Elevated to the Gallows pt 3: Colonialism and New Zealand: Mārama (2025)

I have always loved the gothic subgenre. Its dark and twisted nature has held me in a chokehold since I was a kid. Horror, romance, whatever larger genre the word “gothic” attached itself to…I’ve always been 100% here for it. That said, through the years I have certainly asked myself whether or not my attraction to this subgenre was…healthy. While the Magic 8 Ball in my brain occasionally responded with a rather impolite “outlook not so good,” I never quit being interested in the gothic media landscape. Healthy or not, I was transfixed.
In fairness to gothic”ness”, it is a subgenre that shamelessly displays its dysfunctionality on its voluminous pitch black taffeta sleeves. It doesn’t pretend to be anything it’s not. I find that to be quite respectable.

Indeed, gothic horror, gothic romance, gothic “insert the larger genre here” doesn’t even attempt to hide the fact that its basic premise will always lie within stories about fucked up people with fucked up problems and a severe lack of control over their situations. To make matters worse, the viewer/reader will almost always end up hideously heartbroken for one or more characters due to the dramatic beauty and sadness that are par for the course within a gothic narrative.

Perfect examples of this can be seen in just about every iteration of Frankenstein that has ever been made, from literature to screen, every iteration of Rebecca that has ever been made, from literature to screen, and every iteration of The Haunting of Hill House that has ever been made, from literature to screen. Obviously, the quality of some versions are better than others and some exude more camp than others but the skeleton of gothic”ness” remains the same. And I love it all.
Dysfunction be damned.

But then I saw a film a few weeks ago that turned my world around and upended my conception of what was possible with gothic horror. This film took all my previously held concepts of gothic storytelling as a slightly damaging or damaged storytelling device and threw them out the window. I saw a film that was so genuinely important that it couldn’t be ignored or denied. This film was the New Zealand film, Mārama (2025).

Much like what I wrote about Blood Quantum, this movie takes horror genre tropes and clichés (specifically gothic horror in this case) and flips them in order to make bold and vital statements about cultural identity and the terror of colonialism.

Mārama (2025) was written and directed by Taratoa Stappard. A filmmaker of Māori descent, he noted that he made this film to honor and remember the women in his family. He has also spoken of plans to make more films on this theme, which delights me to no end. At the time of this post, Mārama is available to stream on Shudder, and I firmly recommend viewing it. Multiple times. Not only is it visually stunning, but the performances are phenomenal and the story itself is remarkable.
I’ve never seen a movie like this and doubt I ever will again (unless Stappard fulfills his movie-making promise).
It is horrifying, heartbreaking and infuriating. It is other level in its high caliber filmmaking and brutal honesty.

It does the British no favors. The manner in which it portrays their sheer indifference to cultural heritage destruction is wild. And completely on point. The best and worst thing about Mārama is how realistic it feels and comes across.

This film is challenging and a true horror film in every sense of the word.

Brief Synopsis:

A Māori woman named Mary Stevens receives a letter from a man in Yorkshire, England who claims to know something about her family. In true gothic fashion, once the lady arrives at said location, she is told by Nathaniel Cole, the master of the house, that the man who wrote the letter is now dead. She reluctantly accepts a position at Cole’s estate as a governess for a young girl living there, mostly based on the fact that this girl speaks te reo Māori, Mary’s native language. However…strangely…so does Nathaniel Cole. Mary soon discovers that this mysterious house is festooned with Māori cultural artifacts, including a wharenui (traditional Māori communal meeting house) that has been shipped all the way from New Zealand to Yorkshire and is simply sitting in the backyard.
It is by this building that Mary reveals her real (Māori) name to her young charge as Mārama.
While their relationship building is quite positive, the brightness of that moment darkens quickly and the story gets bad from there and a lot more bloody.

I hesitate to include too many spoilers as this is a film that needs to be seen and experienced.
The opulence of the gothic aesthetic plays monumental havoc with the savage flashbacks and psychic visions that Mārama experiences throughout the film. These images, seen only by Mārama and the viewers, lay bare the damage that British colonialism has caused the Māori people in no uncertain terms.


Traumatic and unquestioningly cruel, what we see through Mārama’s visions leave us no room to wonder what the relationship between the British and the Māori ever was but it does leave many questions about why this mysterious house has so many Māori treasures in it, including the wharenui and the little girl who fluently speaks te reo Māori.

Then, as if things couldn’t get any worse…they do. And when I say they get worse? THEY GET SO MUCH WORSE.

This will be the only scene that I will spoil. But it’s a big scene to me and I sobbed and cheered and gasped. I’ve never had a scene in a horror film produce so many sounds from me in such a short span of time. To call it brilliant would belittle its sheer power. It might well be one of the most important scenes in modern horror cinema.

Up until this point the film had a slightly supernatural edge with Mārama’s various flashbacks and psychic visions (although most were clearly trauma-induced so not supernatural at all), but this scene introduced the stone-cold reality and barbarous nature of colonialism. Every shot, every line of dialogue was real as fuck, and as such…it hit HARD.

It is a party scene- the birthday party for Nathaniel Cole, the master of the house, Mārama’s employer- and her presence has been requested. She has even been told what to wear. When she comes down to the celebration she sees a friend of Cole’s, another British man named Jack Fenton. She is shocked at the meeting. Not only does he, like Cole, speak her language, but he has tā moko tattoos, traditional Māori facial tattoos.
At first she thinks he’s a just a drunk creep, but then he does the unthinkable and the absolutely unforgivable.

Jack stands up in front of the whole party and puts on a dancing and singing performance parodying the Māori people. He sings a song that begins by celebrating Captain Cook (without whom British colonialism of Indigenous peoples would have been impossible) and concludes by belting out lyrics centering on the rape of Māori women, all while wearing what appears to be a cartoonish version of Māori dress. It’s one of the most horrifying displays of misogyny and colonialism I have ever witnessed cinematically.
The crowd, all white mid-Victorian folk, laugh gregariously, enjoying the presentation immensely and cheering Jack on with drinks and huge applause.

But the tension in the room is real.
Mārama is standing in the corner, burning with emotion. She has fully divested herself of the Mary Stevens identity that she arrived to England with and it is clear that she now sees herself as the free and proud Māori woman she is. Not only is she disgusted with what she has just witnessed from this fetishizing exploitative white man, she is furious.

And so she does exactly what any proud Māori woman would do in that circumstance: she challenges him to fight by performing a haka, a Māori ceremonial dance. It is beautiful and arresting and I’ve never seen it matched in horror cinema. The closest thing I could think of that held that kind of vibe was the build-up to and unleashed fury from Sissy Spacek as Carrie White in the prom scene of Brian DePalma’s Carrie (1976). And while this scene is certainly connected to that kind of energy it is also layered differently as it is not just coming from being a woman who has been done wrong systemically, it’s coming from being a colonized woman, who has been done wrong culturally and historically which brings in entirely different traumas and experiences of oppression.




As Mārama is concluding her haka, Jack understands what she is doing, as he has some cultural comprehension. So he looks terrified. But the rest of the partygoers think that her reaction, her haka, is simply “part of the performance” and they laugh even harder. At her. At her challenge to Jack. She has told him exactly what she wants to do to him in no uncertain terms but the white audience doesn’t understand as they speak only English.

Again, since watching Mārama, De Palma’s Carrie has been on my mind. The whole transition between Margaret White telling Carrie, “They’re all going to laugh at you” to the shots of the whole auditorium of teens laughing at Carrie…that humiliation. That pain. It’s so very real. And Mārama’s humiliation and pain after that racist performance and the laughter? That’s about as real as you can get. While I don’t see many analogies narratively between these two films, there are certain threads that run parallel. Certainly no one laughs at Carrie White as a result of her cultural expressions or her being an Indigenous person, but they do laugh at her because they don’t understand her, which is essentially what happens to Mārama in that room, both culturally and linguistically.

Thankfully, both movies end with (what I feel) is proper catharsis for our heroines.

I’m not going to expand upon the way Mārama concludes as I REALLY REALLY want you to watch it for yourself.
But I will say that it’s bloody and glorious and it’s a hellova revenge film.

