Editorials
The Distilled Horror of ‘Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture’
Spoilers for Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture follow:
To date, a lot has been written about Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture, and rightfully so. The 2015 game by The Chinese Room (Dear Esther, Amnesia: A Machine For Pigs) carries a somber tone and aesthetics that offer a quiet beauty well worth documenting. However, the peaceful atmosphere presented by Rapture is deceptive, perhaps aligning with what T.S. Eliot would call “a face to meet the faces that you meet,” for beneath the beauty lies a hideous beast.
Although Rapture is not a horror game, it definitely deals with a distillation of horror. Essentially, it is fundamentally based on something truly horrific, but opts to hide this beneath a warm tale of desperation and heartbreak, experienced vicariously through an unnamed protagonist. The fact that the protagonist is unnamed is coupled with the first-person rendering of the game, dramatically heightening the degree of immersion experienced by the player.
The main mechanic in Rapture is based on the player’s interaction with floating orbs of light, which hang suspended in the air. These golden orbs resemble the kind of light which constitutes “the pattern”, a celestial entity discovered by Kate Collins and Stephen Appleton. Elements of the story are unlocked by interacting with these orbs, as interaction yields a scene from Yaughton’s past, featuring the local townspeople. However, the people appear as pseudo-silhouette formations of light, similar in substance to the orbs themselves, and promptly disappear after the scene in question unfolds. The town of Yaughton is entirely deserted, aside from these strange orbs, and for some unknown reason, the player. While one may think that they are experiencing peace in solitude, they are actually all alone in a place of repressed horror where nothing makes sense.
In terms of horror, the most interesting part of Rapture is the nature of the golden lights. First observed from Yaughton’s observatory, the initial pattern was recognized as a potential life form by Kate and Stephen. A highly-advanced scientific facility in a small, ordinary town is Lovecraftian, to say the least, but the influence of the inimitable H.P. Lovecraft vitalizes the story as a whole, particularly in relation to his investment in cosmicism, which is a philosophy “stating that there is no recognizable divine presence, such as God, in the universe, and that humans are particularly insignificant in the larger scheme of intergalactic existence.”
By applying this concept to Rapture, the peaceful, somber tone of Yaughton becomes incredibly sinister. The reason Rapture is so breathtakingly peaceful is that it takes place in an emptied rural mundanity. Almost pastoral in tone, the nature behind this absence is so utterly horrific, that the player subconsciously assumes a sort of blissful apathy, electing to see the last tree in a burning forest. Yaughton, like many rural settings, is comprised of a tightly-knit religious community. However, when the pattern arrives, it quickly becomes clear that humanity and its institutions are not only insignificant but are completely powerless. After all, Earth is but a microcosmic pebble within the macrocosm of the Universe.
This pattern, seemingly a being from somewhere in the outer cosmos, presents itself to humanity as a series of lights. Whether this is its actual form or an illusion is up for debate, but is largely unimportant. What’s important is that mistaking its activity for an effort to make contact, Kate and Stephen accidentally invite the mysterious force to instigate a literal rapture. Beginning with farm animals, the pattern begins to spread an alien infection, always resulting in either death or disappearance. Somewhere within the peaceful pastoral, a horror strikes down the innocent.
Kate and Stephen hold very different opinions on the pattern. Kate believes that it is a benevolent sort of higher being, attempting to communicate; the deaths thus far have only occurred because it is naïve to the fragility of the human mind. Stephen, however, recognizes it as a malignant entity that is hell-bent on eradicating humanity from the planet.
The distinction between these opinions essentially boils down to whether the pattern’s infection is a misguided attempt to make contact, or a malevolent attack on humanity itself. Stephen is positive that it is the latter, and he reaches out to the government, requesting that they quarantine the infected area. The quarantine is placed, under the premise that Yaughton has suffered an outbreak of Spanish influenza. Terrifying when you think of it – the residents of Yaughton are worried that they could have the flu, when in reality, they’ve become the prey of a godlike predator.
However, the infection immediately adapts, breaking through the boundaries of the quarantine. Out of desperation, Stephen requests that the government bomb Yaughton and the surrounding area, as he realizes that the infection can now spread through any transferrable medium, from radio waves to telephone lines. If the infection is left unchecked, it could potentially lead to the extinction of the human race.
Remember that all of this morbid information is received by witnessing the interactions of golden lights in a beautiful and quiet setting. Even the darkest story can be warmed, seemingly, as the juxtaposition of a proposal for mass genocide in order to prevent an extraterrestrial infection with the quiet and small landscape of Rapture is nothing short of sublime.
