Editorials
‘The Descent Part 2’ – Diving into the Sequel 14 Years Later
Back then, no one was expecting The Descent to go on and become one of the most widely acclaimed horror films of the decade. Even today, Neil Marshall’s second creature-feature (the first being Dog Soldiers) remains a favorite among audiences and critics everywhere. This iconic film defies those expectations based on its cast and pitch — not a man in sight as six women battle a clan of cave-dwelling monsters — and then delivers a thoughtful study of friendships, grief, and survival.
So when a sequel was announced, fans’ curiosity and anticipation turned into nervousness once it was revealed that Marshall was neither directing nor writing the follow-up. Instead, the first film’s editor, Jon Harris, was promoted to director, and the script was handled by James McCarthy, J Blakeson, and James Watkins. Other details about The Descent Part 2 were scant prior to its 2009 release, but after it was finally seen, the response was mixed. Since then, those harsher critics have hardly budged on their opinions. If anything, a lot of them simply forget — or try to forget — the sequel even exists.
The thought of more brawling with Crawlers sounds like a good idea on paper, but something was lost in the execution. Marshall was opposed to another film from the start, and he was adamant about not directing it. With or without him, though, The Descent Part 2 was going to happen. Marshall, who signed on as an executive producer and a second-unit director, stipulated the sequel had to be a continuation of Sarah’s story. Last seen, Shauna Macdonald’s character had survived her ordeal, more or less. Everyone knows by now that the U.S. theatrical release chopped off the original ending shown in the U.K.; it was deemed too unhappy in an already bleak as hell film. In either cut, Sarah was technically still alive.
Pictured: Josh Dallas as Greg in The Descent Part 2
Acting as an extension of the first film, the sequel picks up where the U.S. cut left off. It is arguable that Part 2 can pair with both edits, but considering Sarah’s state of mind in the proper version, it is doubtful Sarah would have found a way out on her own. Even the truncated ending is hardly happier, and the sequel acknowledges why. After a random passerby named Ed (Michael J. Reynolds) finds Sarah on the road, the police begin a search for the other missing five women. Naturally, they suspect Sarah is behind Juno (Natalie Mendoza) and the others’ disappearances, and without any clear memory of the incident, Sarah cannot outright deny the accusation.
Getting Sarah back to the cave system requires questionable logic, even for a horror film. Apparently the police in these parts operate on the bizarrely improper protocol where traumatized people, suspects or otherwise, do not require any substantial psychological aid and supervision. No, Sheriff Vaines (Gavan O’Herlihy) skips all that and immediately shoves Sarah back into the place where she just escaped, forcing her to be their guide for a rather hasty and ill-conceived rescue mission. Surely a psychologist would have protested or flat out disallowed such a decision. Nevertheless, Sarah, the idiotic sheriff, Deputy Elen Rios (Krysten Cummings), and three random cave specialists (Josh Dallas, Douglas Hodge, Anna Skellern) enter what will soon be their tomb.
Along with the audience, the first film threw Sarah and the others into a bad situation without much warning. The characters becoming lost and trapped because of poor judgment is par for the course in these kinds of stories, yet then having monsters show up was unexpected. Knowing there was no element of surprise this time around, director Jon Harris did not want to repeat the first film’s choice of having everyone discover the Crawlers’ existence all at once. So in true horror fashion, the sequel’s cast splits up once inside the cave system. Dallas, Hodge, and Skellern’s thinly written characters are here to increase the potential body count, so it is only a matter of time until they bite the big one. Their presence has no bearing on Sarah’s story, so at the very least they can provide satisfying death sequences. And that they do as various Crawlers rip them apart before getting to the main course.
Pictured: Natalie Mendoza as Juno in The Descent Part 2
Marshall’s chiaroscuro aesthetic in the first film is unmatched. Even more so when watching the sequel where subterranean scenes are bathed in light. Both Descent films used sets for the cave scenes, however, only the sequel makes that fact obvious. The excessive lighting leaves nothing to the imagination, and the characters’ surroundings appear artificial, hollow, and unconvincing. Perhaps worst of all is the Crawlers, whose facial redesign gives them the semblance of goofy orcs. Seeing far too much of the creatures now robs them of the power they once wielded in near total darkness.