What I love about Mārama (besides everything) is that it pays significant attention to colonial history, cultural detail and it doesn’t play around or make things soft. It’s a genuine horror film and stays true to it’s gothic horror roots. But it complicates gothic horror! It troubles the genre perfectly because gothic anything is historically a very white area and this film is very much not. I love that. We desperately need more films like this.

Finally, much like Blood Quantum, Mārama is yet another horror film that makes the wholly cogent point that English is actually the foreign language. It is pure historical fact. Just like Mic’maq in Blood Quantum, te reo Māori was being spoken in New Zealand far before English was. This may seem like a small detail, but it is huge.

Until next time…enjoy Spooky Season!





Elevated to the Gallows, pt 2- Colonialism and North America: Blood Quantum (2019)

After Obsession left such a bad impression on me, I have decided to go a different direction with this series.

Instead of deconstructing why I dislike the term elevated horror (which has been done so many times already by plenty of good people), I have decided to use the term elevated in a different sense: to actually ELEVATE a collection of radically underseen and under-appreciated horror works that deserve discussion, exploration and recognition.

When it comes to horror, the bottom line has traditionally been set at “what is the scariest thing you can think of experiencing?” With very few exceptions, that award has gone to the realm of the fantastic. From undead slashers and invasive serial killers, from deep dives into the supernatural and/or the occult to your standard borderline scifi creature features, horror has provided plenty of good scares. And while there is nothing wrong with these categories and I love all of them, the hill that I will 100% die on is that colonization and its accompanying trauma is the most terrifying and horrific experience that a human being could possibly undergo.

This month I sit firmly on the side of highlighting a certain area of horror cinema that has (thankfully) entered the horror canon unapologetically without taking no for an answer. Using classic genre tropes and rhetoric, these movies explore critically important and highly ignored narratives while intentionally reappropriating horror elements much in the way that the cultures and peoples discussed in these films have had themselves and their own cultures reappropriated. These films fucking rule.

And it makes me so. Grateful. For. Horror. Horror is probably the only genre that allows for the full-blown no-holds-barred graphic nature of this historical experience to be fully explored without compromise. And when it comes to exposing colonialism, its hateful nature, players and behavior, there should be NO COMPROMISE. So that said…I will warn you: if you’re not ready for some pure unadulterated anger and perhaps some of the most horrific rage-driven violence you’ve ever seen, these are not the films for you. But maybe they are. And maybe you need them regardless.

So let’s start.

This week was Indigenous Peoples’ Day in the US so I want to discuss a genuinely striking film from 2019 called Blood Quantum. This film was written and directed by Jeff Barnaby, a First Nations/Mi’kmaq filmmaker who was born on a reservation in Listuguj, Quebec. Blood Quantum takes White Colonialism to task for its treatment of Indigenous peoples throughout the years via the classic horror tropes of zombies and their relationship to viral illness/plague. And when I say it takes White Folks to task…IT DOES THE JOB, PROPER.

In all honesty, I wanted to revisit this film before I wrote about it because it is so heavy-duty, layered and, frankly, concurrently violent and beautiful. But I also wanted to publish this as close to Indigenous Peoples’ Day as possible. So choices have been made. If this article doesn’t do Blood Quantum justice, I apologize. I just want people to watch it.

I had heard good things about this film for a long time. I don’t know why it took me…6-7 years to watch it? But when it was released, everyone I know was raving about it. I wish I had seen it then so I could’ve had some interesting conversations.

I genuinely wonder what your Average White Guy Horror Film Fan thought.
I hope he was uncomfortable. I hope he was REALLY uncomfortable. This does a lot of things that a film like Get Out kinda…was just too accessible and nice to do. This film is. Not. Fucking. Nice. It does not play. And that’s a beautiful thing. But at the same time, it made me cry due to its sensitive character portrayals and genuine investigations into human relationships. This is a well-written film and brutal as fuck. It’s 100% my jam.

So let’s start with the title because, well, it plays a huge role in the plot and has historical significance.

According to a piece from the Native Governance Center, blood quantum is

a concept created by white settlers that refers to the amount of so-called “Indian blood” that an individual possesses. Blood quantum appears as a fraction and is “calculated” based on an individual’s family tree. Rooted in eugenics, the concept lacks any scientific basis…Blood quantum is a stand-in device for lineage imposed by the U.S. federal government to disempower Indigenous people and separate them from their lands, resources, culture, identities, languages, and futures…

This may sound familiar to those who are familiar with US Colonialist history. If you’ve heard of the “One Drop” rule for African-Americans (having “one drop” of African-American blood automatically made you Black) it was a similar mythical instrument of racial identification. And, as we can rightly see, both were based on completely whacked out White People “Racial Science” and they were both weaponized as horrific tools of colonialism and White Supremacy, allowing for entire populations of people to endure more pain and suffering than can any white person could possibly imagine.

But blood quantum has become more complex as the years moved on and that certainly comes into play in the film. Many tribes still use this colonial construct to decide who is accepted as part of the tribe and gauge “Indianness” and lineage. But as this interview with Elizabeth Rule has noted, much like Barnaby’s film, many times it’s now used simply as a tool of endurance. Rule states,

The thing that I’ve found to be most interesting about both arguments — in support and against blood quantum requirements — is the language of survival. So, lineal descendant supporters think about high memberships through the lens of existence as a resistance right. And so there’s a desire to build up tribes’ numbers and capacity in order to survive and perpetuate the tribe. On the other side, those who defend blood quantum requirements also evoke this language of survival, and they look upon those blood quantum minimums as a way to preserve an already existing closed community that’s very close and … usually very culturally connected.

So, the film’s title.
It’s already loaded. Without most of the audience knowing exactly how loaded it is.

SPOILERS AHEAD:

The film begins, as horror films usually do, on a perfectly normal day…Until it isn’t. We are introduced to Traylor, a First Nations police chief sheriff on the Red Crow Reservation.

After encountering dead animals coming back to life and some serious chomping action from violent criminals and other random white people, Traylor gives up on passing this whole thing off as a Bad Monday. Naturally, the film escalates but not in a conventional manner. We jump forward to 6 months after this No Good, Very Bad Day and the Red Crow reservation is now an apocalyptic wonderland, looking quite a bit like something out of Mad Max or a George Romero film.


But it gets better. The big reveal comes next.
We discover that there have been no infections within the Red Crow tribe even though people like Traylor were bitten by the infected. As it turns out, the Indigenous genetics of the First Nations people made the Red Crow immune to the bites and the resultant plague that “turned” people. But other people didn’t get so “lucky.”
Most of the population (read: white people) do not have that genetic safety code. And these people periodically come to the compound begging and pleading for safe space and shelter.
What a conundrum.

AND WHAT A FUCKING PREMISE.
And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.
The interracial relationship between Traylor’s son, Joseph, and his white (very pregnant) girlfriend makes life very complicated for, well, everyone. She’s the only white person who lives there and is somewhat (and I do mean somewhat) accepted. I could write an entire blog just on her positionality, white privilege and non-comprehension of the whole situation.

Then there’s Traylor’s other son, Lysol, raised in foster homes and burning with anger at not only white people but the world in general. He’s a genuinely fascinating character and represents colonial damage and trauma in a whole different way (which I will hit on later) but ends up having a massive impact on the narrative and everyone in it.


Blood Quantum is an exquisitely layered and complex film bursting at the seams with the full-throttle gore and excitement of a proper zombie film. The FX are no joke and they do not cost the plot anything. While I would certainly be a bit annoyed if people only watched it for that and straight up ignored the immense dexterity with which Barnaby wove a properly intelligent anti-colonial narrative into an electrifying horror film…I guess I would just be glad people are watching it. After all, I don’t see how you could, in all seriousness, call Blood Quantum just a “zombie film.” Most of it is in Mi’kmaq. That linguistic jump alone is a massive shift and just as important as the title.