Towards the end of the story, Stephen waits in a bunker for the bombs, intending to kill himself after he has ensured that every infected person in the surrounding area is dead. However, as one might expect, the pattern comes for him, too, and for the first time, the player gets an insight as to how the pattern operates. Stephen, doused in gasoline, challenges the pattern, stating that he’d rather kill himself than give in. However, before he can attempt to set fire to himself, he recognizes Kate within the lights. An illusion, of course, but one by which he is utterly enchanted. As Stephen gives in to the pattern, he reaches out to be reunited with Kate, but clumsily drops his lighter, setting himself alight. The saturation of the golden lights contains the horror of the fire that ensues, but when examined closely, the scene can be recognized as truly tragic, and utterly horrifying.
The game concludes in the observatory from which the pattern was first spotted, which has been locked up until this point. The last sequence of lights displays the pattern presenting itself to Kate, who challenges it. The pattern, now successfully communicating with Kate, reveals its true intention. It denies having done anything wrong, as it believes that it has brought everyone together in death and that each individual can now find their true other half. A Romantic sentiment, but a sentiment that motivated unspeakable actions with horrific consequences.
Incredibly, Kate actually agrees with the pattern, saying that humanity can now “slip away, unafraid.” Unafraid, maybe, but only because there was no choice – only pain, followed by death. Kate announces that she believes the pattern to be her counterpart, as she reaches out for the apocalyptic force she invited, and subsequently protected. The blood of humanity on her hands, Kate slips away, unafraid. Humanity expunged, all that is left is the remains of civilization. Tranquil as the deserted Yaughton may seem, it is haunted by an otherworldly presence.
Everybody’s Gone to the Rapture confronts the apocalypse with a warm, somber tone, but the eventual and inevitable heartbreak prevails, as the player is left facing a distillation of perhaps the most horrific fate imaginable. Horror never seems horrific when you witness it in awe.
College kids, strippers and vampires—those were Donald P. Borchers’ only requirements when he approached Richard Wenk about writing and directing a movie for New World Pictures. As requested, Wenk cooked up Vamp (1986), a tailor-made blend of the decade’s teen movie craze as well as its horror boom.
Grim and earnest stories were still very much a part of the ’80s horror landscape, yet Vamp is something of a comedy. One difference between it and, say, Saturday the 14th, though, is the former avoids using schtick. Wenk’s movie proves that horror comedies also don’t have to subtract thrills from their recipes. Of course, it takes a minute before reaching that point; college antics and culture shocks preface this one macabre misadventure.
Vamp‘s initial setup is apt for a typical college-set, sex-driven comedy; to bribe their way into a fraternity house, two pledges (Chris Makepeace, Robert Rusler) go looking for some adult entertainment. Without wasting time on any further exposition, the characters embark on an all-in-one-night trip that quickly detours into terror.
To procure their elusive MacGuffin—a stripper willing to gyrate for some frat boys—Keith (Makepeace) and AJ (Rusler), plus a third wheel named Duncan (Gedee Watanabe), trade the safety of their remote college campus for the seediness of some unnamed city. The setting is recognizably L.A. by day, but as soon as night falls, downtown, along with the characters, slips into a kind of surreal universe. Director of photography Elliot Davis gave this early entry on his prolific résumé an unusual yet distinctive look; that Mario Bava-esque, magenta-green lighting is omnipresent, so much so that it’s almost its own character.
Chris Makepeace and Robert Rusler in Vamp
The faint comparisons to Martin Scorsese’s After Hours are merited, although not just because of Vamp’s distinguishing nighttime aesthetic. Save for the primary characters, the supporting roles in Wenk’s movie are also quite colorful and transactional in their behavior. The difference here, though, is the additional urge to ruin Keith and his friends at every turn. Some of that harm is humorous and tolerable enough, whereas the moment Vamp dishes out its first fatality, it’s abundantly clear how this movie qualifies as horror.
Vamp falls into that category of horror movie that reveals its genre with a scream rather than a series of whispers. The opening scene can function as a hint of what lies ahead—things are not at all what they appear to be—but otherwise, Wenk is more than happy to hold off on the horror. When that time does come, though, it catches the viewer off guard. In addition to the pure shock value is that sudden decision to upend the movie’s foremost feature. Or so it would seem.
If afraid of major spoilage, those new to Vamp would be wise to stop reading here. There’s just no skirting around the fact that the central fellowship in this buddy movie hits a serious snag when AJ is killed. That development causes the story to become more of a “long, bad night” journey for Keith and his romantic interest. So while Wenk scores points for subverting expectations, there is also a touch of sadness in his decision. Because if Vamp does anything well, it’s making the characters likable.
