Editorials
Alice Krige: Queen of ‘Silent Hill’ and Horror’s Most Malleable Monster
Of the many monsters roaming the ashen realm of Silent Hill, one stands head and shoulders above the rest. Christophe Gans’ 2006 adaptation recreates the terrifying spectres found in Konami’s survival horror game, from faceless mutant nurses and cockroaches with strangely humanoid heads to the rotting corpse of a sexual predator bound with rusty barbed wire.
That’s not to mention the muscle-bound brute known as Pyramid Head (Roberto Campanella), who instantaneously strips the skin off of his unlucky victims. But these monsters pale in comparison to an ostensibly demure religious leader claiming to protect her flock. Leader of a fanatical cult called the Brethren, Christabella (Alice Krige) not only rules through oppressive fear, but her self-righteous cruelty is responsible for thirty years of death and destruction.
Once an idyllic mining community, the tiny town of Silent Hill was ravaged by a coal seam fire that left it virtually uninhabitable. Decades later, the abandoned city exists in a liminal space where monsters lurk in the malevolent darkness. When her adopted daughter Sharon (Jodelle Ferland) has a series of frightening dreams, Rose (Radha Mitchell) takes her to the decimated village, hoping to spark Sharon’s memories and contextualize her fear. But Rose finds herself not only separated from the little girl but pulled beyond the borders of reality and trapped in a dangerous hellscape of alternating fog and darkness. Alongside a cop named Cybil (Laurie Holden), she must not only survive the nightmarish creatures of Silent Hill, but also uncover her daughter’s connection to the town and its chaotic evil.
Following a series of ominous clues, Rose discovers that long before the cataclysmic fire, Christabella commanded the Brethren with a deadly variation of historical misogyny. Born out of wedlock, the cult leader proclaimed her niece Alessa (Ferland) a witch, sparking ostracization from both children and adults. When the vilified child was raped by a janitor while hiding from her relentless bullies, Christabella insisted they “purify” her through ritualistic immolation. But Alessa managed to survive this hideous ordeal, and the Brethren’s fire spread to the mines, leading to city-wide destruction. Survivors are now trapped in an alternate reality that periodically falls victim to Dark Alessa’s metaphysical rage. In the thirty years since her horrific mistake, Christabella has convinced her followers that they have survived the apocalypse thanks only to their purity via adherence to her oppressive rule.
Silent Hill
Challenged by the arrival of Rose and Cybil, Christabella attempts to protect her authority by again proclaiming the women witches and demanding her followers burn them at the stake. Though Rose escapes, the Brethren capture Cybil and roast her alive over a roaring bonfire. Claiming Sharon — who looks exactly like the young Alessa — has been fathered by a demon, she plans to burn the child as well, completing the ritual that once went wrong. Fortunately, Alessa partially possesses Rose’s body and confronts the evil woman with her own hypocrisy. The spirit of Dark Alessa takes bloody revenge, tearing Christabella apart with ropes of barbed wire spinning outward from her charred body. This cathartic revenge transforms Gans’ survival horror story into a cautionary tale against women who prey on the vulnerable.
As the leader of this insidious cult, Christabella is one of the genre’s most vile female villains. But she is not Krige’s first monstrous character, nor would she be the last. In 1981, the accomplished actress appeared in frightening dual roles as Alma and Eva in John Irvin’s haunting Ghost Story. Adapted from Peter Straub’s classic novel, the film follows a group of distinguished older men who find themselves tormented by the woman they murdered in their youth. We first meet the ghostly Alma in the present as she seduces the sons of this powerful clan, systematically leading them to their deaths.
Desperate to save themselves, the surviving members of the “Chowder Society” admit that nearly fifty years ago, Edward (Kurt Johnson) accidentally killed a young woman named Eva to prevent her from revealing his sexual inadequacy. Fearing the ruination of their lives, the young men placed Eva’s body inside her car and pushed it into a nearby lake. But as the vehicle sank beneath the waves, the men saw her staring at them through the rear window and realized too late that she was still alive. Now they must find a way to make amends before Alma/Eva can complete her venomous mission. Krige’s ethereal beauty adds menace to this slow-burning horror story as she seeks revenge from beyond the grave.
