmanian Aboriginals had settled the island 35,000 years ago. The Nightingale, by comparison, is set in 1825, at which point the British had only been living on the island for several decades. 

Europe only became aware of the island’s existence in 1642 when the Dutch explorer Abel Tasman spotted the landmass. By 1798, more than 150 years later, European sealers and whalers began to base themselves on the island. It wasn’t until 1803 when the British created the first formal settlement, a military outpost under Lieutenant John Bowen.

With Bowen came 49 settlers—three female and 21 male convicts, British soldiers, and free settlers.

The Genocide of Tasmanian Aboriginal People during the Black War

Violence between these early settlers and Tasmanian Aboriginal people began almost immediately. As more settlers and convicts were transported to Tasmania throughout the early 1800s, tensions escalated into a conflict known as the Black War. Bloodshed would last from the mid-1820s until 1832. That said, many historians – such as James Boyce, Robert Hughes, Tom Lawson, and Lyndall Ryan – all agree that it was more genocide than war.

Convicts who escaped into the bush, known as bushrangers, committed “many atrocious cruelties” against Tasmanian Aboriginal people. These cruelties were documented in an 1810 report by Surveyor John Oxley. According to an 1808 letter written by another Surveyor, George Prideaux Harris, several bushrangers murdered a group of male Aboriginals then abducted and raped the Aboriginal women of the group. The British settlers and militia were often just as cruel.

On May 3rd, 1804, only a few months after the British colony was established, a confrontation between a large group of Mairremmener people and settlers at Bowen’s Risdon colony occurred. The confrontation left “a great many natives slaughtered and wounded” as convict Edward White later testified. Historian Henry Reynolds suggests the May 3rd confrontation ended any hope of peace between the islanders and settlers.

By 1825, when The Nightingale takes place, the Black War was just beginning. Attacks between Aboriginal people and European settlers began to double every year. Scholar Ryan Lyndall has collected a “List of the Multiple Killings of Aborigines in Tasmania: 1804-1835” here, which echoes the indiscriminate violence towards Aboriginal people portrayed in the film.

By 1826, the notorious Lieutenant-Governor of Tasmania, George Arthur, declared settlers could lawfully kill Aboriginals when they attacked settlers or stole their property. A local newspaper, The Colonial Times, saw this as a declaration of war. In 1830, Arthur even paid out bounties for the successful capture of Aboriginals—£5 for adults and £2 for children. These bounties were later extended to dead Aboriginals as well.

Before Europeans arrived, the Tasmanian Aboriginal population is estimated to have been around 6,000 people. There were nine different indigenous nations divided into more than 60 different clans according to scholar Lyndall Ryan. Though the numbers vary, one source estimates that there were fewer than 100 Tasmanian Aboriginals left by 1835. Those who survived were forced into exile onto surrounding islands without provisions and had to dress and live like Europeans. 

Given the decades of brutality, it’s no wonder that Billy seeks revenge in The Nightingale. His people are gone—his family, his community—and only he is left. It’s a brutal and accurate retelling of the reality Tasmanian Aboriginals faced. Even his name, “Billy,” is filled with historical context, specifically the life of William Lanne, or “King Billy.” William Lanne’s death in 1869 was thought at the time to mark the “extinction” of all Tasmanian Aboriginal people. 

Land of Convicts 

From 1803 until 1853, the number of convicts transported to Van Diemen’s Land would grow from Bowen’s initial 21 to over 75,000 people. Of that number, 12,500 were women, most of whom were convicted of petty theft.

During the time The Nightingale is set, most of those women had yet to arrive. Two-thirds of the female convicts transported to Tasmaiana arrived between 1842 and 1853. Clare’s world would have been overwhelmingly male.

When a convict arrived, they were interviewed before a prison board to determine any useful skills, like farming or shoemaking. Then, they were stripped naked and a detailed description of any markings was written down (in case an escaped convict ever needed to be identified). After a brief stint in the prison barracks, most convicts would be assigned as servants to free landholders. Those with the skills would work as blacksmiths, clerks, carpenters, or in other necessary trades.