The original Descent is a progenitor of today’s trend of metaphorical horror films, although Marshall’s conveyance of heavy thematic material is unprecedented. So much so that many viewers miss the bereavement metaphor altogether. Of course, that is why The Descent is held up as a masterpiece; it can function well with or without the subtext. On one hand it is a woman-versus-monster mash, and on the other it is a considerable exploration of life after trauma and loss, and the difficulty of making it out of a dark and hopeless place. The film’s duality as a piece of exemplary, B-movie entertainment and a touchstone of “metaphorror” is unrivaled.
While the first film saw Sarah descending into hell, its sequel is all about Sarah’s “redemptive ascent,” according to producer Christian Colson. The aim here was to give Sarah closure after certain revelations and decisions were made last time, including, most importantly, Sarah leaving Juno to die. Mendoza’s character has been harshly judged over the years, although plenty have also come around to her side. Yes, Juno was having a secret affair with Sarah’s husband, and Juno did kill Beth (Alex Reid). The latter was, however, an accident. Juno lying about Beth’s death did not help her case, but regardless of what went down in a moment of undue stress, she was still on Sarah’s side up until the very end.
Pictured: A Crawler from The Descent Part 2
If the sequel does anything of note, it is Sarah and Juno’s reconciliation. It indeed comes across as syrupy, convenient, and too tidy, but there is a sense of satisfaction about seeing two at-odds friends come through for one another in their hour of need. In the first film, Sarah could not put her personal feelings aside, at least until they all left the cave, and ultimately her grief and emotions got the best of her. She was unable to compartmentalize her feelings like Juno. It also never dawned on Sarah that Juno was mourning someone she loved as well. Messy and deceitful as the affair was, Juno clearly meant a lot to Sarah’s husband. Hence Sarah returning the token of that love — the necklace — to Juno.
Neil Marshall has called the sequel “totally unnecessary,” but he also said of The Descent Part 2, “I think it doesn’t take away from the first movie.” Both statements are valid, and one’s enjoyment of the first film cannot be undone by this more crudely written and shot follow-up, no matter how hard it tries. If nothing else, the sequel has senseless Crawler action in spades, and there is an attempt at a happier ending for those who found the original film’s conclusion too gloomy. The strange, last-second twist would have suggested another sequel was in the cards. Wisely, one never came to fruition. One mediocre and needless sequel is forgivable, yet a series of them is not.
Horrors Elsewhere is a recurring column that spotlights a variety of movies from all around the globe, particularly those not from the United States. Fears may not be universal, but one thing is for sure — a scream is understood, always and everywhere.
Pictured: Shauna Macdonald as Sarah in The Descent Part 2
Of all the films in the New French Extremity movement, Baise-moi may be the most shocking.
From its aggressive English language title Rape Me to several scenes of unsimulated sex, Virginie Despentes and Coralie Trinh Thi’s 2000 film may not drip with the subgenre’s trademark blood and gore, but the story’s overwhelming nihilism feels like a middle finger to the patriarchal establishment.
Inspired by Despentes’s 1993 novel of the same name, Baise-moi stars adult film actresses Raffaëla Anderson and Karen Bach as Bonnie and Clyde-style criminals who rampage through France leaving a trail of bodies in their wake. But this fierce story has a tender core. When we peel back the layers of explicit sex and ostensibly senseless violence, we find the tragic tale of two young women desperate to reclaim their power in a world built on male entitlement.
After a brief glimpse at our female criminals, Baise-moi opens in a local dive bar. A boorish man plays pool with his friends while callously dismissing his girlfriend’s concerns. She hasn’t seen him in nearly a week and simply wants to know if he plans to come home. But he angrily brushes her aside, insisting that he doesn’t have to answer for his selfishness. We will never see this couple again, but their one-sided dispute reflects a world in which women must beg for attention from men who see them as less than human.