Sleepwalkers
In 1992, Krige played one of horror’s most surprising villains in Mick Garris’ cult classic Sleepwalkers. Based on a screenplay by Stephen King, the story follows an energy vampire werecat hybrid named Mary (Krige) and her son (and lover) Charles (Brian Krause), who flee to rural Indiana after murdering a young girl on the western coast. Known as Sleepwalkers, Mary and Charles wield a host of telepathic powers and survive by draining the life force of virginal girls. While attempting to feed on a local high school student named Tanya (Mädchen Amick), Charles is attacked by a policeman’s cat, the Sleepwalkers’ only natural enemy.
This encounter leaves the werecat gravely injured, and Mary embarks on a murder spree as she desperately tries to save his life. The vengeful mother takes out a squad of police officers, impaling one on a white picket fence while stabbing another with an ear of corn. She’s finally undone by a swarm of neighborhood cats who scratch and claw at her body until she finally bursts into flames.
Krige adds gravitas to the admittedly bonkers story by playing Mary with deadly seriousness. She effortlessly navigates the film’s outlandish murders and incest scenes while convincing us to care about the grieving woman, no matter how monstrous she may be.
Four years later, Krige would make waves in the sci-fi world as the amoral leader of the Borg, a cybernetic Collective driven by the unwavering need to achieve perfection. Structurally similar to a colony of bees, the Borg operates as a singular hive mind, forcibly assimilating individual victims with bio-technology that transforms them into zombie-like drones. In his 1996 sequel Star Trek: First Contact, Jonathan Frakes introduces us to the Borg Queen (Krige), the only member of the Collective possessing full autonomy.
Star Trek: First Contact
Strangely beautiful, she appears with grayish skin pulled into a hideous bun behind her head and a cenobite-esque industrial torso attached to her chest via painful hooks. Insisting that “resistance is futile,” the silver-eyed seductress employs a variety of manipulative tactics to prevent Earth’s first contact with alien life, thus altering the landscape of space exploration.
Though several actresses would go on to play this nebulous villain, Krige originated the role in a haunting performance, ensuring the Borg Queen a place in the vast Star Trek universe for decades to come.
The same year, Krige terrified audiences as Christabella, the talented actress, who would play a pivotal role in another film centering on a survival horror game. William Brent Bell’s Stay Alive follows a group of friends who find themselves terrorized by a mysterious video game with the power to kill in reality. By speaking aloud the disc’s sinister invocation, Hutch (Jon Foster) and his friends find that they have unleashed the spirit of a murderous Countess (Maria Kalinina) who maintains her youth and beauty by bathing in the blood of virginal girls. As the Author, Krige explains this horrific legend and the real-life figure whose rumored sadism inspired the video game.
Hampered by clumsy effects and an abundance of mid-aughts cliches, Stay Alive is surprisingly enjoyable and arguably ahead of its time. Blending historical fiction with virtual reality, Bell’s Countess is based on Elizabeth Báthory, a 17th-century Hungarian noblewoman who was accused of murdering 600 girls and was permanently sealed in her castle’s tower. Though Krige appears in a single scene, only available in the Director’s Cut, she elevates Bell’s forgotten film in a disturbing monologue chronicling the alleged crimes of history’s first female serial killer.
Gretel & Hansel
Fourteen years later, Osgood Perkins would cast Krige as another sinister woman, this time occupying a magical house. Gretel & Hansel is a gender-flipped version of the classic Grimm’s fairy tale, following a young girl thrown out of her mother’s home and tasked with caring for her younger brother. Starving, Gretel (Sophia Lillis) and the immature Hansel (Samuel Leakey) traverse the dangerous woods only to stumble upon a kindly old woman named Holda (Krige) who lures them in with sumptuous treats. But we soon learn that this fortuitous banquet is an illusion. Holda is a wicked witch who survives by cooking innocent children and then disguising their corpses as mouthwatering food.
Though admittedly wicked, Krige plays the older version of a shapeshifting creature who also serves as a surprising mentor. While encouraging Gretel to kill her own brother, Holda allows the girl access to her extensive grimoire and helps unlock her own burgeoning magic. Though she unabashedly preys on children, the cannibalistic Holda is a strangely empowering figure in this magical coming-of-age fantasy.
Krige may not exclusively play villains and boasts a decades-long career filled with characters embodying all aspects of the female experience. However, the formidable actress has nonetheless provided horror with some of its most iconic monsters, from cyborg queens and wicked witches to incestuous mothers and women scorned. But of all Krige’s diverse villains, Christabella is undoubtedly her most sinister. As the malevolent leader of the Brethren, she is a cautionary tale warning of the destruction caused by women who would sell out their own to maintain positions of authority.
Alice Krige in Silent Hill
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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