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
André Øvredal’s ‘Troll Hunter’ Remains One of the Best Found Footage Movies
In this day and age, the word “troll” is often used to describe various online nuisances. Yet as abundant and irksome as the modern troll can be, they aren’t usually as fearsome as their mythological counterparts. I’m not talking about the small and gentler versions that have become more common to see in media. No, there are much bigger and scarier trolls out there—and André Øvredal’s movie Troll Hunter is one of the best places to find them.
It doesn’t take long for Troll Hunter (or Trolljegeren) to dump the Blair Witch Project-esque setup and aim for something a lot fresher. The trajectory of the story is augmented by Otto Jespersen’s character Hans, the titular Troll Hunter. The second he comes barreling out of the deep, dark woods and shouts “troll” at the camera, this movie takes a turn into what feels like uncharted territory. Not only subject-wise, but also conceptually.
For fantastical and made-up subject matter in cinema, found footage is a fast way to add a guise of believability. After all, what we accept to be the most crucial aspect of documentaries—the truth—rubs off on pseudo-documentaries, despite our understanding of the pretense involved. That is what Øvredal delivered with Troll Hunter: a movie so convincing that some viewers wondered if trolls really do exist. So, had this been straightforwardly made, it likely wouldn’t have been as effective. Conventional narratives would be more inclined to treat something like trolls as flat out unreal, and never try to convince the audience to think otherwise.

Hans petrifies the three-headed Tusseladd troll.
The viewers, like the characters trailing Hans, are quickly thrown into the deeper end of that extraordinary story. They have to process all this new information while staying on the go. So, although there is no significant amount of meandering, narratively or physically, there is still a good amount of atmosphere, not to mention tension building. It’s never anything frightful, but then again, Troll Hunter isn’t your standard offering of horror; it’s more on the low end of the dark fantasy spectrum. We aren’t ever spirited away to a faraway world—we stay in rather familiar surroundings, as well as dip into those less so. The outcome is a movie where you’re constantly more in awe than in terror.
As fantasy fiction might do, Troll Hunter prefers not to deal with incredulity. There is no time to waste on doubt, as interviewer Thomas (Glenn Erland Tosterud), soundperson Johanna (Johanna Mørck), and cameraman Kalle (Tomas Alf Larsen) all follow Hans around, recording whatever this character is willing to reveal about his bizarre job. Of course, the Troll Hunter himself is not an open book; in that respect, the diegetic documentary fails to fully capture and unpack the more interesting of its two subjects. Yes, all those giant, monstrous trolls are indeed incredible, but understandably, your mind wanders to their pursuer. What kind of person signs up for this gig and then chooses to stick with it for so long?
Reviews have called out Troll Hunter for its lack of character development. In regard to Thomas and his fellow documentarians, that criticism is valid, but bear in mind, they aren’t the focus of the story, either. Meanwhile, Hans is a well-crafted character. At least better than first realized. Before he was introduced, Hans had already grown tired of the troll grind. Fed up with that low compensation for his services, resentful of the bureaucracy, and wanting to expose his employer on a large scale, Hans’ discontent is glaring.
Then there are those finer details about the Troll Hunter, such as that indifference to both the natural splendor of his everyday surroundings and the affections of an obviously smitten colleague, that also suggest some level of despondency. So it is fair to say this movie doesn’t feature any sizable growth for its characters; however, the namesake isn’t underwritten. No doubt, putting a real-life character like Otto Jespersen in that role is partly why Hans is so fascinating—maybe even relatable.

Otto Jespersen as Hans the Troll Hunter.
There is always a small risk whenever using the term “mockumentary” to describe a found-footage movie, as the word could imply humor where there is none. In the case of Troll Hunter, the term’s usage is appropriate. Some folks have claimed the English-dubbed version has the more comedic tone, however, the Norwegian cut isn’t exactly humorless. Apart from the trolls’ absurd appearances, this is a movie where the characters nearly choke on the monsters’ farts, and Christians are like walking targets. Hans’ complete apathy towards everything is another cause of laughter. Overall, the comedy is intentionally dry and inconsistent. Unfunny, though? Absolutely not.
In a movie where endemic creatures are maltreated, as well as disavowed from living freely and peacefully, it’s hard not to notice the ecological message buried beneath the story. In addition to that is the unmistakable political satire. There is this whole business about intrusive and unsightly power lines—like trolls, they’re big blemishes on the land—that leads to what is perhaps the movie’s funniest moment. The scene in question is that one where certain electric lines, the ones secretly being used to keep the trolls at bay, go in a loop and don’t actually send power to any residents. Yet the monitors of said lines don’t find this at all weird. So it stands to reason that Øvredal was having a go at those who accept the government’s doings without question.
Looking past the fact that trolls aren’t actually real, this movie is an enlightening source of information. And not just for international audiences; Norwegians, too, get schooled about their homeland’s own mythology. It’s also evident from everything on screen that Øvredal and his crew were enthusiastic about the topic. The creature designs are the most indicative of that zeal; those imaginative yet myth-accurate manifestations are equally amusing and grotesque. One second you’re laughing at their phallic noses, the next you’re white-knuckling during a hairy sequence. Most surprisingly is how well the trolls’ visual effects hold up after fifteen years. It’s not all spotless, but on the whole, they remain impressive.
Vouching for a mockumentary about trolls isn’t easy, but those who do come around and give it a shot will more than likely be grateful for the recommendation. For Troll Hunter is a real find in that vast and varied genre we call “found footage“.

A bridge troll reaches up for food and finds Hans decked out in armor.
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