Throughout this uncomfortable argument, Nadine (Bach) has been drinking at the bar while men discuss her fondness for random sex. At home, she openly masturbates in the living room, refusing to be shamed by her nagging roommate. We learn that Nadine is a sex worker and follow her to a nearby hotel. Refusing to kiss her john on the lips, she dispassionately performs oral sex then watches TV while he fails to give her an orgasm. Despentes and Trinh Thi play with camera angles to show the extent of Nadine’s disinterest. More concerned with sausage being sliced on an infomercial, she has emotionally disconnected from her own body.
We meet Manu (Anderson), an occasional porn actress, under much more traumatic circumstances. While chatting on a park bench, she and a friend are hauled into a dirty warehouse then savagely assaulted by three strange men. We watch as Manu’s friend (played by adult film star Lisa Marshall) is repeatedly punched in the face while her clothes are ripped off followed by an extreme close-up of actual penetration. It’s a disturbing sequence that rivals New French Extremity’s most infamous texts. But this is the reality of sexual assault and Despentes and Trinh Thi refuse to shield the audience from what we are watching.
Though her friend screams and tries to escape, Manu stares daggers at her attackers while stoically obeying their commands. Her dissociation repels the angry man and he walks away, complaining about “fucking a zombie.” Manu will later explain this emotional detachment to her traumatized friend, saying, “If you park in the projects, you empty your car ‘cause someone’s gonna break in. I leave nothing precious in my cunt for those jerks.” Though they’ve not yet met, both Nadine and Manu have become so accustomed to being used for sex that they see no value in themselves. Manu assures her sobbing friend that,”It’s just a bit of cock. We’re just girls. It’ll be ok now.” then continues on with the rest of her day. While disturbing in and of itself, her response hints at prior trauma and the long-term pain of navigating a world filled with predatory men.
Despentes and Trinh Thi will spend the rest of the film subverting the classic rape-revenge structure. We never again see Manu’s attackers again and she is not driven by a newfound hatred of men. But her rage spills out wherever she goes, directed at anyone who dismisses her humanity. Manu’s brother responds with indignation and demands the rapist’s identities, seeming more upset about an insult to his family name than what his sister actually needs. When he implies that she somehow welcomed the assault, Manu shoots him in the head, steals his money, and walks out the door. Nadine finds herself in a similar position after strangling her conservative roommate to death. In parallel scenes we watch both women reach their breaking points and use murder to flee lives of shameful subservience.
Manu and Nadine cross paths in an empty subway station after the last train has left for the night. With nowhere else to go, they cut a violent path across France, careening towards Nadine’s vague errand. Their first victim is a well-dressed woman murdered for her ATM card. Though Nadine confesses sadness in the aftermath of the crime, she eventually admits, “now I feel really great. So great I almost feel like doing it again.” We remember Manu’s final words to her brother — “Bastards like you always have to hit something to feel alive” — and watch these newly liberated women succumb to the same temptation. Their crime spree seems driven by a need to reclaim power by dominating anyone who gets in their way.
Despite the carnage they leave behind, Manu and Nadine do not kill indiscriminately. Shortly after hitting the road, they pick up two strangers at a bar and have sex on their respective hotel beds. Though they do not physically touch each other, the scene ripples with intimacy as they gaze at each other instead of their men. In a traditional rape-revenge film, Manu would kill these unsuspecting paramours, punishing them for another man’s crimes. But she seems content with indulging in her own physical pleasure and the connection she establishes with Nadine. Both women have found a kindred spirit who will not judge them for asserting their own messy independence.
This is not to say that men are safe around these two unpredictable outlaws. Manu shoots a man in the street when he catcalls Nadine and they ambush and murder a condescending gun dealer. When a prospective john balks at their unapologetic promiscuity and insists on wearing a condom, Manu brands herself “the fucking condom dickhead killer” while mocking the man for his self-righteousness. She degrades and sexually humiliates him before using her high heels to stomp in his face.
