Editorials
Facing the Horrors of Conspiracy and Paranoia With William Friedkin’s ‘Bug’
There’s no running from conspiracy theories. In some ways, our species is defined by our habit of attempting to explain strange or incomprehensible incidents with interlocking narratives of our own design. In fact, our desire to connect the dots of the universe is likely responsible for cultural phenomena like science, philosophy and even spirituality, and it’s only become more prevalent with the rise of the internet. Of course, there’s a darker side to conspiratorial thinking, as it can often lead vulnerable people down a dark rabbit-hole of paranoia and isolation.
From Chris Carter’s The X-Files to Darren Aronofsky’s Pi, there are actually quite a few examples of popular media that explore the world of conspiracy theories, though only a few of these are willing to examine how psychologically damaging this kind of obsession can be. One of the absolute best of these conspiratorial yarns happens to be the 2006 psychological horror film Bug, an underappreciated descent into madness directed by the living legend behind The Exorcist, William Friedkin.
Based on the homonymous stage production by award-winning playwright Tracy Letts (who would later partner with Friedkin on another underseen gem with 2011’s Killer Joe), Bug tells the story of Agnes White (Ashley Judd), a waitress with a troubled past who befriends the ex-military drifter Peter Evans (Michael Shannon). The two quickly become close, bonding over their mutual loneliness, but Peter soon reveals that he believes he’s being pursued by the government and insists that Agnes’ motel room is infested with sinister little insects. Agnes is initially skeptic of Peter’s outlandish claims, but soon joins his crusade against the parasitic bugs in a tragic case of folie à deux that escalates into tragedy.
While the first half of this slow-burn thriller is mostly dedicated to setting up Agnes and Peter’s budding relationship, containing more than a few genuinely touching moments as these two strangers slowly open up about their emotional vulnerabilities, it eventually becomes clear that things will be taking a turn for the horrific. These microscopic invaders might not seem all that terrifying at first, especially when you don’t even know if they’re real, but the paranoid horrors suggested by Bug are much larger and more tangible than any physical monster.
It’s just a little love bite, right?
Friedkin was extremely dissatisfied with the movie’s original marketing campaign, which sold the feature as a more traditional horror flick instead of a self-contained dramatic thriller. Similar to The Exorcist, which the director has always claimed to be an uplifting tale about being able to love a stranger so much that you’d be willing to die for them, Friedkin insists that Bug is actually a genuine love story surrounded by horrific circumstances. While he has a point about the marketing, as the misleading trailers resulted in general audiences absolutely despising the film on release, I don’t necessarily agree with the director’s assessment that this isn’t a horror story. It may focus on the characters and takes a while to get going, but Bug is still one hell of an effective scary movie.
With sub-dermal parasites and cringe-inducing moments of horrific self-mutilation, the film employs quite a few elements of body-horror as it explores the terrifying extremes of madness and paranoia. With all that nasty talk about tiny egg sacs and microscopic implants, I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to take a shower once the credits roll, and don’t even get me started on that tooth extraction scene. Even so, the physical aspect of the characters’ suffering is only half the story, as the psychological damage is much more terrifying.
From implied government surveillance to suspicious helicopters flying over the motel, Bug‘s greatest achievement is in never actually confirming if Peter’s paranoia is truly baseless. References to horrific real-world conspiracies like MK-Ultra and other military experiments ground the story in reality, planting a dangerous seed of doubt that’s much scarier than any real infection. These believable elements are combined with absurd fantasies in order to put viewers in the same conspiratorial mindset as the ill-fated protagonists, leading to more than a couple of moments where you really want them to be right.
Even though Peter initially means well by exposing these terrible “secrets” to Agnes, his refusal to listen to reason eventually results in him dragging her down with him like a manic drowning victim. Even then, Agnes isn’t completely blameless, encouraging Peter’s toxic behavior when she realizes that sharing this hidden knowledge brings them closer together, and pushing people away when they attempt to help.
Love hurts.
Of course, the conspiracies are only this convincing because of the Oscar-worthy lead performances by Shannon and Judd. Shannon is actually reprising his role from Letts’ original stage show, and this is without a doubt one of the best acts of his career. Despite Peter’s manic rambling and paranoid delusions, there’s never any doubt that he’s a decent person underneath all that trauma, and you can’t help but sympathize with this hapless loner and his predicament. Judd is phenomenal as well, with Agnes smoothly and believably transitioning from helpless lover running from her past to the delirious “super mother bug” in the span of a couple of hours.
With awe-inspiring performances and nuanced direction by a true master of the craft, it’s hard not to feel a rush of conflicting emotions when Bug reaches its dreadful climax, bringing this genuinely loving yet toxic relationship to a fiery end. The deliberate pacing and subtle plot progression might not be for everyone, but there’s no denying that there’s some authentic passion behind this weird little film, and I wish more horror fans would bring it up when discussing Friedkin. Hell, the movie never even got a Blu-ray release in North America, which cements it as a bona fide overlooked gem in my book.
At its core, Bug truly is a heart-wrenching love story (and a damn good one, at that), but it’s also a chilling exploration of how conspiratorial narratives can lead lonely and vulnerable people to hurt themselves and others as they search for validation. In today’s post-truth environment, where there’s barely a difference between so-called “fake news” and legitimate journalism, I’d say that the idea that paranoia is contagious is scarier than ever. That’s why I’d recommend Bug to any horror fan willing to jump into a mind-bending rabbit hole. Just be sure to stock up on tin foil and insecticide before you dive in.
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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