The majority of viewers will view this as a “foreign language” or see this as qualifying as a “foreign language” title, but I would like to correct this. English is technically the “foreign language” in Blood Quantum. Mi’kmaq is a living language and has been spoken in North America (primarily in Canada’s Atlantic Provinces but going all the way down to Maine) for thousands and thousands of years. Far longer than white settlers have occupied Canadian or US soil. There is a mix of English and Mi’kmaq in the film but Mi’kmaq carries clear dominance. As I watched Barnaby’s film and it became more and more apparent that Mi’kmaq carried more power than English, I cried. I love horror films so much but to have a genre film actively rip apart the horrors of colonialism in a language that has actively survived the terrorism of white supremacy was a very emotional experience. This wasn’t the only time I cried. It brought out a lot of feelings, even amidst the blood and guts.

Most zombie media (especially that which directly references plague and sickness) facilitates ruminations on the self, identity and relations to community and future survival. That’s kinda a no-brainer, pun intended. And, of course, Blood Quantum is no different. But meditations on survival and community from the perspective of a colonized population do not hit the same way as a the frightened bleatings of privileged white folks. It’s not that I don’t have sympathy for General Zombie Film People, it’s just that white privilege exists all day every day and when hordes of white zombies are trying to invade a First Nations reservation? It changes everything. Not only does everything go up to 11 in terms of socio-critical relevance, but it becomes a different film. It becomes a re-imagining of past trauma when white people did the exact same thing just…without zombie-ism as an excuse. And bless Barnaby for this.

There is a lot of discussion amongst the Red Crow about whether the compound should allow white people in and whether they should save white people. Watching this conversation happen on film was incredible. But it was also gut-wrenchingly sad. That it should take a zombie invasion to revert proper agency and power to the very people whose land it was to begin with just gutted me (also pun intended, I guess).

And yes, these conversations about human decency and survival were real, especially when they dealt with children. But for me, I kept thinking: this is a First Nations community that has worked like hell to make themselves safe in the middle of an unsafe time and they are able to be safe from white folks for the first time in history. Why should they help white people?? If situations were reversed, what would have happened? Would white people have helped the Red Crow? I doubt it. As many zombie films/tv shows have shown, white folks are very much out for themselves in survival situations. But I guess that was part of the point.

Charlie, Joseph’s pregnant girlfriend, is white and (as such) tries to plead for “everyone” to survive. But it’s hard to watch her do that. Knowing that just outside the walls there are thousands of hungry and detrimental beings who are part of a population that has been trying to kill the people within the walls of the compound since the day they arrived on North American soil. White people in this film are zombies and diseased but…haven’t we always been? Even if we don’t have an actual “plague”? Isn’t colonialism a sickness? And, yes, I do say “we” because I am white and I cannot remove myself from this problem just because I am against the kyriarchy and am a fundamentally anti-colonialist individual.

I’m spending a lot of time on this because it hit me hard. Especially since it discusses land/space/property and safety so explicitly, things that First Nations people have never had the luxury of. The eventual allowance of a few white people in to try to save them was done out of altruism but it ultimately felt suspicious to me and echoed the history of white people taking advantage of Indigenous people and their kindnesses.

Ultimately, however, the story doesn’t go wrong because of the centuries-old obvious hate from white people, it gets undone by someone on the inside. Which is the most frightening aspect of the film. The hatred and rejection that Traylor’s son Lysol (given name Alan) has internalized (from all sides) causes him to act out in the most violent of manners, primarily against his own tribe, destroying everything and everyone in his wake.

I couldn’t help but think that this was also a comment on colonialism as well. Lysol, the product of foster homes, was did not receive the same sort of care and love that Joseph got, turning out bitter and fiercely angry. He was not the same kind of person as the rest of the people on the reservation. A troublemaker, into drugs and drinking, he comes off as a genuinely unhappy and hateful person, becoming more hostile as the film goes on. He vigorously repudiates Charlie for being white and vocally rejects her interest towards saving anyone outside the tribe, defending himself by saying that it was only to keep the Red Crow reservation safe.

Lysol’s past created him and, once again, I think we can turn to colonialism for an explanation. There is a tragically large historical precedent for First Nations children being removed from their families and getting placed in Foster Care. Blood Quantum takes place in 1981, putting Lysol smack dab in what is called the Sixties Scoop. This horrific collection of official policies in Canada forcibly took thousands and thousands of Indigenous children from their families and placed them in non-Indigenous homes, sometimes as far away as the UK, Australia or Germany. Suffice to say, they did not usually get treated well nor were they allowed to explore their culture.

While Blood Quantum takes place in Quebec, the Sixties Scoop affected all provinces and the discourse on Lysol as a foster child is real and so is the trauma he exhibited. Does it make his villain turn right?
No.
Does it make it understandable?
Hell yes.
Can we still look to and blame the horrors of colonialism and terrible whiteness for the terrifying conclusion to Blood Quantum?

ABSOLUTELY.

Blood Quantum asks a lot of important questions of the viewer and I believe that, unlike other, more mainstream horror works, postcolonial horror films give answers. Whether people are ready to listen is another story. I believe strongly that horror is the perfect genre to question and investigate difficult subject matter. I am so grateful for Blood Quantum.



Korean Obsession poster

Elevated to the Gallows, pt.1 : Why I’m Not Obsessed with Obsession

This past Sunday, I had a really nice dinner with my friend David after the worst week of probably both of our lives in a long time. Truth be told, we had both been through real life versions of a horror film as we both lost our longtime companion cats this week completely out of nowhere so the grieving has been real, here in Seoul. That kind of loss is simply unendingly painful and unspeakable and the experience is truly horrific so we needed a day to decompress and so we went out.

During our meal, as we are wont to do, we started speaking about cinema, more specifically, horror films. I had just finished catching up on a collection of titles on Saturday that I had been trying to watch and so we chatted about the Good, The Bad and the Ugly of these works. Annnnnnd, of course, the term “elevated horror” came up. We agreed on many points but the main one being that it’s a slightly condescending and/or silly term that has the unfortunate ability to undercut and undermine current horror cinema works but also disregards the caliber of previous work.

Thus I have decided to write a few pieces on “elevated horror” for Spooky Month, 2026. I’m going to start with a film that I had very serious issues with because some friends asked me to explore that in a larger setting than a simple Letterboxd review or Bluesky post. I am, of course, happy to do because there were many things about Curry Barker’s Obsession (2025) that I found not only objectionable but flat-out upsetting.

First I want to talk about what a sensation this film is here in Korea. It’s HUGE. And that alone is unsettling in a country where, statistically, young men do not play well with their ladyfriends. Stalking is massive here. I have had more women friends and acquaintances than I can count relay horror stories to me about having to deal with an ex who evolved into a horror-film-style stalking presence in their lives. Not that this doesn’t happen in the Western world but in my almost 7 years of living here, it’s one of the bigger negative issues I’ve noticed that stands out in a way that it never has in any other country I’ve visited or lived in.

So how does this relate to Obsession? Well, the popularity of this film here in Korea concerns me as a) not all the representations are positive (many are flat-out negative) and b) I think it’s a clumsy attempt at social commentary costumed in the gown of this whole Elevated Horror thing.

A film synopsis (SPOILERS AHEAD!): a young man named Bear has a hard-core crush on his friend, Nikki. She doesn’t seem to be returning his affections, so he makes a wish on a novelty item for her to “love him more than anyone else” and it becomes a Monkey’s Paw situation but worse (if I ever thought that to be possible). The horrors that reveal themselves after Nikki becomes possessed with the obsession are not only terrible to watch and manage to be so toxic that they leave everything and everyone in their lives and friend-group completely destroyed (and mostly dead). By the end of the film the person who is left to deal with literally all the consequences is the Real Unobsessed Nikki because the only way to break the wish is for Bear to die by suicide (which he eventually does).

So I do want to be clear that I think the film has had a lot of fascinating reactions, many of which are quite positive. But that doesn’t make it a good movie. In fact, I see these things as simply by-products of a film that is largely hateful towards women. There is an extensive discourse that has followed between couples and various men and women post-release that, in my eyes, is quite a good thing. Obsession has certainly created a space in which men can show their asses and women can reject them for being the asses that they have shown themselves to be. What am I talking about? Let’s do a bit of amateur sleuthing.

