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“Marianne” is Netflix’s Most Terrifying Original Horror Yet

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Netflix has had a fairly good track record with original horror titles. Sure, there are a few duds, but with offerings like Apostle, Gerald’s Game, The Ritual, Hush, Calibre, The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, The Haunting of Hill House, and more, it’s hard to complain. But if you’re like me and you forget to rate what you’ve watched, sometimes the best original horror on Netflix isn’t as easy to spot on the landing page. Moreover, a good portion of Netflix original horror relies on word of mouth because the marketing is marginal at best. All of which to say, Netflix original series Marianne had no real buzz prior to its Friday the 13th drop, but it’s easily the streaming service’s most terrifying title yet.

It’s a lofty claim considering how Mike Flanagan chilled viewers with last October’s The Haunting of Hill House. Flanagan opted for atmosphere and mood, with very few jump scares. The “haunting” in the title accurately sums up the style of horror Flanagan was going for. It’s very different for French series Marianne, though. Marianne wants to scare you silly from the get-go. To leave you sleeping with the lights on and closet doors welded shut.

In the series, mega successful horror author Emma Larsimon (Victoire Du Bois) has written the concluding novel in her popular book series about an evil witch named Marianne. She wants to retire from horror, and hopefully the nightmares that have been plaguing her since childhood. But the announcement of her retirement has caused a ferocity in her nightmares like never before, and a bizarre encounter with a childhood friend leaves Emma forced to confront her fears head-on by going to the one place she swore she’d never go again: home.

Emma’s past comes back to haunt her in increasingly gruesome ways.

All 8 episodes were directed by Samuel Bodin, who also co-wrote the series with Quoc Dang Tran. From the premiere episode, it becomes quickly apparent that Bodin understands how to craft a scare that will chill right to the bone. In terms of originality, horror fans will recognize many clear influences, but it customizes and molds them into a unique antagonist with fascinating mythology. Even when the jump scares approach familiar territory, they’re so effective that you’re too busy being frightened to care.

Marianne is nightmares personified. Not just for Emma, but for the viewer. As a witch that feeds on nightmares and terror, at least it seems initially, there’s a serious unpredictability to her means and motives that makes her all the more terrifying. She can do or be anything, use your fears and memories against you, and the scares always land. There are so many spine-tingling moments that I want to discuss, but I don’t want to spoil them. I will say that, save for a few middle episodes that expand on the story and character dynamics, the horror tends to be relentless.

The more horror we watch the more desensitized to it we tend to become, making that adrenaline rush of fear so much harder to come by. Yet Marianne makes it seem so effortless. It offers gore, endless suspense, jump scares aplenty, and visceral terror that might make you question the decision to watch it before bedtime. And if you’re like me, you’ll become addicted. It’s a show that deserves discussion and viewership. Beyond the scares, the story and characters are compelling. It’s beautifully shot, and exudes fall atmosphere with its gloomy seaside village setting.

With Halloween season practically here already, Marianne is the perfect show to binge.

Horror journalist, RT Top Critic, and Critics Choice Association member. Co-Host of the Bloody Disgusting Podcast. Has appeared on PBS series' Monstrum, served on the SXSW Midnighter shorts jury, and moderated horror panels for WonderCon and SeriesFest.

Editorials

‘The Company of Wolves’ at 40: One of the Most Underrated Werewolf Movies Ever Made

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There’s a compelling idea in anthropology that many ancient werewolf legends are derived from our species’ need to rationalize the more animalistic side of humanity – which is why lycanthropy has historically been used to explain everything from medieval serial killers to cannibalism. While I personally think there’s a lot more to unpack when it comes to tales of wolfmen and women, this is still a great example of why so many of our most enduring fairy tales involve big bad wolves.

And in the world of film, I think there’s only one feature that really nails the folkloric origins of werewolf stories, namely Neil Jordan’s 1984 fairy-tale horror classic, The Company of Wolves. Even four decades later, there’s no other genre flick that comes close to capturing the dreamlike ambience behind this strange anthology, and that’s why I’d like to take this opportunity to look back on one of the most underrated werewolf flicks ever made.

The Company of Wolves was originally a short story contained in the 1979 anthology The Bloody Chamber, a collection of deconstructed fairy-tales intended for mature readers penned by English author Angela Carter. With the book quickly becoming a hit as readers became fascinated with its subversion of classic folk stories and (then) controversial feminist undertones, it was soon transformed into a duology of BBC radio-dramas which adapted both The Company of Wolves and Carter’s reimagining of Puss-in-Boots.

