Connect with us

Editorials

[Editorial] The Emotional Rise of Cosmic Horror

Published

on

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

‘Leprechaun Returns’ – The Charm of the Franchise’s Legacy Sequel

Published

on

leprechaun returns

The erratic Leprechaun franchise is not known for sticking with a single concept for too long. The namesake (originally played by Warwick Davis) has gone to L.A., Las Vegas, space, and the ‘hood (not once but twice). And after an eleven-year holiday since the Davis era ended, the character received a drastic makeover in a now-unmentionable reboot. The critical failure of said film would have implied it was time to pack away the green top hat and shillelagh, and say goodbye to the nefarious imp. Instead, the Leprechaun series tried its luck again.

The general consensus for the Leprechaun films was never positive, and the darker yet blander Leprechaun: Origins certainly did not sway opinions. Just because the 2014 installment took itself seriously did not mean viewers would. After all, creator Mark Jones conceived a gruesome horror-comedy back in the early nineties, and that format is what was expected of any future ventures. So as horror legacy sequels (“legacyquels”) became more common in the 2010s, Leprechaun Returns followed suit while also going back to what made the ‘93 film work. This eighth entry echoed Halloween (2018) by ignoring all the previous sequels as well as being a direct continuation of the original. Even ardent fans can surely understand the decision to wipe the slate clean, so to speak.

Leprechaun Returns “continued the [franchise’s] trend of not being consistent by deciding to be consistent.” The retconning of Steven Kostanski and Suzanne Keilly’s film was met with little to no pushback from the fandom, who had already become accustomed to seeing something new and different with every chapter. Only now the “new and different” was familiar. With the severe route of Origins a mere speck in the rearview mirror, director Kotanski implemented a “back to basics” approach that garnered better reception than Zach Lipovsky’s own undertaking. The one-two punch of preposterous humor and grisly horror was in full force again.

LEPRECHAUN

Pictured: Linden Porco as The Leprechaun in Leprechaun Returns.

With Warwick Davis sitting this film out — his own choice — there was the foremost challenge of finding his replacement. Returns found Davis’ successor in Linden Porco, who admirably filled those blood-stained, buckled shoes. And what would a legacy sequel be without a returning character? Jennifer Aniston obviously did not reprise her final girl role of Tory Redding. So, the film did the next best thing and fetched another of Lubdan’s past victims: Ozzie, the likable oaf played by Mark Holton. Returns also created an extension of Tory’s character by giving her a teenage daughter, Lila (Taylor Spreitler).

It has been twenty-five years since the events of the ‘93 film. The incident is unknown to all but its survivors. Interested in her late mother’s history there in Devil’s Lake, North Dakota, Lila transferred to the local university and pledged a sorority — really the only one on campus — whose few members now reside in Tory Redding’s old home. The farmhouse-turned-sorority-house is still a work in progress; Lila’s fellow Alpha Epsilon sisters were in the midst of renovating the place when a ghost of the past found its way into the present.

The Psycho Goreman and The Void director’s penchant for visceral special effects is noted early on as the Leprechaun tears not only into the modern age, but also through poor Ozzie’s abdomen. The portal from 1993 to 2018 is soaked with blood and guts as the Leprechaun forces his way into the story. Davis’ iconic depiction of the wee antagonist is missed, however, Linden Porco is not simply keeping the seat warm in case his predecessor ever resumes the part. His enthusiastic performance is accentuated by a rotten-looking mug that adds to his innate menace.

LEPRECHAUN RETURNS sequel

Pictured: Taylor Spreitler, Pepi Sonuga, and Sai Bennett as Lila, Katie and Rose in Leprechaun Returns.

The obligatory fodder is mostly young this time around. Apart from one luckless postman and Ozzie — the premature passing of the latter character removed the chance of caring about anyone in the film — the Leprechaun’s potential prey are all college aged. Lila is this story’s token trauma kid with caregiver baggage; her mother thought “monsters were always trying to get her.” Lila’s habit of mentioning Tory’s mental health problem does not make a good first impression with the resident mean girl and apparent alcoholic of the sorority, Meredith (Emily Reid). Then there are the nicer but no less cursorily written of the Alpha Epsilon gals: eco-conscious and ex-obsessive Katie (Pepi Sonuga), and uptight overachiever Rose (Sai Bennett). Rounding out the main cast are a pair of destined-to-die bros (Oliver Llewellyn Jenkins, Ben McGregor). Lila and her peers range from disposable to plain irritating, so rooting for any one of them is next to impossible. Even so, their overstated personalities make their inevitable fates more satisfying.

Where Returns excels is its death sequences. Unlike Jones’ film, this one is not afraid of killing off members of the main cast. Lila, admittedly, wears too much plot armor, yet with her mother’s spirit looming over her and the whole story — comedian Heather McDonald put her bang-on Aniston impersonation to good use as well as provided a surprisingly emotional moment in the film — her immunity can be overlooked. Still, the other characters’ brutal demises make up for Lila’s imperviousness. The Leprechaun’s killer set-pieces also happen to demonstrate the time period, seeing as he uses solar panels and a drone in several supporting characters’ executions. A premortem selfie and the antagonist’s snarky mention of global warming additionally add to this film’s particular timestamp.

Critics were quick to say Leprechaun Returns did not break new ground. Sure, there is no one jetting off to space, or the wacky notion of Lubdan becoming a record producer. This reset, however, is still quite charming and entertaining despite its lack of risk-taking. And with yet another reboot in the works, who knows where the most wicked Leprechaun ever to exist will end up next.


Horror contemplates in great detail how young people handle inordinate situations and all of life’s unexpected challenges. While the genre forces characters of every age to face their fears, it is especially interested in how youths might fare in life-or-death scenarios.

The column Young Blood is dedicated to horror stories for and about teenagers, as well as other young folks on the brink of terror.

Leprechaun Returns movie

Pictured: Linden Porco as The Leprechaun in Leprechaun Returns.

Continue Reading