If you take a look on Reddit, TikTok, Instagram or even simply type in “couples breaking up over the film Obsession” there are now copious hits. You can find dozens upon dozens of videos, posts, rants, blogs and real-life internet horror stories about women who went to see the film with their partners only to discover, post-viewing, that said-partner (always a cis-male, usually white) was on the side of the character Bear and felt no sympathy (let alone empathy) for the character of Nikki. That part isn’t as interesting as the fact that these women are actively seeing this as a big ol’ red flag and ending their relationships over it. Over a movie. Which…I support. Because I do think this film kinda hates women. If it didn’t, it would have been far more meticulous and caring over the representation of Nikki. Even a horror movie has to love its characters. And the Obsessed “Freaky Nikki”? She did not get much love.

I understand that Barker likely never intended to demonize Nikki or make Bear the hero. But if you make a clumsy film, you get clumsy results. And, sadly, when you attach age-old misogynist tropes to a female character (even one who is “not herself” at the time of said-portrayal), it’s destined to backfire. While Nikki is clearly supposed to be a different person while she is Obsessed, Obsessed Nikki resonates far too well with areas of toxic masculinity that I virulently reject.

Haven’t we seen enough women acting like babies or being child-like for attention? This patronizing male fantasy made me physically ill. Nikki acts like she’s 7 not in her early 20s with her pouty-face, stomping and throwing tantrums. Barker makes the horror film-effort to take it to 11 and underscore Bear realizing that his fantasy is no longer so fantastic, but it’s the honoring and uplifting of a male fantasy nonetheless, while sacrificing a woman’s dignity.

Not only that, but clearly, with the film’s Wish Fulfillment (in the Freudian sense and the narrative sense), Nikki’s agency is not only denied but she becomes trapped in her own body which no longer belongs to her and also she cannot control. Even basic bodily functions like urination (which she does on Bear’s carpet, like an untrained animal), are no longer within her grasp. One might argue that this is a commentary about the patriarchy, but one might also be wrong. The kinds of suffering and humiliation that we watch this woman go through just because one dude was upset about being friend-zoned is just a bucket full of ladyhate. We see this everyday. Why exploit a woman’s body and soul just to show what a dick Bear is?

Literally, we get it. He’s not a good guy. He’s not the Nice Guy everyone thinks he is. Not every Nice Guy is a Nice Guy. Ok, fine. But I didn’t need to watch the woman protagonist/antagonist run through the litany of stereotypes that men have about “bad girlfriends”- I certainly didn’t need to see the nagging, screeching, needy cliché played out. That’s so old. And it’s not smart. This film certainly had potential but it missed the target with all the anger directed towards women. And boy howdy, that was a lot of anger.

I will freely admit that Inde Navarette, who plays Nikki, does a fantastic job. She plays the role perfectly. But it’s not a role that is meant to be liked. If anything she is meant to be pitied, and what woman wants to be pitied?

I think that Bee Dolores in her carefully considered critique of Obsession, said it best when she wrote:

The swell of the manosphere…has been devastatingly plastered inside Obsession in a way that’s neither cheeky (as good satire should be) nor poignant in deconstructing male rage against women. In 2026, I’m not advocating for subtlety (we’re long past that), but I do demand a far more careful and critical analysis of our culture, especially if you are a cis straight white man making movies.

So I ask- is this “elevated horror”? Is this what we are talking about when we are imagining this new “smart-scare” genre? I think not. It does not like or respect women and its inclusion in the new “elevated horror” continuum allows it to argue for its complexity and its social “responsibility.” Sure, it’s horror, but it’s ladyhatin’ horror. Which we certainly don’t need any more of these days.

A well-made film with great effects and great performances, but extremely problematic and emphasizes some of the issues in the “elevated horror” umbrella term. And sometimes you just have to call this shit out. Basically, in my eyes, if it looks like a duck, and it acts like a duck…well, fucking quack quack. It’s a damn duck.

Blown Away: The Aussie Magic of Body Blow

One of the main reasons that I love going to BIFAN every year is that, like clockwork, I meet One of My Kind. And if that sounds weird or like I’m some kind of alien being, so be it.

The bottom line is that when I’m at home (whether it was LA-home or my current Seoul-home), it’s very difficult to meet people who you click with. Especially when you’re a film addict like me.

I got REALLY lucky this year. I feel like I won the damn lottery. Not only did I meet several people who were Just My Type but they were also filmmakers! So OMG. EVEN BETTER. The people who I jammed with on these levels were creative and making things I could enjoy??? How did I get so lucky??

BIFAN is truly the epicenter of my happiness in Korea. As a genre film junkie, it gives me all the things I need in people, cinema and fun. And this year- the 30th Anniversary- was no different. Dinners full of laughter and film geek chatting, drinks until the late night/early morning, discussions about everything cinema and media culture…It’s really heaven on earth.

So one night I went to this party. And it was hot so I was just really happy about the air conditioning. But I also noticed this very stylish man with great hair and glittery long shorts who was truly holding court with everyone he met. I thought: “I would like to meet him at some point” but I also was ensconced in beer and conversation with the people at my table.

The night wore on and lo and behold…the amazing woman that I spent a great deal of my time with this year, Elizabeth, decided that he and I HAD TO MEET so she brought him over. And the rest (as they say) is history.

THERE WAS 노래방 / KARAOKE MADNESS until the sun came up. I loved his energy and his thoughts and attitude towards cinema and the world and I hadn’t even seen his film yet.

WHEN I SAW IT? I was floored. Welcome to the incredible Dean Francis, a brilliant queer Aussie filmmaker who truly knows what’s up. Our conversations were dynamic and political, funny and important. His outlook towards the world is unique and I adore it. He is 100% punk rock in the true meaning of Punk Rock.

So what is this incredibly enticing piece of film that Dean has created? Let me just show you a picture first. The thing about his film is that it is SO VISUAL and beautifully stylized that it’s practically impossible to just tell you about. I just want everyone to see it. It’s worth watching for a cadre of reasons. To start with, its pictorial elegance, while stylized and opulent, also edges towards the deliciously sleazy and sordid. It drips with both vice and victory in its depictions of sex and violence. So obviously it was MY kind of film. Rarely do I get the privilege of watching a film that so effortlessly slides in and out of seediness simply through optics. It was SO FUN.

Its director, Dean Francis, who I will continue to celebrate and praise, had this to say about the way the film was shot:

Visually, I wanted to speak in the language of De Palma’s moving camera and
strong colours, Billy Wilder’s noir shadows, John Waters’ camp, and Greg
Araki’s nihilistic danger. I wanted to keep the seams of the film showing —
grainy textures, front-projection car scenes, under-lit rooms — like a film
forgotten in someone’s closet.

Just look at one of these shots….

It would be disingenuous of me to pretend that this film was a simple crime film or just a neo-noir. Because that’s just not how Body Blow works. It’s so much smarter than that. When Dean and I met, he told me it was an homage to 90s erotic thrillers. Which…if you don’t have an appreciation for, why are you reading my blog? They have such a great love for the complexity of women and y’all know that’s my jam!
So when I got the chance to see this film…OH HOLY SHIT DID I CRY WITH JOY! We really need more films like this. It’s all good and well to rewatch Sharon Stone and Glenn Close make that screen explode over and over with the classics, but I genuinely think it is possible to bring this genre into a new age and that Dean Francis has been able to do it. He does his film and the erotic thriller genre so much justice in his words. Check it:

I grew up in the ’90s, and it felt like movie characters defined how we
thought about ourselves and who we wanted to be. In those hyper-masculine
film worlds, the rules were the same: the man wins, the woman is the prize,
and their kiss is the final stamp of validation. As much as I loved
everything about those ’90s erotic thrillers, my growing awareness of my
gayness meant I always watched them as an outsider.
BODY BLOW was conceived as a way to explore these ideas and reclaim the
erotic thriller from a queer perspective. I craved the seductive, dangerous
pleasures of Body Heat, Basic Instinct, and Crimes of Passion, but wanted to
create gay anti-heroes we could all idolise and lust after.