Convicts that stepped out of line could be assigned to serve in chain gangs or, for repeat offenders, sent to Port Arthur prison. 

Well-behaved convicts were rewarded through tickets-of-leave (which allowed them to earn a wage), permission to marry, and even pardons. In The Nightingale, Lieutenant Hawkins allows Clare to marry her husband, Aidan (Michael Sheasby)—something he holds over Clare when he refuses to release her. The film also alludes to the “papers” (tickets-of-leave or pardons) that free convicts had to keep with them at all times.

Female Convicts in Van Diemen’s Land

In 1825, when Clare and Billy’s story begins, there were less than 4,000 female convicts in Van Diemen’s Land. According to historian Dianne Snowden’s research, for every 10 men on the island, there were three women. Among convicts, the numbers were even more skewed with one woman to every nine men. 

Most female convicts were assigned as domestic workers to free settlers or, as Clare does, for the British military. If, however, a woman committed further crimes—like drunkenness, lateness, or insolence—they’d be sent to a Female Factory. As the name suggests, the Female Factories were factories designed to keep incarcerated women working, often as laundresses. 

Through good conduct and hard work, some of the women sent to Van Diemen’s Land became an integral part of society as wives and servants. While there are some records of female sex workers, by and large, the female convicts sent to Van Diemen’s Land lived many different kinds of lives beyond the stereotype of “damned whores.” Some married and went on as free women after receiving their papers. Others were sent to Female Factories. The Female Convicts Research Centre has archived many of their stories here.

The Female Arsonists Who Sought Out Transportation

There was even a small subset of women, 79 in total, who were known to have deliberately set fires to be sent to Van Diemen’s Land. Like Clare, these women were taking control of their lives by escaping starvation, poverty, and abuse. Many were joining loved ones that were sent ahead of them to the convict colonies of New South Wales and Van Diemen’s Land.

For instance, the female convict Catherine Smith persuaded her son and daughter-in-law to help set fire to her house so she could join her husband in Van Diemen’s Land.  

Conclusion

When Kent first visited Tasmania, she felt the dark history behind the island’s beauty. Years later, that history would prompt her to make The Nightingale. In Australia today, there remains a reluctance to discuss the legacy of British colonialism. Just like here in the States, where we remain reluctant to talk about our own history of slavery.

Perhaps films like The Nightingale can create an opening for us to face the darker truths of our histories—histories that continue to perpetuate inequality today. 

Episode 21: Joe Lipsett Names ‘The Nameless’

It has been over ten years since Jaume Balagueró‘s Rec reinvigorated the found footage genre. Balagueró’s film – in addition to a number of Spanish filmmakers – helped launch Spain to the top of the international marketplace. Horror fans who had already grown to love Japanese horror films or the French New Extremity were thrilled to have a new national cinema to explore.

READ MORE: ‘The Hold in the Ground’ Finds the Irish Horror in A24

But no national cinema is launched overnight, and Balagueró’s success did not begin with Rec. In 1999, the filmmaker launched his directing career with The Nameless, a film inspired in equal parts by the work of David Fincher and Clive Barker. The enduring appeal of the film is so strong for Spanish moviegoers that The Nameless was recently announced as the inspiration for an ongoing television series as well.

READ MORE: Exploitation and Empowerment in the Films of Sion Sono

In this new episode of Certified Forgotten, the Matts are joined by Canadian horror scholar Joe Lipsett to discuss the cultural importance of Balagueró’s debut feature. With a long conversation about national cinema, religion, and the challenges of international distribution, this episode brings the smart – even when the Matts get sidetracked by a pesky little thing like matricide.

You can purchase a DVD copy of The Nameless by visiting Amazon or your independent retailer of choice. Check out the rest of our podcast episodes on our Podcasts page.

