Editorials
‘Cut’ – Revisiting the Australian Slasher 24 Years Later
Currently there is only one movie where Kylie Minogue is murdered by a masked madman, and then former Brat Packer Molly Ringwald swoops in to save the day. Of course that movie is none other than the horror obscurity Cut (2000). This hidden gem from Down Under popped up during the first slasher revival, which is a large reason as to why many critics deemed Kimble Rendall’s debut derivative. Not everyone felt this way, though; fans like myself saw past the timely surface qualities and found a movie that not only commented on slashers but also championed their existence. This was a rare sight at a time when the disparaging of horror was both trendy and excessive.
It would be something of a mistake to assume Cut is another mere copycat of Scream (1996). The inspiration for Rendall and writer Dave Warner’s movie is clear, yet the overall execution is rather different. For starters, it’s evident from the opening act that the movie’s story isn’t in complete touch with reality; Ringwald’s first encounter with the villain results in an unexpected development. As the killer succumbs to his initial fatality, Cut reveals a surprising supernatural element.
In the wake of Scream, new slashers tended to be grounded and shied away from magic and fantasy. They instead relied on a simple yet timeless pitch: a mysterious and very human assailant picks off their prey in systematic fashion. Cut, on the other hand, is more high-concept without losing the sense of familiarity. This movie also slyly injects the surreal without even readjusting the total picture. After the flashback to 1985 ends with the supposed death of “Scarman” and Minogue’s character — respectively an actor and the director of a fictional slasher movie called “Hot Blooded” — the story tables that supernatural aspect for a bit and focuses on a tangible dilemma.
Pictured: Jessica Napier’s character Raffy sees dead people… in a movie theater.
Following a good dose of exposition, Cut dives straight into its present-day plot: Aussie film students set out to finish the notoriously abandoned “Hot Blooded” as part of their graduation. Jessica Napier’s driven character Raffy leads the charge despite not having her professor’s blessing; Lossman’s (Geoff Revel) contempt for horror flicks really stems from his own traumatic link to “Hot Blooded.” So right away Cut throws the audience a burning-hot red herring; could the prof want the movie to remain unfinished so badly that he would commit murder? Lest we forget, killers have killed for far less in other slashers.
Like some of the best horrors out there, Cut features an in-universe myth. One that the characters don’t believe or treat seriously at first, but in time it goes on to play a vital role in the outcome. After the director of “Hot Blooded” was murdered by her disgruntled actor — Minogue’s role is brief yet amusingly caustic — her half-done movie gained notoriety over the years. In fact, Raffy and her crew were not the first people wanting to complete “Hot Blooded,” and they most certainly won’t be the last. And anyone who has dared to approach the task has met an unfortunate end. That sort of built-in infamy is irresistible to both the characters and the audience.
In the vein of The Ring (1998, 2002) and other “curse” horror movies, Cut brings to life its own cooked-up urban legend with both zeal and style. That soft but artistic flair is more noticeable than ever now with Umbrella Entertainment’s beautiful restoration, which was the first time Cut was issued on disc after being trapped on VHS in Australia. This restoration from a 35mm interpositive is never too dramatic, though; instead it brings out what I remember best about the movie: the attractive contrast of lights and darks, the wealth of warm hues, and occasional spots of intense colors reminiscent of vintage gialli. So, in the movie’s favor, Cut doesn’t resemble its contemporaries.
If there is one transparent shortcoming in Cut, it would be the characters. Minogue and Ringwald imbue their catty roles with plenty of oomph, but the other characters don’t come across as particularly distinct or memorable. Raffy’s crew of film-school oddballs can be best described as brooding, surly, or recklessly horny. They seem too intentionally senseless. Even the two notables of these misfits, Napier’s final girl and the infatuated Hester (Sarah Kants), don’t make huge impressions on the audience. The former’s personal connection to “Hot Blooded” is too brushed aside for its own good — a modern movie, however, might have risked the family trauma subplot becoming too emphasized — whereas Hester satisfies an unambiguously queer quotient not often found in early 2000s slashers.
Pictured: Scarman (Frank Roberts) gets up close and liquefied with Raffy (Jessica Napier).
Whether or not it meant to, Scream opened the floodgate for self-aware and postmodern horror in and beyond the ‘90s. This was hardly the first movie to point out the tropes of the genre, yet Kevin Williamson and Wes Craven’s collaboration did lead to a number of other movies that felt the need to poke holes in horror. At worst, it had become open season for mocking the genre. Again, not the fault of Scream, but rather those who saw that movie and walked away with a derisive view of horror as opposed to an adoring and reinvigorated one. Because, above all, the original Scream does show affection for the very thing it scrutinized and, in many ways, rewrote.
