Editorials
The Corruption of Faith Through False Prophets in ‘Thirst’ and “Midnight Mass”
The search for faith can be eternally destructive in the wrong hands, which “Midnight Mass” and Thirst explore through their uniquely reborn priests.
“Can you think of a miracle more amazing than that? I mean, cure blindness, sure. Or part the seas, all right. But a second chance? That’s a real miracle…”
Religion is often viewed as a taboo subject matter to explore, especially in the context of horror, but there’s a lot of common ground between the two areas in the context of faith. Neither religion’s sermons or the monsters that lurk in the shadows can have any power without faith and belief. They inherently require a level of buying in and trusting the storyteller and their premise. Faith and religion are no strangers to the horror genre, but it’s especially exciting when these ideas become intrinsically mixed together. There is no shortage of religious horror content, but even Freddy Krueger will admit that belief is fundamental to existence and can be its own super power.
Vampires are a subset of the horror genre that are often linked to religion and faith, and their very mythos boils down to religious iconography like their weakness to crosses and holy water. What makes Chan-Wook Park’s Thirst and Mike Flanagan’s Midnight Mass such fascinating counterpoints is they both examine the corrupting powers of faith through the conflicted lens of two priests, Sang-hyun and Father Paul, who become vampires and are left to grapple with their piety, albeit from two very different vantage points on humanity.
SPOILERS FOR THIRST AND “MIDNIGHT MASS” FOLLOW…
Thirst is a haunting story about Sang-hyun (Song Kang-ho), a Catholic priest who heads into humanitarian work with terminally infected people, only to receive a blood transfusion that turns him into a vampire and sends him down an impossible test of faith. Alternatively, Midnight Mass depicts Crockett Island, a small community who gets mystified by the arrival of an inspirational priest, Father Paul (Hamish Linklater), who brings with him a series of miraculous events. Paul’s backstory and his unbelievable transformation into something greater eerily aligns with the Bible and sets him up to change Crockett Island as he becomes increasingly convinced that he’s meant for something greater.
Sang-hyun and Father Paul (or his true identity, Monsignor Pruitt) head down very similar paths, but ultimately handle their transformations in very different manners. Foundational horror films like The Exorcist, The Devils or more recently, The Witch, examine holy figures who have lost their way, but the priests in Thirst and Midnight Mass are such fascinating figures because they’re forced to entertain their new animalistic urges with their eternal devotion to the cloth. It’s traumatic for a human to take a life for their own, but it’s completely antithetical to a priest’s pact with God. However, what if a priest’s signals get crossed and they view their inhuman cravings as the Will of God moving through them? This question speaks towards how faith is a dangerous power that can corrupt and that no one is worthy of becoming a false prophet. Sang-hyun and Father Paul both arrive at this conclusion, but one gains the clarity to stop himself while the other needs his power stripped away from him.
The circumstances around Sang-hyun’s turn into a vampire in Thirst are left intentionally vague as if it’s some sort of miraculous act of God that will allow him to continue to do good. Sang-hyun rebels against this premise and doesn’t look for a higher purpose. “I feel like I’ve been chosen,” claims Sang-hyun at one moment over his vampiric condition. “I feel like I’ve been given a special role in this life.” Midnight Mass’ Father Paul feels the same, but he forces a Biblical narrative on it all whereas Sang-hyun spends the film trying to figure out his purpose. He doesn’t develop any delusions of grandeur and he views himself as a monster, not a saint. After Sang-hyun’s transformation he refuses to be called “father” anymore because he doesn’t want his vampire status to taint its saintliness. Meanwhile, Father Paul goes so far as to build his transformation into the act of sacrament and the ritual of church.
Unlike Father Paul, Sang-hyun lacks awe upon his turning. Sang-hyun’s first act after learning that he’s a vampire is to try and kill himself. He abandons hope while Father Paul continually leans into how his transformation is a gift from God. It’s a significant detail, but just the fact that Midnight Mass refers to its creatures as Angels speaks towards the built-in level of reverence that’s present in the material. It demands faith and respect whereas Thirst hides in the shadows and avoids adulation. Sang-hyun even considers talking to God to be no different than direct communication with Satan. It invites this comparison while Midnight Mass gets explicit on this front, but is too blind in faith to see it as such.