Childhood Trauma in Bernard Rose’s ‘Paperhouse’

In the world of horror films, children are often the characters who interact with monsters or villains before anyone else, but find that no one believes them until it’s much too late. They are far more likely to believe in “the unbelievable” than adults. Children don’t typically turn to logic or rationale, but simply recognize that they are in a situation where they should rightfully be terrified. The reason children are often dismissed in horror, and in general, is because they live in a world driven by imagination. A world where monsters are real, your parents are the center of everything, and friendships are formed quickly and solidly.

Paperhouse (1988), from director Bernard Rose, is based on the book Marianne Dreams by Catherine Storr. The film follows Anna (Charlotte Burke), a young girl who likes to draw and has a massive imagination. Rather than using Anna’s imagination against her, Paperhouse allows Anna to retreat into her world as an escape from the troubles of her real life. While those around her, such as her parents, her doctor, and her teachers are skeptical of the things Anna is telling them, none of that really matters as most of the film’s action takes place within Anna’s fantasy world.

The House on a Cliff

Anna’s life is changed forever when she draws a creepy-looking house while doodling during class one day. She seems to need a distraction from the problems going on in her life, such as her teachers treating her unfairly, her friends growing up without her, and her strained relationship with her mother (Glenne Headly).

After drawing the house, Anna passes out a couple of times, and in both instances finds herself in her imaginary world with her hand-drawn house firmly at the center. Anna is awake almost as soon as she arrives, but it’s the first flicker we get of the new coping mechanism that Anna has developed to deal with the issues in her life.  

Worried for her daughter, Anna’s mother summons Dr. Nichols (Gemma Jones) to the house for an evaluation. Dr. Nichols asks Anna to rest, eventually diagnosing her with glandular fever. Dr. Nichols mentions another patient of hers in passing, a young boy who has been in bed for over a year, which is nothing compared to what she is asking of Anna.

Forced to stay in bed and rest for the foreseeable future, Anna returns to her artistic release and draws the boy from Dr. Nichols’ story in the window. Giving him an overly-sad face on the first attempt, Anna tries to correct her mistake, only to find she is unable to rub out her drawing.

A Childhood Friend

The next time she enters her dream world, Marc (Elliott Spiers) is waiting for her at the fantasy home’s top window. While she’s excited to have a playmate in this world with her, she soon finds out that Marc is unable to walk. Anna believes this is her fault for not giving him legs in the drawing. Marc isn’t sure how he ended up in Anna’s house but doesn’t believe her story about the two different worlds. He thinks the paper house is where he belongs.

Anna decides to kit the inside of the house out with fun things and lots of food for Marc and her to enjoy. She even tries redrawing Marc with functioning legs, but when she arrives, finds a pair of mannequin legs standing on their own, which soon shatter into pieces. In addition to Anna trying to erase parts of her drawing, this shows how easily children think they can fix mistakes.

Her thought process is logical, and her intent is kind, but when she arrives in the dream world, she sees that things are not always that simple. There are consequences to your actions that cannot easily be rubbed out when you realize you have made a mistake. Similarly, not everything is fixable, no matter how much you wish it to be.

Marc seems to have accepted this, but relies too heavily on the dream world to flee his problems. While Anna knows the difference between the two worlds and can switch between them quite easily, Marc appears to have forgotten about his old life to block out the fact that he is dying. There is nothing for him in the real world apart from pain, being stuck in his hospital bed, and a bike that he can only stare at but never ride. He has disassociated himself from his real life so much that he tells a personal story as though he were someone else.

Anna uses her drawings to try and expel some of the things which are taking up unwelcome space in her brain, but the fact that she is then able to enter her dream world and face her drawings gives Anna the ability to work through her issues face-to-face. She takes her trauma, and puts it into a form she can understand, then learns how to fight her literal monsters head-on. The process starts when she is awake, but finishes – while she’s asleep – within the walls of her paper house. 