Nadine has a similar response to another victim who tries to psychoanalyze her criminality. While opening his safe at gunpoint, the man flirts by insisting her crimes have been caused by a traumatic past only he can understand. Rather than fall for this faux empathy, Manu laughs in his face while Nadine shoots him to death on the living room floor. While certainly asserting their feminine strength, they do not lash out at just any man, but save their rage for male authority figures who condemn their feminist rebellion.
Though they rage against the outside world, Manu and Nadine have no grand illusions of victory and expect to die in the violence they’ve sparked. On a peaceful stroll, the outlaws discuss different methods of suicide, rejecting self-immolation as too pretentious. After tossing around options, they agree to do a bungee jump without the cord, though Nadine admits that she may need help stepping off the edge. To maintain the appearance of control, Manu suggests leaving a banner behind to frame their deaths as a courageous act rather than submission to the establishment. They will not let anyone rewrite their story and insist on going out with their heads held high.
It’s only through boredom that we uncover the hopeless heart of their true motivations. Blowing stolen cash on a fancy hotel, Nadine and Manu drink the day away while staring at the ocean, surprised that they have not yet been caught. With their faces on the cover of newspapers, they have achieved some notoriety, but failed to rock the system they despise. Simply described as two women, “one taller than the other,” their bombastic rebellion now feels more like screaming into the void. They may have found joy in rejecting rigid gender norms, indulging in random sex, and gleefully dominating toxic men, but the patriarchal world continues to turn. In this quiet moment, Manu and Nadine realize that they will not be remembered as vigilante heroes, but two waves crashing against an endless sea of male authority.
As we grow more attached to the ferocious couple, Despentes and Trinh Thi remind us of the women’s villainy, directly resisting an anti-hero narrative. Dressed to the nines, Nadine and Manu storm a swinger’s club where women openly service men. In another film, they would be feminist avengers, shooting violent johns while setting helpless women free. But Manu and Nadine kill everyone they see, leaving no one alive in the establishment. As a climax to this massacre, they force the bartender to strip and kneel on all fours before penetrating him with a loaded gun. It’s a horrific act of sexual abuse that mirror’s Manu’s own ordeal. We’re reminded that while the women’s anger may be righteous, their actions are not. Perhaps this is a showy escalation designed to force police intervention. Or has Manu become the very thing that once destroyed her life: a bastard who hurts others to feel alive?
This crime spree ends just as erratically as it began when Manu is shot while stopping for gas. Nadine burns her corpse beside a frozen lake, ensuring that no one can claim power over what little autonomy her body still holds. Dressed in a man’s suit, the grieving woman prepares to join her friend in death and holds a gun to her head. But she seems incapable of pulling the trigger. While remembering their short but violently joyful time together, we hear a gunshot and see Nadine fall to the ground. Seconds later she opens her eyes to find herself surrounded by police. The spell of her connection with Manu has been broken and the world has finally come crashing in.
We’re left to wonder what their rampage was for. They’ve failed to resist a dehumanizing social structure and will now be simply tossed aside. But the English translation casts an uncomfortable shadow over their motivations. Taken as a command, the worlds “rape me” seem to imply consent that is antithetical to sexual assault. It’s an unsettling turn of phrase that harkens back to a question Manu’s friend asked in the wake of her attack: “how could you let this happen to you?” Though it reflects the story’s aggressive tone, this translated title seems to blame the women for their destructive actions rather than interrogate the system they’ve tried to resist.
But there is an alternate interpretation, one that reflects the story’s tender core. A more accurate Enlgish translation would read “fuck me” or “kiss me,” perhaps nodding to sex positivity or the gentle kiss Nadine leaves with Manu before lighting her makeshift funeral pyre. These alternative titles seem to honor the women’s ferocious journey of self-discovery and empowerment.
Though flawed, villainous, and ultimately broken on a patriarchal wheel, Nadine and Manu have found a way to reclaim something precious in their unapologetic strength and authenticity.
Baise-moi is currently available to stream on Shudder.
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