To me, this film also reflects everything that I enjoy about a good crime or noir film- a heist, a “wrong man” scenario, a femme fatale (in this case a homme fatale), an deeply tortured/conflicted lead character and a deep questioning of authority and right/wrong… Body Blow blatantly revels in the glorious narrative textures and complex discussions that caused me to fall deeply and desperately in love with films like The Big Heat (Fritz Lang, 1953), Laura (Otto Preminger, 1944) and Where The Sidewalk Ends (Otto Preminger, 1950). Of course, this is not a classic noir by any means. Those three films I mentioned are certainly part of Body Blow‘s cinematic cloth, but the film is far more than that. I hate being this hyperbolic about something, but after my conversations with Dean about the queer scene in Australia and the birth of this piece, I was so struck by the revolutionary-ness of Body Blow.

What’s unfortunate is that people don’t seem to know a whole lot about Australia, Australian film or what’s going on in Australia. Sure, loads of people have seen Muriel’s Wedding or Pricilla, Queen of the Desert (both great) but Australia has this wild and fascinating genre-bound film history and many of those films center on being an outsider or being isolated, much like Body Blow. Even the non-genre films tell stories of ostracism. A few of my favorite examples are Angel Baby (Michael Rymer, 1995), Stone (Sandy Harbutt, 1974), and Picnic at Hanging Rock (Peter Weir, 1975)- still one of the most terrifying films I have EVER SEEN. But I think the most relevant films are films like Sweet Country (Warwick Thornton, 2017) or The Sum of Us (Geoff Burton and Kevin Dowling, 1994), two films that truly focus on the trauma that exists (and builds) as a member of an oppressed community- one aboriginal, one queer.

Queer films are, and always have been, revolutionary…Body Blow is “an act of resistance” as Dean has written of his film. That is their nature. But the background on this is exceptionally important and while going into it without prior knowledge is fine (I’m one of those people who likes to go in that way), I think knowing the history and continued issues going on in Australia are not only important but rather shocking.

When I met Dean, we spoke of many things regarding the film but one of the things we focused on was the police angle and what that meant within the queer world, the Australian queer world and larger concepts of force and authority. Being from Los Angeles, I obviously have my own feelings about the police, their presence at Pride, and more. But apparently the current situation in Australia is not very progressive. There are bar raids, hate crimes and more. By the police. So using the police to question positions of power and flipping the situation completely, making it a queer police squad…is so smart and so very brutal at the same time.

It would be a dire mistake to see Body Blow as a film that supports or is somehow “pro” police. That is so far from the truth it’s not even funny. If that is what you see, I beg you to examine this work further. It’s a really goddamn smart film. It would be sooooo easy to make a good guy/bad guy movie where the police (who are *supposed* to work for good) are your “winners.” And sure- Francis made a point of not killing the queer heroes. But THAT’S a choice too. Go into Body Blow understanding that it’s not only a meticulously created piece, but complex and smart. Don’t take everything at face value. That would undervalue this piece.

Context is essential when it comes to Body Blow and I want to place this film in the correct context so that you, my reader, can understand how critical the narratives of power, authority and “official conduct” are when it comes to this brilliantly layered neo-noir queer film.

When I spoke to Dean, we talked about his formative years and what it was like to be gay in Australia. This is a very personal film for him, and I think that needs to appreciated. We look at genre films in a way that separates them from the author because they are “genre” but the truth is that many genre works are deeply personal. Body Blow is no exception.

In a recent conversation, Dean had this to say:

When I first started going to gay bars I was underage and I was an actor on TV. It was a few years after the Tasty raid – in which around 450 people were strip searched by cops in a gay bar. So as if the lingering fear of HIV wasn’t enough at the time, closeted boys like me lived with the constant fear of being raided, outed, fired, humiliated. My formative sexual experience happened in this environment of fear. So themes of power / control / permission / submission in the film probably come from that. It was more subconscious at first in developing the film, but I’m honing in on it a bit more…

Things are not very progressive in Australia at the moment – or ever. This is despite there being a general mentality in Australia that we are the lucky country, worlds apart from the sort of facism we’re seeing in the US or Europe. We have a Labor Government and many independent members of Parliament. The “right wing” of politics is pretty crippled. Australians just don’t open their eyes. Anything to deny we’re living in a colonial police state…
We held a rally in Hyde Park, just like we did after the June 10 raids and after a serving police officer allegedly murdered two gay men in their beds a couple years ago (he’s about to go on trial). But history keeps repeating. 

The same history in which gay men were thrown off the cliff face at Marks Park near Bondi Beach and, despite being found dead with hair that was not their own under their fingernails, classified as suicides for decades by the cops. That was the 90s. There was an inquest a few years ago that achieved next to nothing because the police basically refused to cooperate. 

So now they just get away with it. Like when they beat a teenager half to death at the Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras a decade ago. Then harassed elderly members of the 78ers, the very people who were beaten and arrested and publicly shamed by cops in the first parade in 1978. Just this year they were back at it again. They do it every year. And everyone in Australia just seems to think it’s normal. 

Body Blow is an important film. It is important for a number of reasons. It’s critical that it’s Australian. That it’s queer. That it’s celebrating erotic thriller culture. It’s important that it literally asks the audience to critically examine power structures and authority figures. This is a different and wonderful film. I see it as a crime/noir cousin to Female Trouble (John Waters, 1974), subverting every socially acceptable norm and not just subverting them but rejecting them and undoing them for significant reasons. Female Trouble fiercely attacked heteronormativity using camp tactics. Body Blow actually goes a bit further (not to undermine Saint John of the Waters) and utilizes anger, frustration and cinema passion to underscore revolutionary statements.

If I have filled your head with too much serious shit, please let me release you from that bond. You are free from that cock cage (in Body Blow terminology). While I am always someone who wants to investigate ideas of gender, sexuality and subversion (my holy trinity), let me reassure you that this film is easy to just enjoy.
The story is good, the performances are hot, and it’s a solid piece of queer neo-noir.
I was stunned by the way it held up and didn’t rely on its stylization (because it’s highly stylized).

And while it certainly bears the Stamp of Camp (not a detractor), it gives space for so much exploration. And that’s what a proper crime film will do.

This film makes you think. This film is layered. And, most importantly, this film is enjoyable.

The characters are well developed and unusual. The story is well-constructed and the experience of Body Blow is like nothing else you will ever have.

Go see it or rent it. You won’t have any regrets.

For a viewing near you (or one that you SHOULD travel to) go here.

For AWESOME merchandise? Same link, but I’ll link it again….here

Also, please let me show you some of the merch designed for this amazing piece of cinema. I feel so lucky to have gotten these cards!!!

BIFAN 2026, part 2: Let’s Talk Cinema

So the first film I went to see at BIFAN 2026 was a suspense thriller in their women-fronted section called Missing (Lee Eon-hee, 2016).

I think part of me knew what to expect, but I was pleasantly surprised. I was really happy to have made that choice. While not flawless, it was really enjoyable, especially on a big screen (as all good cinema is).

The film centers on a workaholic mother dealing with a nasty divorce and custody battle whose child is suddenly abducted by her nanny. Although this narrative seems relatively basic, the film does investigate a lot of women’s issues that don’t always get worked through in Korean media (or elsewhere).

[some spoilers ahead]

Missing is an older film (2016) so I knew that it was going to have some things to contend with, time and culture-wise. Older films always do. But (in my opinion) that’s usually the easiest part to acknowledge and get past. My issue is always with the body and soul of the film. If a movie is missing the meat- if the story is as solid as Swiss cheese- then it usually misses the mark for me. I feel like this film held up, especially as a film for women’s issues and as a women’s thriller. I enjoyed the ride and it gave me plenty to think about. It was suspenseful and action-packed and the challenges for the primary character were real.

I did have concerns at first…One of my first concerns was the nationality discourse. There was a cultural conflict between the Chineseness of the nanny and the Koreanness of the mother. As a woman living in Korea, I am quite aware of the racist feelings that are present between Korean and Chinese cultures. So in a situation that has a very clear class and socio-economic differential (a mother and a nanny), I was more than a little worried as to where this story might go, especially when the mother was on the search for her daughter in brothels and other desperate locations.

However, I was pleasantly surprised to see the film flip this uncomfortable environment and relationship text over and make it go into a different direction than I thought it would. That was probably my favorite part of the film.