Midnight Mass more closely looks at how faith can corrupt while Thirst presents faith as a prison and that more freedom can be found through independence than susceptibility to a belief system or martyr figure. The characters in Thirst that lack faith are the ones that wield the most power and don’t fear what awaits them after death. “When you’re dead, you’re dead.” Midnight Mass instead weaponizes faith in an enlightening way where it’s used to justify actions through mob mentality, yet in Thirst, Sang-hyun struggles to commit bad acts and take lives, even after being “chosen.”
It’s like there’s a greater responsibility to do the right thing and not exploit his abnormality. Sang-hyun learns that vampire cells can reverse the effects of the debilitating Emmanuel Virus and he has a group of infected people who are already ready to praise him, yet he doesn’t turn them and relieve them of their pain. He doesn’t view himself to have this right and so it’s fascinating that Father Paul is in a very similar scenario on Crockett Island where he does the exact opposite and decides that the public deserve to share in his glory.
It’s quite telling that both Father Paul and Sang-hyun both receive martyr status, but Sang-hyun treats it like a curse. The public begins to refer to him as “The Bandaged Saint,” but he continually rejects this status rather than turning it into his narrative, like Father Paul does. One of the most important moments in Thirst is that one of Sang-hyun’s final acts before he takes his life is that he intentionally ruins his reputation with his followers so that they can be freed of this false idol. Sang-hyun becomes disgusted not only with himself, but those that idolize him. His powers don’t give him confidence like they do Father Paul, but they only amplify his doubt. Sang-hyun’s perspective is much more akin to Riley Flynn (Zach Gilford) and it’s almost as if he were the central character in Midnight Mass rather than someone who experiences such a puritanical power trip like Father Paul. It’s crucial that Midnight Mass explains that Riley Flynn’s time in prison leads to him looking for God in every sacred religious text that he can find, yet he only leaves the experience more convinced that he’s an atheist. Father Paul activates Riley and shows him that he’s “chosen,” but even this isn’t enough to sway his beliefs. He, much like Thirst’s Sang-hyun, embodies the antithesis of Father Paul.
The similarities between Thirst and Midnight Mass become unavoidable in their final acts. Both narratives can use faith to obfuscate the truth and warp intentions, but there’s no hiding from the harsh light of day that shines down as a final judgment for both priests. The conclusions of Thirst and Midnight Mass depict desperate scrambles to survive the rising sun, but it’s during these moments of pure hopelessness that Sang-jyun and Father Paul become the most enlightened and at peace with all of existence. Their journeys mirror contrasting Biblical stories, but they both function as powerful parables. Father Paul and Sang-hyun both perish, because no alternative is possible, but their final moments are with their loved ones, which is all that they wanted from the start. Faith in the eternal, unspoken bond of love is more powerful than any endless belief in religion or monsters.
Both Thirst and Midnight Mass culminate with an affirmation over how dangerous faith can be, especially when it can fester in an echo chamber. Sang-hyun and Father Paul both witness the casualties of what happens when they spread their gospel–whether it’s their beliefs or their inhuman powers–but one recognizes the folly of this whereas the other views himself as a God. They arrive in agreement that no one deserves this power–Midnight Mass even reinforces that God loves everyone equally and that no one is superior to anyone else, regardless of faith, intentions, or their background. However, Thirst’s Sang-hyun arrives at this conclusion on his own, whereas in Midnight Mass it’s forced upon the entirety of Crockett Island. The false idol needs to get torn down whereas Thirst never erects it in the first place.
Faith can be suffocating when it’s manipulated, but when the dust settles in both of these stories the sun never shines more brightly. And in the end, we’re all dust, and to dust we shall return.
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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