Editorials
The Incomprehensible Horror of ‘Dead Space’
Horror comes in many guises and forms, with many takes on the genre feeding off of our own personal fears and aversions. From the guts and gore of splatter cinema to eerie tellings of the paranormal, there’s plenty of ways to harvest the screams of fear-loving fans. There is, however, one guaranteed method of unnerving even the most hardened terror enthusiasts – by presenting them with a threat that they can’t quite figure out.
The 2008 survival horror game Dead Space may draw influence from various other space-fueled fright-fests, but it also gave birth to one of the most horrifying creatures to inhabit the stars above, in the form of the Necromorph. While many might simply interpret Dead Space’s gaggle of grotesque hostiles to be mere alien zombies, the true nature of the Necromorph is obscured by its disconcerting disposition, comprising of incomprehensible body horror and a fear of the unknown.
We’ve all been there, seemingly safe within the confines of our bed before opening our eyes to a weird entity in the corner of the room. Sure, there’s nothing scary about a jacket draped over a chair, apart from potentially your fashion sense, but when your brain is drowning in darkness and deprived of visual information, that chair is a threat. This kind of sensory trepidation is exactly what the Necromorph thrives upon, inhibiting your brain from attaching a schema to the horror that it witnesses.

Horror monsters are usually very easy to describe, mostly due to the fact that their factual influence and fictional lore has been preconceived. Our old friends – the vampire, werewolf, and extraterrestrial – might not always walk around playing an intimidating version of The Name Game, but there’s usually enough information present to inform us of what’s trying to munch us. Even some of the genre’s more obscure beings, such as Xenomorphs, are labeled by the title of the film they reside within. Alternatively, Necromorphs illustrate themselves through mutilation, creating difficulty when it comes to perceiving its barely humanoid form.
At a glance, a Necromorph appears to be a figure of pulverized flesh and twisted bone, that is until your eyes begin to adjust to the deadly details. As you count the extra limbs and notice the creature’s fondness for scythe-like appendages, it becomes ever clearer that this isn’t just a reanimated corpse. Just like the visual panic experienced with a night terror, it’s hard to digest the dangers before you, with the caveat this time being that you’re not just seeing things. There is no rhyme or reason to the makeup of the Necromorph, with it being less of a species and more of a bastardized use of the previously living.
Despite the Necromorph not belonging to the natural world, the creature does wield the ability to implement its own twisted version of Darwinism. There’s a variety of flavors of Necromorph lurking within Dead Space; from the sharp vanilla of the welcoming party to the sickly aftertaste of encountering a necrotic infant, you’re sure to be spoiled for choice. The fact that the Necromorph has multiple manifestations adds to the angst of deciphering what they are, especially when morbid curiosity is lost within the sheer panic of survival.

In typical video game fashion, Dead Space is complicit in instructing you on how to fight off its in-game nasties. This is usually something that would solicit comfort in players, as after all – if it bleeds, we can kill it. Unfortunately, this mantra falls flat when it comes to Necromorphs, as the destruction of their blood-soaked bodies contradicts everything that we know about fighting the undead. The blood-smeared advice telling us to “Cut off their limbs” is simultaneously helpful and harrowing, as the well-aimed headshot you’re accustomed to will likely this time lead to your demise.
The Necromorph might go against conventional game mechanics, but visceral degradation being at the core of an antagonist is a recurring theme within various pieces of cinema. It’s common knowledge that Dead Space creator, Glen Schofield, was heavily influenced by the likes of Event Horizon, a film that features the mutilation of a crew after boarding a corrupted spacecraft, due to the fact it went to Hell for a day trip. The diabolical dread of Event Horizon imbues itself with the idea of science beyond our comprehension, a theme which is tightly shared with the narrative of Dead Space as a whole. While witnessing beloved dino-doctor Sam Neil gouge his eyes out is unmistakable body horror, it perhaps isn’t as close to what is portrayed in Dead Space as we’d like to think.
There’s a bounty of comparisons that can be drawn between Event Horizon and Dead Space, with plenty to explore in terms of the horrors of being entrapped and driven to insanity within deep space. However, when it comes to the Necromorph, there are various pockets of influential body horror that better fit the bill. Of course, when it comes to horrific transformations, it’d be foolish to omit the work of Cronenberg and his stomach-churning remake of The Fly, as it is one of the truest forms of body horror within the world of cinema. Yet, The Fly still seems to fall outside the realms of what is on display in Dead Space, as even though vomit-inducing, viewers are still aware that they’re gazing upon a Goldblum-bluebottle hybrid.