But I also saw that it was definitely a film made by a woman who felt the need to pack too many unnecessary elements into the film which is (sadly) not unusual for a woman’s film. Men get a lot of chances to make movies. Even if their first film doesn’t kill it, they have historically gotten more opportunities at second films than women. And I felt that there was a certain amount of “overstuffing” going on within the narrative.

I wasn’t opposed to the items that were included, by any means, as I think they were all very important…but I think they made the film too busy. A mother who never gets to see her child due to the work-or-die culture in Korea, a virulently bitter and angry Mother-in-Law, a man from the criminal element who tries to help the main character on her journey to find her baby, several other things that don’t necessarily pan out. A few of those things worked in the films favor but…other things made it messy and too full.

Sometimes (especially in older films- and 2016 is technically a bit older now) when a film IS a bit packed…if it’s woman-directed/headed up, I give it a little more leeway. I think Missing qualifies. I had a good time watching it and it is worth checking out.

**In between this film and the next one I’m going to write about, I met people, I went to parties, I had 100% one of the best Karaoke 노래방 nights of my life with a few of the most excellent people who I will mention again later and I continued to celebrate cinema…again, BIFAN is a non-stop festival of film love and joy and I just love it so much!!! Now…back to the movies**


My next film was a re-watch, so I was initially only medium excited about it. But I WAS SO WRONG!!!!! Watching this on the big screen in Korea, not to mention a 4K restoration was just….a GIFT. I wish I could properly describe all the feelings running through my body as I watched this amazing work of cinema on the big screen, but it would be absolutely impossible. BUT I WILL TRY.

I moved to Korea in 2019, so I have had to really really think if I have seen Yeon Sang-ho’s absolute masterwork, Train to Busan a) in the theaters or b) since I moved here.

The conclusion I came to was that I **may** have seen it in a theater in LA, but I have never watched it in Korea. Like, never ever. And considering how long I have been here…my comprehension of the film has changed 360 degrees. This is a brilliant film from all perspectives but its absolute Koreanness and ties to Korean culture were missed by the non-Korea-living-Ariel.

That all changed with this mind-blowing, ear-blessing (the sound is sooooooooo good! Massive kudos to those who restored the sound!!!!), restoration. I’m not going to say that I was Korea-stupid when I lived in LA- I wasn’t. Obviously not. That’s part of why I picked up and left my life there and moved here. But, that said, the critical nature of this film was not as clear to me when I saw it previously (although it should have been- it’s a fucking zombie movie- THE horror genre of “social commentary”, amirite??). That said…let’s get on with it, as they say.

As a film archivist, this is a killer restoration. It really is like seeing the film for the first time, even if you’ve seen it. It’s crisp, clear, and visually perfect. The colors are stunning and it’s not overly digitized. It’s very clear that the people who worked on it cared about what they were doing and didn’t “go for the gold” as far as excessive motion work or FX as far as what is available. There is a lot of new technology that has become available in the restoration world in the last 10 years and we are dealing with fast zombies, not Romero’s classics. Could’ve been so bad. And it wasn’t. It was truly lovely.
The film was cleaned up the way it should have been, meticulously cared for and not excessively worked over. No one looked like they’d had plastic surgery (no one’s skin was too smooth), all the materials (clothing, train seats, environments, etc) kept their original “skins” and the color tones were time-appropriate (year and time-of-day). I know these things sound nerdy as hell (or weird) but they are important to someone like me who spent a lot of my life working in the preservation and restoration world.

But restoration and preservation was not the only thing I was watching for. Train to Busan is one hell of a motion picture.

I had THE best time watching it and got a whole new experience out of it.
Now that I live here, I have a deeper and fuller appreciation for the film. There is so much meaning in these characters. From the baseball team and the little girl with the separated parents to the salaryman who was a social zombie in his life before he was a dead flesh-eating zombie (very Romero) these characters all really got under my skin in a different and amazing way. Sure, I love zombie films and this one has always been top-notch. But the massive differential in when I saw it near its release in the US and now, upon restoration, living in the country its from is real.

Anyways, whether you live in Korea or elsewhere, do not miss this restoration. It is the real deal.

More BIFAN updates to come….

Happy 30th, BIFAN!: Film Adventures, Part 1

So I was back at BIFAN for what was my 7th year and it was amazing as usual. I’m writing this post-mortem, after a few days back at work, somewhat recovered. But…generally I don’t recover from my BIFAN experiences for quite a while afterwards. They’re too extraordinary.

Seeing all the people I am so grateful to know in the global film community and having the rare and beautiful chance to reconnect and chat about film, the state of the industry and random nonsense over great food and drinks until far too late at night/early in the morning.

Then there’s the added bonus of meeting NEW people and learning about new projects and films being made and pitched which is also so inspiring! As an academic and career film fan, I am someone who is (likely) the intended audience for these works. Therefore, it always gives me hope when I sit down for dinner with people at BIFAN from a host of countries and cities (some I’ve been to, some I’ve never even heard of!) and get a chance to experience the passion, enthusiasm and creativity that is alive and well in the genre film world. This year was no different.

It’s not easy out there. I had a lot of conversations during the festival with people who I would call genuine film warriors. Money is tight (if there at all), offers for purchase and distribution are unfair (understatement) and it’s just rough. But these people are working their asses off to keep genre film not simply alive but growing and thriving. This makes me incredibly happy and grateful.

I’m still mulling over all the films that I saw in my head and those write-ups are coming! But what I wanted to do first was just get a feel for my experience written out. And…what was my experience? As usual, I loved it. For 10 days I was so happy, relaxed and at ease. I was immersed in cinema and cinema people. Of so many different kinds…restorations, Korean cinema, women-made films, extreme horror, queer media…it’s just a joy to exist there for that brief moment of my summer.

Honestly, when I’m at home here in Seoul, it can get a little hard and lonely. The cinema spaces are very different and the community is not the same. BIFAN gives me this glorious gift every year. Great conversations, great films, great theaters to watch movies in…and I never take it for granted.

This year was also super cool as they had a tent full of swag from past BIFANs so I got some super cool stuff that I will be rocking for ages! A great Nightmare on Elm Street-themed bag and tee. Sooooo into it!!!

This piece is just a basic initial update to be effusive about how much I enjoyed myself and say that I’m still alive after 10 days of insane living with my beautiful brilliant friends in Bucheon that I see annually.

Sooooooo….watch this space for subsequent discussions of really interesting work such as the 4K Restorations of Train to Busan (Yeon Sang-ho, 2016) and Save the Green Planet (Jang Joon-Hwan, 2003), as well as a Bollywood restoration, a 70s Korean horror restoration, a Korean woman-directed thriller, and a GENUINE queer banger homage to 90s erotic thrillers called Body Blow (Dean Francis, 2025) amongst others!

Thanks BIFAN for the opportunity to get to do this yet again!

No Words, and Plenty of Them

I have no words for the land of my birth right now. At least…no good ones. And I’m afraid to say the ones I want to say. This has never happened to me in my life.

A short time ago, a very evil man with the initials “CK” was killed and I said something on social media about him and my account was suspended for 24 hours. This is, of course, nothing in comparison to the multitudes of people who have, in turn, lost their jobs (or worse) simply for doing the same: speaking their mind.

I’m a writer. I have been a writer since I was a young child. I figured out pretty early on that I was not a fiction author. Couldn’t finish a story to save my ass. But I’m damn good at criticism, theory and media analysis. So that has been what I have run with. Lucky for me, I have found some success at that after landing here in Korea. I only had a fair run in the US. But the last almost 6 years here have shown me that my examination of oppression, gender studies and representation has some kind of place here. What that is is still anyone’s guess (Korea is still developing in certain regards) but my work is being appreciated in various sectors.

I talked with my mom today and I just couldn’t imagine what my extremely socially-conscious grandparents would say if they read the news and saw that these fairly innocuous late-night hosts were being censored. And when I say “fairly innocuous” I don’t mean that they are not powerful. They are. But let’s think about it for a moment- did people who hated Colbert really watch Colbert? Not bloody likely. Thankfully the man won an Emmy and quoted Prince (❤️) as the bookend to his on-air tenure, but really?

