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[Editorial] The Emotional Rise of Cosmic Horror

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Art Credit: "The Call of Cthulhu"; illustrated by François Baranger ©2017

The phrase “cosmic horror” conjures up images of massive tentacled beasts that defy all aspects of human understanding. Monsters created by author H.P. Lovecraft, such as Cthulhu, Dagon, and Shub-Niggurath, drive those that see them into madness, driven insane by their pure incomprehensibility. Their massive size, many limbs, innumerable eyeballs, and unnatural forms only amplify their horrific nature, making humans realize their insignificance in the universe. It is a genre that allows for speculation and questions about what it means to be human, especially in the face of these monsters. Lovecraft defined his own genre of writing as “the fundamental premise that common human laws and interests and emotions have no validity or significance in the vast cosmos-at-large.” He continues to say that as these stories “cross the line to the boundless and hideous unknown—the shadow-haunted Outside—we must remember to leave our humanity—and terrestrialism at the threshold.” But even with Lovecraft spelling it out, this leaves so much room for interpretation, particularly in the world of horror films.

Previous iterations of cinematic cosmic horror rely heavily on the gore and the monstrous, creating a spectacle around the destruction of the human body at the hands of creatures or otherworldly beings. Take Paul W.S. Anderson’s 1997 film, Event Horizon for example. Perhaps not the most well made movie, but it is a shining example of certain aspects of cosmic horror, especially because it takes place on a spaceship that opens a literal portal to another dimension (which ends up being hell). When the portal is opened and Dr. William Weir (Sam Neill) looks inside, he literally gouges out his eyes, unable to stand the sight of this interdimensional truth. Other examples of the Lovecraftian cosmic horror include In the Mouth of Madness, The Thing, The Void, and The Mist.

However, there seems to be a recent shift in the genre. For the purposes of this piece, I’ll be looking at the inclusion of interdimensional alien beings that throw humans into chaos that therefore open up possibilities within themselves to navigate their emotions and relationships. Lovecraft may have said human emotions don’t have a purpose in the bigger cosmic picture, but recent horror films have inverted this model to make their narratives more focused on the purpose of human emotions rather than invalidating them.

Recent films such as Starfish and The Endless have leaned into this emotional aspect to create films that use horror as a backdrop to discussions of grief, love, and being human. They have adopted these tropes to create a new kind of cosmic horror that is more contemplative and relies less on gore and more on the emotional effects of being confronted with a maddening unknown. Sure, there are monsters, but they are vehicles for more internal contemplation rather than spectacles around the abject body.

Starfish 1

A.T. White’s 2019 film, Starfish, is a prime example of this shift within cosmic horror. The film is centered on Aubrey (Virginia Gardner), who is mourning the recent death of her best friend. In an attempt to heal, she heads to her friend’s apartment to look through her belongings and relish in the memories. She finds a cassette tape labeled, ‘This Mixtape Will Save the World.’ Unknowingly, she unleashes a mysterious signal that opens an unknown dimension that lets a variety of monsters into our world. So now she must collect the rest of the cassette tapes to somehow close this interdimensional portal and save humanity.

But even with strange beasts of varying sizes running rampant, Starfish is not about their consumption of humans; instead, they are tangential to a more meaningful story about a woman trying to feel more connected to her dead friend. Throughout Starfish, transitional spaces are created by the strange radio signals. As she plays songs with the signal embedded within them, she is transported to another place, or dimension. These moments of transportation, while incomprehensible, are used to access a deeper part of her emotions, whether that be love for her friend or shame due to a past relationship. It is only through these spaces that she is able to begin to understand her past actions and try to decipher them. Since her friend is so linked to these events, this also allows her to become closer to her friend in a way. This cosmic event provides a way for their friendship to continue and even grow as she navigates the snowy town to find each of these tapes.

Then there is Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead’s 2017 film, The Endless. Benson and Moorhead are no strangers to cosmic horror as their previous film, Spring, is a love story meets cosmic body horror. However, The Endless takes a different approach to the genre, opting for the contemplation of brotherhood in the face of an unknown alien entity rather than romance and body horror. Benson and Moorhead play two brothers, Justin and Aaron, respectively, who are trying to live normal lives after escaping a UFO death cult. In trying to continuously pick up the pieces of their life post-cult, their relationship is strained, and mysteries drive a schism between them. It is only through returning to their childhood compound that they can understand their past and somehow start to fix their lives.