The key to finding an appropriate comparative when it comes to the Necromorph is found within the theme of incomprehension. This is when it becomes more appropriate to compare the likes of John Carpenter’s The Thing, which features a shape-shifting lifeform that absorbs its victims. As the film title suggests, this creature is a non-descript abomination that makes identifying it near impossible through obscurity. The Thing’s tactic of warping the DNA of others and using their reconstructed flesh as a weapon bears a close resemblance to the Necromorph, with both placing an emphasis on the aggressive use of transformation.
Sticking with the theme of the incomprehensible, various works of Lovecraft-inspired fiction also bear resemblance to the horrors found within Dead Space. Cult classics such as From Beyond perfectly illustrate the merged worlds of eldritch horror and the folly of tampering with unknown science. After using a resonator device, in an attempt to see beyond our reality, two scientists find themselves under attack from otherworldly beings, resulting in degradation of both their sanity and the physical form. With character Dr Edward Pretorius serving as this flick’s antagonist, we see his body transition into something unnatural, complete with tentacles and extended limbs. The type of transformation found within From Beyond is perhaps a bit more complex than with our Necromorph friends, yet retains the same visually indecipherable results.
Another great example of Lovecraft-influenced fiction that’s comparable with Dead Space is the work of Junji Ito, who has penned various manga novels that feature perverse body horror and grueling art style. The transformations featured in these books are unnerving to look at, with the result again leading to the reader struggling to comprehend the creature on the page. Ito’s work may not be based on sci-fi, yet the book Spiral features a plague-like pandemic that distorts both the bodies and minds of a small town, which is something of a dead ringer when compared to the events that take place in Dead Space.

You’d expect most comparative examples to the Necromorph to be morbid and gritty, yet one of the strongest body horror resemblances can be found in Slither, a black comedy horror by James Gunn. While the film does have a humorous overtone throughout, this tale of a small community being infected by alien slugs features some of the most putrid examples of body horror in existence. From glutenous bloating to slime-coated masses of tentacles, Slither demonstrates a similar variety in its monstrosities that Dead Space facilitates with its own gnarly nasties.
For many, the Necromorph is always going to just simply be an intergalactic zombie, but if you’re willing to look past the vague tropes that horror sometimes presents us with, they’re much worse. The Necromorph’s incomprehensible nature is crucial to the impactful horror that Dead Space wishes to bestow upon its players, using its unsettling composition as a weapon. Just like the other horror creatures that they’re akin to, Necromorphs represent a disturbing sub-type of threat, one that leaves you little time to decipher before tearing into your flesh. When paired with the already horrifying ordeal of navigating the derelict USG Ishimura, Necromorph’s become one of the most iconic horror video game enemies of all time – even though their sense of style will put you off your dinner.
Editorials
Steven Spielberg Just Directed the Scariest Scene of His Career in ‘Disclosure Day’
Steven Spielberg has always been conversant in the cinematic language of the horror genre, despite relatively few credits in the genre. His contributions as a writer and producer on things like Poltergeist are legendary, and films like Duel and Jaws certainly wield the horror genre in remarkable, often chilling ways. He may not be a horror filmmaker, but he knows when he needs to scare us, and he has the tools to make that happen.
I didn’t go into Disclosure Day, Spielberg’s alien epic, expecting outright horror, and indeed the film leans much more into thrilling than frightening. This is not a horror film, but for a few minutes in the middle, much to my surprise, it became one.
Spielberg has filmed more than his fair share of scary scenes over the years, but with Disclosure Day, he directed a new contender for the scariest scene of his entire career.
SPOILERS AHEAD for Disclosure Day!