Men like Colbert and Kimmel…they’re a salve for the wounded (us). To paraphrase Kris Kristofferson, they are there to help us get through the night. They’re not going to physically make anyone get out of their chairs and go on a march. That is up to the individual her/him/themself. Mind you, there is a gigantic difference between the two hosts- Colbert was highly critical of the world around him so he did “punch a higher floor” while Kimmel? He was there to entertain. But we need entertainment. Silly laughter during some pretty apocalyptic times is just necessary.

Honestly, the importance of late-night hosts cannot be overstated. And when they come under attack, that is a bigger deal than we think. Why? Because what else is there late at night, after a hard day, when the world is not what you want and maybe you just want to zone out and catch up on a few jokes? Late Night is a tradition. And it’s slowly being murdered by the censorship machine. This scares me. Like many things.

In Korea, Late Night is not a tradition. The thing here is variety shows- quiz shows, game shows and all kinds of really fun cooking and reality shows that put the US ones to shame. I don’t always understand what is going on during all of them (my Korean is improving but certainly not *quite* at that “understand what the hell is going on during a game show” level) but they are always a relief to watch. They are full of fun graphics, unique contestants and highly interesting situations. So the viewer response is…similar to that of Late Night.

Korea would flip the fuck out if these shows started to get taken away. If anyone was paying attention to recent politics here, you saw what we did with our last president so I think you can guess that we would never allow these TV shows to get chucked.

But Korea is not the US. And I guess I’m glad for that, as I live here now and no longer in the US. But all the people I love still live in the US and…what if I ever have to come back? Will there be anything for me to come back to?

Late Night has always had a revolutionary side. So…sure. I can see why the Right would be scared. Ed Sullivan was adamant about having black performers on his show and treating them not as equals but like the stars they were during a time when they were unable to sit at the same lunch counter as white folks. The Smothers Brothers…well, you can google them. That’s a whole entry in and of itself. And maybe those were different kinds of shows.

But Late Night Television has a long and varied history that is centered on being able to BE THERE FOR YOU at the end of the day. No matter who you are. Sometimes the episodes are just stupid promos for a celeb’s new movie. Sometimes they are more. Are they dangerous? Only if you think the public should be remotely happy or feel some kind of peace for a brief shining moment in their currently chaotic existence.

I have a lot of shame as an American ex-pat right now, and, from the looks of things, I better get a bigger Shame Bucket cuz it seems like the one I currently got? Ready to overflow.

interior of a spooky broken down house

Home is Anywhere You Hang Your Head: Oddity

Last night I watched Damian McCarthy’s 2024 film, Oddity. Needless to say, I absolutely loved it. As a horror film (it gave me a jump scare! SO rare for me!!), as a women-in-horror-film and as what I saw as this violent bridge between toxic masculinity and domesticity in cinema.

Obviously domesticity has played a massive role in film over the years, but with this series I want to examine how there is a preponderance of films that align men’s need for power and their ownership for a home/house. I will take this and weigh it up against women’s safety issues and delve into a variance of thoughts that I have on heteronormativity and domestic lives, class, and what consists of “home,” “safety,” and “power.”

Generally, I hate spoilers and I don’t do them. But since this is more of an academic project (and they don’t care a whit about spoilers) I’ll just give you the upfront right now: There will be spoilers. So if you care about those things, see the film before you read each of these pieces.

On to Oddity and my need to start exploring this topic, especially now.

Oddity film poster from 2024

I’ve been trying to watch more films recently and this one was on my list for a while. I have also been thinking about concepts of “home” a lot so it was pretty odd that they ended up integrating these things within one work. But that happens sometimes. Ah, film, you therapeutic bitch! You know exactly what I need sometimes!

Anyway, all that aside, the story isn’t overly preoccupied with the theme that I’m preoccupied with. It’s primarily centered on connections- familial, supernatural, and the toxicity shared between two supposedly “sane” men who work in a clinic for the mentally ill.

Dani and Darcy are twin sisters (both played by the remarkable Carolyn Bracken). Dani, married to psychiatrist Ted Timmis (Gwilym Lee), has just moved out to the countryside to the couple’s new home which (because Horror Movie Rules Say So) has very little cell phone service. This is, however, completely acceptable in the film. It’s that good. We learn from a short exposition by Timmis to his clearly slimy coworker Ivan (Steve Wall), that he’s quite into his new home.

Then Dani dies. But the film does not exactly tell us how. Which is excellent. It hints at it through a thoroughly terrifying scene starring one of Dr. Timmis’ recently-released mental patients, Olin Boole (Tadgh Murphy), but it does what truly great films do- gives breadcrumbs of information, not entire slices.

In a film like this, you really don’t want a sandwich. You just want continual tastes. And that’s what McCarthy does. He builds it like a delicate dollhouse; you’re almost afraid to take a breath with each new scene revelation. It doesn’t unravel, it builds. Even up until the very conclusion. What a film.

Darcy, who is blind, travels to the remote countryside house around the time of Dani’s birthday for various reasons, such as her now former brother-in-law suddenly has a new girlfriend living at the house less than a year after Dani’s murder. So Darcy’s more than a little curious. Unfortunately for Darcy, this doesn’t work out well.

I don’t want to spill the precise details. I want you to see the film.

What I DO want to talk about is ideas of home, domesticity and safety within the context of Oddity.

Concepts of mental balance are of prime significance in the film as are the strength or veracity of relationships.

Dani’s last call to Darcy literally states, “We are connected.” While that is meant to refer to cell phone status, it means far more. Not only are they twins, they are both women. In addition, Darcy is a psychic and medium, maintaining supernatural alliances as well. There are a plethora of connections reflected through this one sentence relayed over voice message. Played multiple times within the film, it is done so in order to emphasize that this is one of the only true and reliable relationships that exists.

*major spoilers start here*

Our poor murder victim is unable to see the reliable relationships in her life. This is a direct result of the primary unreliable one: her husband. As we come to find out later, he is the cause of her death. But she has been warned- again, through someone who she sees as an unreliable source: Olin Boole. Dani does not think Darcy is well, as she confers to her husband in the beginning of the film, asking him to see if she is willing to see a doctor. He agrees. If Dani doesn’t trust her own sister’s state of mind, why would she trust the warning of one of her husband’s former patients?

She doesn’t, of course, until it is too late and horror, literally, enters her newly purchased home.

Dr. Timmis is more than a little consumed with this house. He keeps it after Dani’s murder, going so far as to move his “new” girlfriend Yana (Caroline Menton) into it. She complains how uncomfortable it is and tells him she cannot/will not reside there. Begrudgingly, her boyfriend tells her that he will return to her apartment in the city with her, but it is clear that he is dragging his heels more than a little on this statement.

In a conversation he has with his colleague Ivan, he discusses the meaning behind the house, how much he adores it and how it holds a great deal of value for him. To be fair to the doctor, he’s telling the absolute truth. He values the hell out of that house. Enough, apparently, to order multiple women to be murdered in the confines of the structure and wish to continue to reside there.

What is the power and/or the strength of this house? What is the draw for him? While it might be argued otherwise, I propose that Oddity is not a haunted house film. While horror films around homes generally aggregate around ghosts/hauntings, House Fights Back, or some variation of these themes, Damian McCarthy’s work is something else entirely.

This film is a deep gaze into what happens when a man pours the poison of domestic violence and toxic masculinity into a building to live in. Instead of allowing the space “house” to grow into the warm creation of “home,” this hand-built environment has devolved into a supernatural reflection of Dr. Timmis’ own brutality. He is left alone with the trappings of his kills and a cold dark vehicle for existence. But, McCarthy does inquire in that lovely final scene, for how long?

There are a variety of other things to examine within this work- its references to the Jewish Golum, different ghost stories, etc. But I find ideas of reliability, mental stability, domesticity and connectivity most interesting.

The male “sane” characters- Timmis and Ivan- are remarkably unbalanced and figures of white male normalcy. The released “insane” patient, Olin Boole, is terrifying and appears disfigured and monstrous. Yet he is one of the most balanced characters in the narrative. Oddity is truly a film that is about the idea that perhaps not everything is as it seems. Domestic bliss is, perhaps, not as blissful. The charming ideal husband? Perhaps not so charming and ideal after all. But, of course, as in all heteronormative plots, the wife is generally the very last to know.

