Editorials
Sisters United in Blood: The ‘Ginger Snaps’ Trilogy
From the quaint suburbs of Bailey Downs emerged a pair of horror’s most memorable sisters that would offer a rarity; a trilogy of modern werewolf films. The trio of Canadian horror films started 18 years ago with the now modern classic Ginger Snaps, catching the film festival circuit by storm by word-of-mouth, garnering a Canadian theatrical release on May 11, 2001. Directed by John Fawcett and written by Karen Walton, with both sharing story credits, the macabre Fitzgerald sisters and the deadly puberty is hell metaphor of Ginger Snaps would capture horror hearts and inspire two back-to-back filmed sequels refused to give in to expectations.
Katharine Isabelle slayed as the eponymous Ginger, and Emily Perkins as the meeker younger sister Brigitte, but finding them proved difficult in the casting process. The gore and language kept Canadian casting directors at bay, and when one finally did agree to pick up the film, the W.R. Myers High School shooting in Alberta, Canada that took place mere days after the Columbine High School shooting suddenly thrust violence in teens into the spotlight. Which meant teen-based horror like Ginger Snaps was met with outrage and scrutiny. After a six month process of casting, both leads were found on the same day.
The story follows the death-obsessed, outcast sisters as they navigate high school, bullies, and boredom in their quiet suburb town. Though Ginger is the leader, more outgoing and rebellious compared to her shy sister, Brigitte, the bond between them is impenetrable. That is until Ginger gets her first period, and it happens to attract a werewolf that’s been hunting in the area. Ginger survives her attack, and her slow werewolf transformation exhibits similar signs to going through puberty; new bodily hair, mood swings, and a new sexual hunger. Ginger’s transformation into womanhood mirrors her transformation to werewolf, driving a wedge between sisters as Brigitte is suddenly forced to learn how to stand on her own. It brings a clever new twist to the werewolf sub-genre, but more than a gory puberty metaphor, it ingeniously examines moral ambiguity. Ginger’s new lust for blood means a pile of bodies left in her wake, and they don’t always deserve it. Brigitte’s core conflict is between her love for her sister and doing what is right, making for a fitting if not bleak ending.
With the titular character no longer in the picture, how do you handle a sequel? Ginger Snaps 2: Unleashed, written by Megan Martin and directed by Brett Sullivan, picks up after the events of the first film with Brigitte now struggling with her own impending werewolf transformation. This time, lycanthropy is used as a metaphor for addiction, as Brigitte spends much of the film in a rehab clinic as she desperately clings to monkshood extract to ward off her transformation. The ghost of Ginger taunting her sister every step of the way, as Brigitte leans further and further into extremes. The biting humor of the first film is traded in for pessimism, and Ginger Snaps 2: Unleashed offers a brutal ending that has often become a sticking point for fans, even if appropriate given its dark theme on succumbing to addiction.
It was a bold direction to take the sequel of a beloved cult hit, keeping with Ginger’s rebellious nature by giving fans nothing of what they expected and offering up something completely different. It also failed to generate the same word of mouth that its predecessor did, likely due to far less festival and promotional support. This meant its theatrical run proved more disappointing. Reviewed mostly favorably, but underseen, Ginger Snaps 2: Unleashed carried on the Fitzgerald sisters’ story in a way that deftly avoided cliché.
Shot back-to-back with the sequel, both released in 2004, the direct to DVD third entry in the series brought Ginger back into a much more prominent role by setting the story in 1815. Ginger Snaps Back: The Beginning takes the ancestors of the Fitzgerald sisters to the settling days of Canada, where they’re forced to take refuge in Fort Bailey, a place consistently under siege by werewolves. While the prequel setting of 1815 makes for a unique Gothic facelift, the core story relies heavily on the same beats of the first film. Once again Ginger is bitten, and once again it’s Brigitte that must struggle with saving or killing her sister. The prequel weaves in new werewolf mythology that sets in motion the fate of the future of werewolves. Ginger Snaps Back ups the kill count and number of werewolves, but leaves out the humor of the first film that helped solidify its cult status. Even still, it brings a more uplifting sense of closure to the series, and it’s an extremely ambitious film for a third entry in a series.
The werewolf sub-genre is far scarcer than it should be. Even rarer are sequels to well-received werewolf movies (can we ever get a Dog Soldiers part two?). That Ginger Snaps generated not one but two follow-ups is a testament to the importance of great characters and stories in horror, and really cool werewolves helps. Ginger and Brigitte’s bond saw them through puberty, addiction, high school bullies, and even the dangers of a wild wilderness during the early 19th century. The perfect casting of Isabelle and Perkins only further cemented the on-screen bond between sisters, unbreakable and relatable. “Sisters united in blood, together forever.”
“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
You must be logged in to post a comment.