Josh O’Connor in DISCLOSURE DAY, directed by Steven Spielberg.
Among the various alien secrets laced throughout Disclosure Day are a trio of palm-sized rods, the color of pencil graphite. These rods, originating from another planet, can be used for a number of things, but for the purposes of this scene, the most important is “diving,” gripping the rod in one bare hand and using its power to “dive” into the mind of another person.
The person holding the rod in this scene is Noah Scanlon (Colin Firth), head of shadowy cybersecurity firm Wordex, who is hellbent on keeping human knowledge of extraterrestrials secret from the general public. Scanlon’s trying to find whistleblower Daniel Kellner (Josh O’Connor), who’s got all of those alien secrets tucked in a backpack while he’s on the run, and while Daniel’s more experienced mind is protected from diving, his girlfriend Jane’s (Eve Hewson) is not. So, monitored by medical personnel at Wordex headquarters (diving is dangerous), Scanlon pushes his way into Jane’s mind to find the location of Daniel’s safe house.
A telepathic invasion is scary enough on its own, but Spielberg doesn’t stop there. When Scanlon dives into Eve’s mind, he appears to her to be sitting across the kitchen table, like he’s in the room. Her bright blue eyes turn Scanlon’s dark brown, and she loses much of her control over her own body, not to mention her mind. Moments before, Daniel finally shared with her the secrets in his backpack, so Jane is shocked, conflicted, deeply vulnerable when Scanlon slips inside her head. This is not just telepathy. This is possession.
Spielberg underscores this not just through the visual language of the scene, as Jane breaks out in a sweat and struggles to sit upright as Scanlon invades her mind, but through Jane’s background. As she revealed to Daniel earlier in the film, Jane is a former novitiate nun who left her convent when she began to question her calling. She still believes firmly in God and, more importantly, believes that perhaps proof of alien life should be kept secret from the public because, in her eyes, it would upset the entire balance of faith in the world. God is a defining factor for humankind, Jane argues, and showing humanity proof of creatures from the stars would undercut that in dangerous ways.

This context, combined with the crucifix necklace Jane’s holding in her hand at the time of the dive, makes this scene the closest thing Spielberg will ever shoot to something out of The Exorcist. It’s not just a battle of wills, but a battle of faith. As an amoral technocrat worms his way into her memories, her beliefs, her faith, Jane turns the crucifix into a weapon, squeezing it until her hand bleeds when she discovers that a pain response can momentarily push Scanlon out of her head.
Of course, when you put a crucifix and a bloody hand together, it conjures images of stigmata. Screenwriter David Koepp pushes the allusion further by having Scanlon quote Christ on the cross to Jane by way of convincing her that she must be the one to stop Daniel by any means necessary.
It’s easy to see why this is scary, right?
On a very basic level, you have a powerful, wealthy man subduing and assaulting an innocent young woman, which is frightening enough. Then, the layers of the scene kick in. Scanlon doesn’t just assault Jane, but possesses her, seizes her memories, her knowledge, and finally her own free will, all while Jane literally clings to her faith in an effort to fight back. Disclosure Day is, among other things, a story about who has a right to the truth, and Scanlon believes that he should be the arbiter of that truth. Not just the truth as he sees it, but the truth as Jane sees it as well. If they don’t see eye to eye, he’ll make her.
But the possession, as it turns out, cuts both ways. Using the rod to dive is, for a normal human being, an intensely strenuous process. Scanlon admits that previous attempts almost killed him, and for some members of his time, so much as touching the rod results in a near-death experience. Even accessing an unprepared mind like Jane’s takes a lot of Scanlon, and when she kicks him out by squeezing the crucifix – again, so much meaning embedded in the details here – his team holds him back and tries to offer medical intervention. But Scanlon persists, pushing them away, and keeps diving back in.
This means that Jane can’t escape him because he just won’t stop pushing back through her defenses, but it also means that each time Scanlon enters her mind, and thus the safe house, he looks more monstrous. By the end, through a combination of lighting and makeup, Firth barely looks human, conjuring up images of the possessed Father Karras at the end of The Exorcist.

Colin Firth (center, standing) in DISCLOSURE DAY, directed by Steven Spielberg.
On a pure, visceral craft level, all of this is quite frightening, but the real trick to making this scene into Spielberg’s most terrifying lies in the more existential horror surrounding all of this. Disclosure Day is a film about the battle for the truth over extraterrestrials, but it’s also about a fight against an impossibly powerful surveillance state, the devaluing of human and alien lives in favor of some nebulous collection of assets, and the value of the individual in a world that increasingly lumps people into demographic boxes and writes them off.
In this scene, the surveillance state becomes supernatural, a human life is worth less than a piece of information, and an extragovernmental technocrat would rather sacrifice his own humanity than see reason. In 2026, few things could be more terrifying than that. Spielberg knows this and wields it mightily, proving once again that, while he’s not a strictly horror filmmaker, he can direct horror with the best of them.
Disclosure Day is in theaters now.

Eve Hewson (second from left) in DISCLOSURE DAY, directed by Steven Spielberg.
You must be logged in to post a comment.