The bloodshed that transpires due to Timmis’ house obsession is very much about male-domination. While domesticity and concepts of “home and hearth” are attributed regularly to the feminine, ownership and spatial control are traditionally male concepts. Timmis wants the house to be HIS, he rejects the feminine- all the feminine. Dani, Darcy…even Yana in the end. That kind of control is the paradigm of traditional toxic masculinity and it is explored brilliantly within this film. It is also undermined and shown to be dangerous and horrifying by the finale (which I will not spoil for you).

While Dani is clearly preparing a home at the beginning, Timmis doesn’t give a shit. He just likes that he has this new house. It’s just a thing to him, not a larger way of life or an evolving connection with a partner. Obviously, the domestic violence (exacted through someone else’s hands) proves that. He wants to clear the way so he can Have What Belongs to Him

Oddity is a solid film with brilliant performances and really creative work. The women in it are unique, showing a realness that is ultra-rare. But the underlying fear that the men show of losing their manhood is a great touch, especially when underscored (and ultimately outdone) by strong women who are almost all characterized as disabled. Darcy has had cancer and is now blind and it is intimated that Yana was actually a patient in the mental institution. But my question at the end of the film is…what is the real disability?

I have named this series after the Elvis Costello song, “Home is Anywhere You Hang Your Head,” so I will leave you with that. Until next time….

two women gossiping under hair dryers, 1950s-era

Hairy Moments: the Deep Roots of Women’s Hair History

This is the beginning of a series of posts originally posted on a wonderful and lovely website called Dangerous Minds which is now a thing of the past. Please enjoy them as I truly enjoyed writing them and didn’t think they should have dwindled away into the ether of the Internet.

This is one of my all-time favorite photographs. I have no idea who took it, where it was taken, dunno who the hell these ladies are. But goddamn. I adore them all.

I’ve seen tons of people look at this photo and mock these women for unconventional hairstyles, awkward facial expressions, and what is likely a highly Texan aesthetic (my geographic guess). Fine, laugh. But there’s something so charming, so uniquely pleasurable about the way these women (probably family) are enjoying each other’s company, standing out in that ratty backyard. That yard of dead grass laid out in front of a patio overhang that seems to be one short storm away from crashing to the ground. And our youngest girl- the one with the flowing hippie hair and glasses- she’s wearing pink slippers! There’s this weird strength reflected here in this cadre of creatively-coiffed chicks. I bet they made great cocktails and killer cookies.

Women’s hair and beauty dynamics are intensely personal. Since the beginning of time women have invested spaces like beauty parlours/salons with the power of the personal in order to have a location to freely access aesthetic self-care practices. Generally, we do this for our own benefit, to impress someone else or both. These spaces have also traditionally served another equally important function: they are community social zones and “safe spaces” for women to gossip, exchange intimacies that they would never do around male friends/family. Beauty parlours have always served a critical function for women.

The cosmetology world made huge advances in the 1920s. Thanks to the invention of the hair salon (and hair salon franchise) by Canadian-American business woman Martha Matilda Harper, women’s beauty centers shifted from “home visits” to the communal environment we are now familiar with. Harper sold many of the franchise models to lower income women and ended up profiting greatly as a result, even though it could have failed. 

With these advances, there are some unfortunate facts. These sacred communal spaces were structured for Straight White Women and they have never quite lost that flavor, even today. What’s most unfortunate (but not surprising) is that there are women of color who helped establish this space and should be far more famous than they are. Women like Sarah Breedlove Walker aka Madame CJ Walker was born to freed slaves and was an extraordinary businessperson. Employing some of the highest numbers of black women in the United States, Walker developed her own line of beauty products and became one of the first self-made millionaires in the United States.

Looking through what has been visually documented on this topic, it is very rare to see women of color getting their nails done or sitting under a dryer. One of the most unfortunately things salons have done has been to reinforce the “Whiteness is the ideal beauty standard” concept. 

The photographs of beauty parlours and women sharing moments are great. There are outstanding and surreal bouffants and curls, brilliant beehives and up-dos galore. And who knows what they’re chatting about? They could be sharing recipes or gossip about their horribly abusive husband because it is under that dryer that they feel safe. We’ll never know. 

I do know one thing, however. The privilege in those shots gives me pause. I treasure these photographic connections between women during “hair moments” and that helps me examine intense pictures like this one deeper. It is from a Japanese internment camp in Colorado, and this is a beauty salon that they created because there was a need.

These spaces are precious. 

Being a Writer: Working With Trauma

The thing about being a writer is that you need to write.

The problem with having AuADHD is that you need routines and things that require deadlines.

Put the two together and…pretty damn fine writer.

Until you run out of deadlines. Or pieces to write. Or you get picky and niche. 

Or people are too flexible with you.

Or…you find some reason not to be writing.

And you end up depriving yourself of the greatest joy you’ve ever felt in your life: better than sex, better than romance, better than a perfectly cooked meal. And you don’t know why you’re so cruel to yourself, so abusive. You weren’t raised this way.

You were taught to celebrate your gifts. And you usually do. You’re so proud of the work you’ve done; the things you’ve accomplished. 

Then Big Trauma busts its way into your life like Lee Marvin in Who Shot Liberty Valance? and, like, what the fuck else are you expected to do? You’ve tried all the “normie shit”- drinking, fucking, eating…even that new-fangled thing all the kids are talking about called “bed-rotting” but it still doesn’t get you the same high. You know no one is gonna read what you write (or precious few) but what the hell are you supposed to do when you find yourself this alone in a foreign country and nothing makes sense anymore?

Oh.

Yeah.

You do what you’re best at.

You write anyway. So I am. And I’m going to.

I cannot describe the pain of losing two of the most influential people of my last 35 years within the same 5 months. I think that as a writer, that may be the worst part. I have so many words for so many things. I can describe decaying flesh, wild parties, drug-induced orgies…but I have no vocabulary for what it feels like to experience what I am now realizing is the loss of my youth. I am old now. My young times existed in the most glitteringly golden safe space where I was treasured and loved and held and protected from all the worst elements. It was punk rock at its finest. Bowling alleys and strip poker; mushrooms and trust. I have never been in love the way I loved everyone in my FriendFamily.
I am still madly in love with each of them in a way that no one but them will ever understand.
Dumb jokes about being in someone’s pants and the sounds of ska, Agent Orange and Oingo Boingo quilted into the Santa Ana Winds.

I danced and drank and celebrated life and us for a solid weekend back in the US and it was like one of those Big Chill experiences and that was both nightmarish and heavenly. FTR, our soundtrack was WAY fucking better, end of story. And The Big Chill rules.

But…..I’m obvs biased.
Also, I’m right.
But those of you who knew the person involved Get What I’m Sayin’.

I don’t even know.

I want my mommy and I HAVE my mommy but my mommy is also all of my friends that I’ve known since I was a nerdy teenager who told me how proud of me they are and gave me more love than I’ve felt in a long time.

See, I don’t regret moving to Korea.

Especially now that my former home is a fascist state

But I also feel like Bruce Dern in Silent Running sometimes…like I’m doing something really important but it’s super lonely and like…plants can’t talk back. And robots? They’re just robots.

If you don’t get that reference just, see Silent Running. It’s genius. 

I miss talking to people who get my references. 

Is being brave worth it if you have to put your heart and soul in your back pocket sometimes because people are just not gonna get that George Romero joke?

Anyway, back to trauma and writing.

What writer wasn’t chock full o’trauma.

Can you really call yourself a writer or an artist if you don’t have trauma? 

I guess I just didn’t need all this all at once. It’s a little much. But maybe I did. I’m writing.

And, more importantly, I want to be writing. 

I want to be writing more than I want to be doing almost anything else right now so I’m trying to focus on that. I want to talk about the things that I love. Why I’m here. So I realize it’s been a long while. 

But I am going to make an effort to come back. 

It’s only fair to me.

You may not give a shit about me or my writing but hell- it’s the best thing I do.