Editorials
The Iconic ‘Poltergeist’ Clown Doll Still Triggers Nightmares [Scene Screams]
The restless spirit tormenting the Freeling home in 1982’s Poltergeist uses every scare tactic possible in its attempts to snatch young Carol Anne Freeling (Heather O’Rourke). That includes utilizing each family member’s worst fears against them and, in turn, ours. Director Tobe Hooper tackled two phobias at once when the poltergeist targets Robbie (Oliver Robins), ushering in the climax with the iconic, nightmare-inducing attack by the clown doll.
Diane (JoBeth Williams) and Steve Freeling (Craig T. Nelson) live the idyllic suburban life in a new planned community with their three children. That changes when paranormal activity plagues their home shortly after breaking ground on a backyard swimming pool. What begins as benign ramps up to a menacing degree fast until Carol Anne gets kidnapped by a malevolent entity dubbed the Beast. Poltergeist builds the terror and stakes until spiritual medium Tangina (Zelda Rubinstein) steps in and guides the Freelings through a daunting process of entering the spirit realm to retrieve their daughter. Steve nearly derails the dangerous mission out of fear for his wife and daughter, but Diane succeeds.
The entire sequence feels like a climax, from the slime-coated spectacle of crossing over and back to the emotional payoff of Carol Anne’s return. Just as the Freelings’ joyous tears dry, their sighs of relief fade and they attempt to resume their quiet life, the Beast violently pulls the rug out from under us all.

Diane, alone in the house with Carol Anne and Robbie, draws herself a bath as the house settles down for the night. Robbie nestles down under his covers, but not before giving the ghastly grinning clown doll at the foot of his bed one last anxious glance. He tries to cover it with a jacket and misses, then tamps down his fear by rolling over and ignoring it. That’s when a creak catches his attention. The clown’s chair is empty. Hooper stretches out the tension here to an unbearable degree as Robbie slowly peers around his bed and underneath it. The tension explodes when Robbie sits back up to find the clown waiting for him, where it then elongates its arms to coil around his neck and drag him under the bed. It’s the sounding alarm that signals the Beast’s final onslaught to steal Carol Anne for good.
[Related] Mediums, Mothers, and the Miraculous Women of ‘Poltergeist’
What makes this Poltergeist scene so potent isn’t just the eerie design of the clown doll, how its face grows more grotesque and toothsome, or the way Hooper stages this scare. It’s the way the filmmaker establishes Robbie’s fear of the doll very early on in the film, biding his time until the precise moment where the payoff will achieve maximum impact. In one of the first scenes with Robbie, his trepidation toward the doll is apparent as he covers its watchful gaze before bed. Hooper ensures the viewer never wholly forgets about the doll’s existence throughout, keeping it in the frame when the camera enters Robbie and Carol Anne’s bedroom.

Even as the Beast hurls visions of rotting flesh or ghostly images upon the family, the doll remains an inanimate object. It’s a passive reminder of Robbie’s fear that lulls the viewer into a distracted complacency. Then comes the false climax. The emotional relief of the Freeling reunion feels like closure with only an uplifting epilogue remaining. Tangina did, after all, proclaim the house as cleansed of evil. By the time the doll does spring to life, we’re no longer wholly prepared.
While Robbie struggles against the coiling clown, Diane faces a gauntlet of horror to race back to her children as the Beast whips up a paranormal storm. That the clown doll’s attack serves as the starting point only adds to its power.
Of all the unforgettable scares and moments in Poltergeist, the clown doll stands apart for how Hooper patiently uses it. It’s a chilling demonstration of the Beast’s tactic for using someone’s worst fears against them and how long it’s willing to wait. Triggering both pediophobia and coulrophobia at once ensures its perpetual nightmare fuel.
Scene Screams is a recurring column that spotlights the scenes in horror that make us scream, whether through fear, laughter, or tears. It examines the most memorable, and often scariest, scenes in horror and what it is about them that makes them get under our skin.
Editorials
Taking a Closer Look at the ‘Christmas Carol’ Ghosts of Ti West’s ‘Ebenezer’
The trailer for Ti West’s upcoming adaptation of A Christmas Carol raised a lot of eyebrows when it dropped earlier this week. While plenty of folks initially dismissed Ebenezer as a derivative project meant to cash in on the recent wave of unnecessary prequels that expand the backstory of beloved characters (such as 2023’s Wonka), Charles Dickens’ original novel already made a point of exploring Ebenezer Scrooge’s origins in detail – meaning that this new film is likely just a particularly faithful adaptation of the source material under a different name.
Couple that with the fact that the movie is being helmed by a genuine horror auteur and I think it’s safe to say that the latest iteration of the first modern ghost story is in good hands.
That being said, one detail that immediately jumped out at me during the brief teaser (other than a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it nod to Johnny Depp’s iconic bedroom death scene from the original A Nightmare on Elm Street) is the fact that many of Ebenezer’s ghosts appear to have been directly lifted from the iconic John Leech illustrations that accompanied the first edition of Dickens’ novel.
Here are a couple of stills from the trailer compared to the original artwork:

The Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come in ‘Ebenezer’ and ‘A Christmas Carol’

The Phantoms in ‘A Christmas Carol’ and ‘Ebenezer’

Marley’s Ghost in ‘Ebenezer’ and ‘A Christmas Carol’
Mainly working with old-school wood and steel engravings that would later be transferred to print, Leech was instrumental in crafting the iconic look of history’s most influential phantoms – especially since Dickens is said to have been deeply involved with the creation of these so-called “comic illustrations.”
And since the novel is commonly said to have popularized spiritualism in Victorian England, much of the ghostly iconography that we still see in genre media to this very day (including some of Ti West’s previous films) can be traced back to the author’s partnership with Leech.
Ebenezer won’t be the first A Christmas Carol adaptation to borrow heavily from these designs, but I can appreciate how Ti West is incorporating an important part of horror history into his latest film.
Ebenezer will be available in theaters starting November 13.

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