The Sins of the Father

The main issue Anna tackles in her dream world is her relationship with her father (Ben Cross). He is away a lot for work and there are also hints of an alcohol problem in his past which still affects Anna greatly. Anna decides to draw her father beside her paper house, but when she draws him looking drunk and “like a madman,” she gets so upset with herself that she crosses out his face. When her dad appears in the dream world, he’s been blinded by Anna’s scribbling, and wields a hammer, screaming for her to let him into the house.

This is the scariest segment of the entire film, as the black silhouette of Anna’s father makes his way across the grass. As children, we expect our parents to be the people we can rely on to protect us from anything, but Anna finds herself fighting her father transformed into a murderous creature. Because he has let her down so frequently in the real world, she has forgotten what it’s like to have a loving parent at home with her.

With her father, she can only focus on the bad parts of their relationship. She feels abandoned and failed by his drinking problem; the one monster her father cannot protect her from is the bad side of himself, and it’s this side that turns up at her imaginary doorstep. 

While Anna and Marc try to escape on Marc’s bike, her father smashes it with his hammer. Getting themselves out of this situation by speeding away on a bike is complete kid logic and the perfect solution in a dream, but her dad smashing it to pieces shows that there is no running away from this.

https://youtu.be/M5ms9SaQ7Mk

Anna cannot continue to hide from her problems but instead needs to tackle them head-on. She’s been unable to do this with her mother and father in the real world, but she has to defeat her dad’s monstrous version to get on with her life. 

Marc instructs Anna to rip her father out of the drawing, as it’s the only way to get rid of him entirely. After removing him, she burns the section of the paper with him on it, destroying the evil version of her father and causing the paper house to burst into flames as well. In order to progress with her father, Anna needs to let go of these feelings of negativity that she has built towards him, or they’re going to fester into something very ugly. This version of her dream world has served its purpose, and so the paper house is destroyed.

When Anna wakes up in the hospital to find her father has returned, she realizes she will need to address her issues with him in the real world. And while it’s not going to be as quick a fix as tearing him out of the picture, it still needs to be done to mend their relationship. They both seem to take steps towards growing closer as a family when her dad announces he’s got a job closer to home, and Anna apologies to him for being grumpy.

But their relationship is still strained because things like this take time to work out. There is no magic pencil or eraser in the real world to adjust your problems. You have to take the long road to fix them, but it’s worth it in the end. 

Rebuilding What Was Lost

Anna returns home to her dream world one last time to see Marc. Now that the paper house is gone, she has drawn them a beautiful lighthouse by the sea to live in instead. Anna’s safe place has always been beside the sea, and she drew the lighthouse in her original drawing as a literal beacon of hope on the barren landscape surrounding the creepy house. 

This time around, her dream world is much more realistic, beautiful, and it feels safe. When we think of a child’s imaginary world, we think of colorful landscapes and over-the-top features. Anna’s paper world was dull, grey, disjointed, and eerie because she channeled all her negative emotions into her drawing. The fantasy she created absorbed all that negativity and reflected it back onto her in a borderline nightmarish fashion. Now that she has destroyed that purgatory and is on the road to working past some of her problems, her dream world feels much more warm and inviting. 

In the end, Anna doesn’t need her dream world anymore. She needs to stay in the real world with her family and heal the wounds they’ve all suffered for different reasons. She felt very distant from both her parents prior to the film’s events, but the whole situation brings them all closer together. 

Conclusion

Paperhouse is the perfect fantasy horror story for a younger horror audience because it allows them to see that their worries, fears, and emotions are valid. It shows the importance of working through these problems in a tailormade, personal way so you can make positive changes in your life, and hopefully move forward. It also stresses the importance of believing in yourself and what you are feeling and experiencing, even if those around you aren’t providing the support you need. Where horror typically uses a child’s imagination as a disadvantage and something that makes them an unreliable witness to adults, Paperhouse shows that by working through scenarios in the imaginary world, it is possible to overcome those same issues in our inescapable realities.

Visit our Editorials page for more articles like this. Ready to support more original horror criticism? Join the Certified Forgotten Patreon community today.