Editorials
‘Split’s’ Biggest Surprise is its Protagonist Problem
Warning: This is spoiler territory.
Whether you call it a twist, reveal or revelation, Split certainly contains a big surprise that has a lot of people talking. But for me, the biggest surprise coming out of the film was how shockingly Shyamalan flounders in the protagonist department. And I’m not talking about failing to write a protagonist we “like” or “relate to”, or “care about”, but failing in creating a protagonist at all. Because, seriously, who is the protagonist in Split? Which character has agency in the story, is active, or has a compelling arch?
If your answer is Anya Taylor-Joy’s “Casey” you would be right by default. Certainly she’s the film’s Final Girl, and the movie’s opening moments tell us she’s our hero, but after the initial set-up, Casey is abandoned for long stretches of time, leaving all the active choices to the film’s other characters.
Take for example James McAvoy’s therapist, Dr. Fletcher (played by Betty Buckly) who becomes a sleuth of sorts, digging into CCTV footage for clues and ultimately making bold moves against him. Is she the protagonist? Certainly her action delivers a lot more of the information the movie gives us.
And then there’s Casey’s fellow captors. They may not have flashbacks filling in their backstory, but Shyamalan certainly gives them a lot more to do. Claire makes the film’s first daring escape by hammering the ceiling with her shoe while Casey… guards the door? And it’s Marcia who decides to take action against her aggressor in a bold move to meet McAvoy with physical force while Casey… looks on in shock? We can argue whether these were “smart” choices for those characters to make, but they were at least choices that propelled the narrative.
Remember 10 Cloverfield Lane? Remember agonizing along with Mary Elizabeth Winstead as she attempted to get that cell phone while chained to the wall? Remember when she makes the choice to attack John Goodman during that amazing dinner scene? Smart or not, her actions defined her and the relationships she had with the other characters. Director Dan Trachtenberg made sure to put his audience squarely in her experience and gave her all the agency. We just don’t get that same consideration here.
All this is not to deny that Anya Taylor-Joy is doing great work in the film. Indeed as John Squires rightly points out, her performance is solid, intense and nuanced but the writing is just not there for her character, which is most surprising because this is traditionally where Shyamalan excels. All of his films have rich and memorable main characters, each with specific characteristics, wants and flaws: The Village‘s Ivy Walker, literally blind to the dark truths of her world. Unbreakable‘s David Dunn, a nuanced study of how a normal, flawed family man comes to grips with identity and destiny. Heck, even The Visit gave us a more rounded character in budding filmmaker, Becca.
In Split, Shyamalan defines Casey as a victim and that’s pretty much it. And I would go even farther and suggest how he uses flashbacks to communicate this is not only a bit awkward, but a big storytelling cheat that allows him to avoid figuring out how to build a compelling character in the film proper. So when, during the film’s final moments, Shyamalan asks us to accept that her experience as McAvoy’s prisoner has finally allowed her to overcome her victim-hood through a single decision and action, it just didn’t feel earned to me. But hey, that’s just me.
I liked Split, and there’s a lot to like in it. I think it’s worth celebrating another financial success for M. Night Shyamalan and the fact that it owned the weekend box office means that we’ll be getting more tight thrillers from him in the future. But it’s also my opinion that as a showcase for McAvoy and his 23 personalities, Split ultimately robs us of a protagonist worthy of Shyamalan’s talents.
“Elevated Horror.” Of all the combinations in the English language, that one is the most insufferable.
It represents almost a decade of scary movies that, for the most part, took themselves too seriously. Horror responds to the moment, so its “why so serious” lean makes sense as we scuttle through the “worst of times” equation of Charles Dickens’ famous opening lines. But there’s still an opening and a need for a lighter approach; one that not only has fun with its audience but takes the piss out of a genre that is seemingly letting its newfound “respectability” go to its head.
Wes Craven believed devotees see horror films to let out their fears one primal scream at a time. At their core, these movies are roller coasters; they bring us as close to the edge as possible before pulling us back into a safety net of reality. The need for a bigger and badder coaster increases during times when the size of that net decreases.
There’s a thrill that comes from imagining being in a foot race with a madman, or outthinking the hordes of zombies on the other side of the door, plus the scavenger humans coming behind them. There’s even a rush that comes from imagining how one might deal with possession to see good triumph over evil in the end. It’s all about building tension and releasing it through catharsis. That cathartic release usually sounds like screams followed by laughter, which signals relief. Genre heavy hitters over the past 10 years offered very little of that respite when the credits rolled. Films like Hereditary, The Witch, Talk to Me, and even Smile (pick one) keep that tension going after the screen fades to black.
Hereditary
As the genre became obsessed with creating trauma metaphors, that lack of release made sense. Anyone with even a small sample size of traumatic experiences knows those emotions don’t magically resolve themselves in an allotted run time. But how much trauma can one take? Especially when there’s a mess going on outside that few of us can escape from. Movies offer that off-ramp, no matter how short.
Everything can’t be, nor should it be, “elevated.” Audiences need thoughtful explorations of life’s ills via monsters as much as they need murdering masked maniacs with kitchen knives. And no, it doesn’t have to go any deeper than that. Sometimes, a knife is just a knife, and it’s still worth our time and respect. As weird as it sounds, that simplicity is comforting not in spite of the trauma but because of it.
The worst of times should manifest more than just anguish. People need to laugh just as much as they need to think seriously about this moment in time. Even the Scream franchise forgot the meta rock upon which it built its church when the latest foray sacrificed the subtle comedy for serious drama. Scary Movie returned at the perfect moment. It provides the necessary laughs, but it’s not a cure-all.
This isn’t a call for Scary Movie imitators but a return to a mainstream landscape where Killer Klowns from Outer Space sat with The Serpent and the Rainbow, nestled neatly with the latest Nightmare on Elm Street, which took nothing away from The Vanishing.
They Live
Even They Live, John Carpenter’s horror sci-fi satire sandwich, kept its tongue firmly in cheek while discussing serious ideas still relevant in 2026. Yes, a film about aliens taking over the world through subliminal messaging only visible through coded sunglasses is, in fact, a tad silly. Carpenter understood that mainstream horror can’t become so self-important that it never looks itself in the mirror and laughs at that inherent silliness.
The thing is, horror historically excels at poking fun at itself. Most of the Scream franchise, The Cabin in the Woods, or The Blackening show adoration without kowtowing. They recognize tropes and trappings but invert them for an audience already in on the joke, but one that also finds solace in said conventions. This keeps the genre on its toes; once something gets parodied, it’s usually time to evolve. That breeds new ideas and fresh filmmakers, which not only strengthen the genre’s collective voice but also amplify it.
Get Out, as “elevated” as some critics want us to believe it is, is a cathartic, populist scary movie that spoke to an untapped audience rather than speaking down to them. Backrooms is one of the biggest horror hits in years, partially because it’s fine-tuned for modern-day teenagers instead of their parents. Movies like these tell everyone the genre is open for business; open for innovation and, yeah, open for new ways in which people can lovingly poke fun at with a wink and a nudge.
Horror needs dread as much as it needs laughter.
Catharsis is just as important as tension, and pulpy populism has the same merit as more high-brow material. Respectability shouldn’t come at the expense of an experience akin to walking through a haunted house. At a time when joy seems in short supply, horror should look to its past to map out its future, and make things just a tad brighter for audiences.
Backrooms
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