These radio-dramas soon attracted the attention of then up-and-coming Irish filmmaker Neil Jordan, who decided to meet with Carter to discuss expanding on her stories and bringing them to life on the big screen. The duo soon realized that a single short story wasn’t enough material for a feature-length film, so they decided to adapt all of Carter’s werewolf tales into a single anthology.

With a completed script and a $2.3 million budget, Jordan decided to tackle the project like a hybrid between a theatrical period drama and a schlocky monster movie. Effects-heavy creature features were a hot commodity back in the ’80s, with films like The Howling and An American Werewolf in London proving that there was an audience for horrific lycanthrope transformations, so the director soon recruited a team that could turn this odd collection of feminist folk stories into something commercially viable.

Not exactly a great pick for family movie night.

Shooting would eventually take place almost entirely within the England-based Shepperton Studios, with notable production designer Anton Furst (who would later be known for his work on Tim Burton’s Batman films) helping to bring Jordan’s vision of a darkly romantic fairy-tale world to life. Appropriately enough, production would also involve a real pack of trained wolves (as well as a collection of dyed dogs), though extensive puppetry and animatronics were also used to flesh out the more gruesome parts of the flick.

After a grueling nine-week shoot where budgetary constraints led to corners being cut on props and costumes, The Company of Wolves was finally released in September of 1984 – just in time for spooky season. In the finished film, we follow the strange dreams of a sulky teenage girl named Rosaleen (first-time actress Sarah Patterson) as the film unravels an Arabian-Nights-inspired tapestry of both familiar and not-so-familiar stories about big bad wolves.

From sexually charged cautionary tales to parables about female empowerment, this surreal collection of deranged bedtime stories is much more than the creature feature that the marketing initially suggested. Like a more horror-oriented version of Jim Henson’s Labyrinth, The Company of Wolves exudes that same kind of hormonal teenage energy that transports us back to a time when the world was both scary and exciting in equal measure.

That’s not to say that this is an entirely pleasant experience, however, and I’m not just talking about the film’s horror elements. A big portion of the flick’s overtly sexual moments involve the then 13-year-old Patterson coming to grips with her blossoming womanhood and the dangers of predatory men (usually marked with a humorous unibrow), something that naturally makes for some intentionally uncomfortable viewing – especially in the year of our lord 2024.

Obviously, I don’t think it’s my place to dissect (or even judge) the effectiveness of the film’s commentaries on being a young woman, but even as a man I can still appreciate the thought and care that went into crafting this Jungian cocktail of serious themes in a genre-movie package that almost certainly went on to inspire future werewolf movies like Ginger Snaps.

Not the worst wedding I’ve been to.

That being said, what really keeps me coming back to the film is the absurd amount of memorable imagery. From a wedding party being taken over by canines to lonely treks through snowy groves, this is exactly the gloomy world I imagined as a child when reading Grimms’ Fairy Tales – and the dreamy atmosphere is only enhanced by the movie’s overall theatricality.

This also extends to the effects, as it’s easy to forgive decapitated dummy heads and ripped rubber skin when everything is happening in a magical hyper-reality, with a great example of this is being the scene where Grandma’s head unexpectedly explodes like a porcelain doll when it’s knocked off by a wolfman. That’s not to say that the effects are bad, as several of these transformations are downright grisly and likely influenced future lycanthrope effects like those in Underworld and even Trick ‘r Treat (even if the wolf-dogs here often look more cute than scary).

Of course, these aren’t the only things that The Company of Wolves has going for it, as the main trio of Patterson, Micha Bergese and the late, great Angela Lansbury exceptionally bring these exaggerated caricatures to life and the orchestral score is an absolute delight. I also really get a kick out of that bizarre ending implying that the dangers of adult life have literally come crashing into Rosaleen’s bedroom.

The Company of Wolves may not be a perfect film, suffering from some wonky pacing and the classic anthology problem where some stories are clearly much more enjoyable than others, but I’d argue that the flick’s iconic visuals and powerful thematic throughline more than make up for any minor flaws. And while we’ve seen bigger and better werewolf films since then, when it comes to adult-oriented fairy-tales, this is one psycho-sexual journey that is still worth revisiting 40 years down the line.

The Company of Wolves

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