Something that comes easily to Vamp—and other teen horror movies from this same era—is its ability to invent young characters worth caring about, or at the very least, are interesting and not so immediately off-putting. More impressive is how Wenk did all this without actually fleshing out those characters. Still and all, Keith and his kind are a grade above cookie-cutter, and in some cases, aren’t completely devoid of growth.
Grace Jones in Vamp
Vamp appeals with an assorted cast of characters. No two are the same, nor are they operating on the same wavelength. The cinematically extroverted AJ, whose actor conveyed charm and vulnerability in near equal amounts, comes alive when he’s at his most undead. Makepeace then makes the chronically cautious Keith a sympathetic fellow, even as he’s more and more affected by the night’s bizarre events. Meanwhile, Duncan is indeed the designated loser of the whole bunch, but Watanabe still manages to humanize him. As a bonus, the role didn’t require him to pull a Long Duk Dong.
As for Dedee Pfeiffer, she is plain adorable as the mysterious After Dark server nicknamed “Amaretto”. She spends all night fixing her dress strap while at the same time trying to get Keith to remember how he knows her. As their offbeat romance grows, it becomes another highlight of this movie. Whether or not Pfeiffer’s character is really a vampire also creates some welcome tension in the story.
Like a lot of its contemporaries, Vamp went on to become a bit of a cult classic. That current status is determined by several factors, but without a doubt, the casting of Grace Jones is the most considerable. The image of her writhing on that unique-looking chair, a Keith Haring original, springs to mind whenever this movie is brought up.
Chris Makepeace, Billy Drago and Paunita Nichols in Vamp
Prior to that first display of unequivocal horror, local vampire queen Katrina (Jones) took to the stage and delivered a strip show like no other. One would expect nothing less from that renowned model and performance artist. By now reports of Jones’ tardiness on set are no secret, yet it’s also hard to deny her commitment to the part of Katrina. It was, in fact, Jones who took charge of her character’s appearance—on top of Haring painting her body and that now-iconic chair, she had Andy Warhol handle her costuming. And not too many actors could seize a room’s attention without saying a single line of dialogue.
In 2022, Vamp received a retrospective novelization from Encyclopocalypse. This literary union of preexisting source material—Wenk’s original screenplay—and new ideas from author Christian Francis amounts to a more comprehensive visit to the After Dark Club. The basic story there is no different than what’s shown on screen; however, Francis gets creative with the characters’ origins and designs, and he enhances a number of key scenes.
The novelization expands on the urban and social decay of the main setting, and supplies a background for the After Dark Club. Sandy Baron’s character, Katrina’s emcee and familiar, is given ample motivation for sticking around; up until the fiery end, he is loyal to his friend and former business partner “Squeak”, who looks like he was “fed through a combine harvester, and left as nothing more than a heap of mangled remains”. Then there is Billy Drago’s character Snow, the leader of a street gang called The Dragons. His reason for menacing Keith and AJ is more altruistic than in the movie; he and his peers act tough to scare off any potential food for the vampires.
Lisa Lyon in Vamp
If not for all the backstories, Francis’ Vamp would be a hell of a lot shorter. Instead, this tie-in read dives into how AJ met Keith—the orphaned Anthony Joseph hailed from a broken home back in Brooklyn—and how their friendship flourished over the years. Keith’s archership is no longer just an assumed part of his entire being; it’s a confidence-building extracurricular for a boy who got picked on before coming into the protection of the new kid in town. These supplemental, in-depth looks at the protagonists, plus their close connection, are maybe unnecessary. The movie already did a fair and concise job of addressing their platonic intimacy without the need for flashbacks and insights, specifically in that scene where AJ lays it all out as he sacrifices himself.
Where the novelization gets off course is its approach to the minor characters. Intermittently backstorying the likes of Katrina’s indentured servants, Seko (Leila Hee Olsen) and Vlad (Brad Logan), ends up disturbing the flow of the writing. Was it absolutely essential that readers know Vlad was the Grand Duke of the House of Romanov, or how Snow’s accomplice Maven (Paunita Nichols) became so dentally challenged? No, not really. However, one’s mileage with these random biographies may vary.
The novelization is a more substantial experience, but for a movie like Vamp, less is more. And as plentiful as they are, it never simply coasts on its campy charms, either. The character work sits comfortably in that realm between cursory and meticulous, the script is sharper than first realized, and Greg Cannom’s vampire makeup is straightforward yet effective. Most of all, the movie didn’t squander its out-of-the-box concept. Richard Wenk made his vision of a “comic nightmare in which just about anything that can go wrong does” come true, and it is very enjoyable.
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