Again, like with Starfish, the possible interdimensional alien being is tangential to a larger story about family and reconciling past trauma. As Justin and Aaron wander through the arid cult ranch, greeting old friends, they are also able to recognize the strains in their relationship. Without the potential (and eventually confirmed) existence of some greater alien life, these two brothers wouldn’t be able to heal and understand each other’s actions. Only here can Justin confess to going public about the ranch and telling a few white lies to protect his brother. And only with this confession can Aaron understand Justin’s intentions and what he’d do to protect his brother. It is through the realization of some other form of life that Aaron can realize reconciliation is possible. Sometimes, a giant extraterrestrial being can be a gateway to connection, and not just a pathway to destruction.

These two films open up possibilities and ways to understand our own emotions, especially grief, whether it is for a friend or for a life never had. Grief has always been prevalent in horror films, with the genre playing into the many facets and terrifying aspects of what it means to grapple with grief. So it only makes sense to incorporate grief into cosmic horror, inverting its typical structure into something more human-centric than creature-centric. The unexplainable throws characters into states of chaos and confusion but also allows them to expand their minds and look at a bigger emotional picture.

This isn’t just about their own small insular worldview anymore—there’s something bigger at hand that lets them reassess and try to understand their own reality.

Art featured at the top of this article comes courtesy of Francois Baranger.

Editorials

‘Amityville Karen’ Is a Weak Update on ‘Serial Mom’ [Amityville IP]

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Amityville Karen horror

Twice a month Joe Lipsett will dissect a new Amityville Horror film to explore how the “franchise” has evolved in increasingly ludicrous directions. This is “The Amityville IP.”

A bizarre recurring issue with the Amityville “franchise” is that the films tend to be needlessly complicated. Back in the day, the first sequels moved away from the original film’s religious-themed haunted house storyline in favor of streamlined, easily digestible concepts such as “haunted lamp” or “haunted mirror.”

As the budgets plummeted and indie filmmakers capitalized on the brand’s notoriety, it seems the wrong lessons were learned. Runtimes have ballooned past the 90-minute mark and the narratives are often saggy and unfocused.

Both issues are clearly on display in Amityville Karen (2022), a film that starts off rough, but promising, and ends with a confused whimper.

The promise is embodied by the tinge of self-awareness in Julie Anne Prescott (The Amityville Harvest)’s screenplay, namely the nods to John Waters’ classic 1994 satire, Serial Mom. In that film, Beverly Sutphin (an iconic Kathleen Turner) is a bored, white suburban woman who punished individuals who didn’t adhere to her rigid definition of social norms. What is “Karen” but a contemporary equivalent?

In director/actor Shawn C. Phillips’ film, Karen (Lauren Francesca) is perpetually outraged. In her introductory scenes, she makes derogatory comments about immigrants, calls a female neighbor a whore, and nearly runs over a family blocking her driveway. She’s a broad, albeit familiar persona; in many ways, she’s less of a character than a caricature (the living embodiment of the name/meme).

These early scenes also establish a fairly straightforward plot. Karen is a code enforcement officer with plans to shut down a local winery she has deemed disgusting. They’re preparing for a big wine tasting event, which Karen plans to ruin, but when she steals a bottle of cursed Amityville wine, it activates her murderous rage and goes on a killing spree.

Simple enough, right?

Unfortunately, Amityville Karen spins out of control almost immediately. At nearly every opportunity, Prescott’s screenplay eschews narrative cohesion and simplicity in favour of overly complicated developments and extraneous characters.

Take, for example, the wine tasting event. The film spends an entire day at the winery: first during the day as a band plays, then at a beer tasting (???) that night. Neither of these events are the much touted wine-tasting, however; that is actually a private party happening later at server Troy (James Duval)’s house.

Weirdly though, following Troy’s death, the party’s location is inexplicably moved to Karen’s house for the climax of the film, but the whole event plays like an afterthought and features a litany of characters we have never met before.

This is a recurring issue throughout Amityville Karen, which frequently introduces random characters for a scene or two. Karen is typically absent from these scenes, which makes them feel superfluous and unimportant. When the actress is on screen, the film has an anchor and a narrative drive. The scenes without her, on the other hand, feel bloated and directionless (blame editor Will Collazo Jr., who allows these moments to play out interminably).