Meanwhile, Cut is a less severe deconstruction of slashers. Indeed the movie points out widely known clichés and even pokes fun at itself — Ringwald delivers the golden one-liner “believe me, there was no creative energy that went into that piece of shit” upon learning the supernatural origin of the killer — but it ultimately comes to the genre’s defense. Lossman, representing the cons side of the debate on horror’s merits, calls the genre “trash” and insists his students have “more important things to say.” In opposition, Raffy and Hester express a commonly held opinion nowadays: horror can be just as political as other genres, however, it’s also acceptable to make scary movies for the simple goal of giving folks a fright. Hester later goes further by saying horror is “cathartic” and possesses “social value.”
Both retro and recent reviews stand firm on Cut being predictable and uninspired, but from a more lenient perspective, the movie is innovative for its time. The story was an early exercise in fantastical meta-slashers before the likes of The Final Girls and Totally Killer were conceived, and it offers a good balance of respect and self-reflexivity. Cut is an obvious throwback to the golden age of slashers, but there’s also something quite novel and underrated about its approach.
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: The poster for Cut.
“Elevated Horror.” Of all the combinations in the English language, that one is the most insufferable.
It represents almost a decade of scary movies that, for the most part, took themselves too seriously. Horror responds to the moment, so its “why so serious” lean makes sense as we scuttle through the “worst of times” equation of Charles Dickens’ famous opening lines. But there’s still an opening and a need for a lighter approach; one that not only has fun with its audience but takes the piss out of a genre that is seemingly letting its newfound “respectability” go to its head.
Wes Craven believed devotees see horror films to let out their fears one primal scream at a time. At their core, these movies are roller coasters; they bring us as close to the edge as possible before pulling us back into a safety net of reality. The need for a bigger and badder coaster increases during times when the size of that net decreases.
There’s a thrill that comes from imagining being in a foot race with a madman, or outthinking the hordes of zombies on the other side of the door, plus the scavenger humans coming behind them. There’s even a rush that comes from imagining how one might deal with possession to see good triumph over evil in the end. It’s all about building tension and releasing it through catharsis. That cathartic release usually sounds like screams followed by laughter, which signals relief. Genre heavy hitters over the past 10 years offered very little of that respite when the credits rolled. Films like Hereditary, The Witch, Talk to Me, and even Smile (pick one) keep that tension going after the screen fades to black.
Hereditary
As the genre became obsessed with creating trauma metaphors, that lack of release made sense. Anyone with even a small sample size of traumatic experiences knows those emotions don’t magically resolve themselves in an allotted run time. But how much trauma can one take? Especially when there’s a mess going on outside that few of us can escape from. Movies offer that off-ramp, no matter how short.
Everything can’t be, nor should it be, “elevated.” Audiences need thoughtful explorations of life’s ills via monsters as much as they need murdering masked maniacs with kitchen knives. And no, it doesn’t have to go any deeper than that. Sometimes, a knife is just a knife, and it’s still worth our time and respect. As weird as it sounds, that simplicity is comforting not in spite of the trauma but because of it.
The worst of times should manifest more than just anguish. People need to laugh just as much as they need to think seriously about this moment in time. Even the Scream franchise forgot the meta rock upon which it built its church when the latest foray sacrificed the subtle comedy for serious drama. Scary Movie returned at the perfect moment. It provides the necessary laughs, but it’s not a cure-all.
This isn’t a call for Scary Movie imitators but a return to a mainstream landscape where Killer Klowns from Outer Space sat with The Serpent and the Rainbow, nestled neatly with the latest Nightmare on Elm Street, which took nothing away from The Vanishing.
They Live
Even They Live, John Carpenter’s horror sci-fi satire sandwich, kept its tongue firmly in cheek while discussing serious ideas still relevant in 2026. Yes, a film about aliens taking over the world through subliminal messaging only visible through coded sunglasses is, in fact, a tad silly. Carpenter understood that mainstream horror can’t become so self-important that it never looks itself in the mirror and laughs at that inherent silliness.
The thing is, horror historically excels at poking fun at itself. Most of the Scream franchise, The Cabin in the Woods, or The Blackening show adoration without kowtowing. They recognize tropes and trappings but invert them for an audience already in on the joke, but one that also finds solace in said conventions. This keeps the genre on its toes; once something gets parodied, it’s usually time to evolve. That breeds new ideas and fresh filmmakers, which not only strengthen the genre’s collective voice but also amplify it.
Get Out, as “elevated” as some critics want us to believe it is, is a cathartic, populist scary movie that spoke to an untapped audience rather than speaking down to them. Backrooms is one of the biggest horror hits in years, partially because it’s fine-tuned for modern-day teenagers instead of their parents. Movies like these tell everyone the genre is open for business; open for innovation and, yeah, open for new ways in which people can lovingly poke fun at with a wink and a nudge.
Horror needs dread as much as it needs laughter.
Catharsis is just as important as tension, and pulpy populism has the same merit as more high-brow material. Respectability shouldn’t come at the expense of an experience akin to walking through a haunted house. At a time when joy seems in short supply, horror should look to its past to map out its future, and make things just a tad brighter for audiences.
Backrooms
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