Compounding the issue is that the majority of the actors are non-professionals and these scenes play like poorly performed improv. The result is long, dull stretches that features bad actors talking over each other, repeating the same dialogue, and generally doing nothing to advance the narrative or develop the characters.

While Karen is one-note and histrionic throughout the film, at least there’s a game willingness to Francesca’s performance. It feels appropriately campy, though as the film progresses, it becomes less and less clear if Amityville Karen is actually in on the joke.

Like Amityville Cop before it, there are legit moments of self-awareness (the Serial Mom references), but it’s never certain how much of this is intentional. Take, for example, Karen’s glaringly obvious wig: it unconvincingly fails to conceal Francesca’s dark hair in the back, but is that on purpose or is it a technical error?

Ultimately there’s very little to recommend about Amityville Karen. Despite the game performance by its lead and the gentle homages to Serial Mom’s prank call and white shoes after Labor Day jokes, the never-ending improv scenes by non-professional actors, the bloated screenplay, and the jittery direction by Phillips doom the production.

Clocking in at an insufferable 100 minutes, Amityville Karen ranks among the worst of the “franchise,” coming in just above Phillips’ other entry, Amityville Hex.

Amityville Karen

The Amityville IP Awards go to…

  • Favorite Subplot: In the afternoon event, there’s a self-proclaimed “hot boy summer” band consisting of burly, bare-chested men who play instruments that don’t make sound (for real, there’s no audio of their music). There’s also a scheming manager who is skimming money off the top, but that’s not as funny.
  • Least Favorite Subplot: For reasons that don’t make any sense, the winery is also hosting a beer tasting which means there are multiple scenes of bartender Alex (Phillips) hoping to bring in women, mistakenly conflating a pint of beer with a “flight,” and goading never before seen characters to chug. One of them describes the beer as such: “It looks like a vampire menstruating in a cup” (it’s a gold-colored IPA for the record, so…no).
  • Amityville Connection: The rationale for Karen’s killing spree is attributed to Amityville wine, whose crop was planted on cursed land. This is explained by vino groupie Annie (Jennifer Nangle) to band groupie Bianca (Lilith Stabs). It’s a lot of nonsense, but it is kind of fun when Annie claims to “taste the damnation in every sip.”
  • Neverending Story: The film ends with an exhaustive FIVE MINUTE montage of Phillips’ friends posing as reporters in front of terrible green screen discussing the “killer Karen” story. My kingdom for Amityville’s regular reporter Peter Sommers (John R. Walker) to return!
  • Best Line 1: Winery owner Dallas (Derek K. Long), describing Karen: “She’s like a walking constipation with a hemorrhoid”
  • Best Line 2: Karen, when a half-naked, bleeding woman emerges from her closet: “Is this a dream? This dream is offensive! Stop being naked!”
  • Best Line 3: Troy, upset that Karen may cancel the wine tasting at his house: “I sanded that deck for days. You don’t just sand a deck for days and then let someone shit on it!”
  • Worst Death: Karen kills a Pool Boy (Dustin Clingan) after pushing his head under water for literally 1 second, then screeches “This is for putting leaves on my plants!”
  • Least Clear Death(s): The bodies of a phone salesman and a barista are seen in Karen’s closet and bathroom, though how she killed them are completely unclear
  • Best Death: Troy is stabbed in the back of the neck with a bottle opener, which Karen proceeds to crank
  • Wannabe Lynch: After drinking the wine, Karen is confronted in her home by Barnaby (Carl Solomon) who makes her sign a crude, hand drawn blood contract and informs her that her belly is “pregnant from the juices of his grapes.” Phillips films Barnaby like a cross between the unhoused man in Mulholland Drive and the Mystery Man in Lost Highway. It’s interesting, even if the character makes absolutely no sense.
  • Single Image Summary: At one point, a random man emerges from the shower in a towel and excitedly poops himself. This sequence perfectly encapsulates the experience of watching Amityville Karen.
  • Pray for Joe: Many of these folks will be back in Amityville Shark House and Amityville Webcam, so we’re not out of the woods yet…

Next time: let’s hope Christmas comes early with 2022’s Amityville Christmas Vacation. It was the winner of Fangoria’s Best Amityville award, after all!

Amityville Karen movie

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