The Lingering Haunts of Horror Catharsis (Patreon)

I feel like the “Day-After-Halloween” Halloween column is becoming an unfortunate trend for me, but hey it’s a busy time of the movie year! But it also might make sense given the topic of this particular column. Because I don’t know if you know this, but..

Movie endings are kind of important.

I mean, they’re the end of the movie. Of course they’re important! But if that’s the case then why do I find that a lot of movies treat them like a mere obligation? As if it’s finally just that lackluster time of the narrative where all the conflict stops and the characters sit around and slowly talk before going off hand in hand? Why is it as if they use a story’s “resolution” just to let all the air out? Honestly, I probably blame reductive storytelling graphs like this one:

Graphs which, you know, mean absolutely nothing.

Anyway, I first remember talking about this trend in stories over a decade ago (great googly moogly does time punish all) and thus I wrote a column about how “the ending is the conceit.” Which gets at the idea that endings are not just about resolution (as in making problems go away), but catharsis (meaning you finally get to see the thing you want to happen most happen in the most engaging way possible). That means having the drama, character arc, plotting, and thematic intention come together in order to say something powerful. The “something” that is the entire point of your movie, really. And then, ideally, you get the hell out of the story right after you’ve hit your big hammer blow all so you don’t let any more air out.

But I suddenly thought about all this again as we were all watching this month’s October movie stream on Twitch (which are super fun btw, always feel free to join!). Because Horror movies are obviously great at provoking visceral reactions in an audience. Take this moment from a certain mirror scene in The Fly…

But in watching all these films, I remembered how important those ending gestures are in horror movies, specifically. It makes sense given that horror movies are built off tension and rhythms. And instinctually, horror filmmakers never, ever want to let all the air out, which is why we always see some kind of last gasp at a final scare. But often, these moments feel devoid of purpose or interest or even completely invert the film’s meaning (or in the case of The Devil Inside, make the grave mistake of ending on nothing and directing the audience to a website “for further investigation” which I maintain is the most misguided story decision a film has probably ever made). In this, it’s important to remember the horror films that are really, truly great are the ones that take the ending as an opportunity to tie everything into the catharsis of the story… which means I want to talk about the endings of a whole lotta good horror films.

Which means this is going to have spoilers for a bunch of different films! But don’t worry, I’ll say the name of the film at the start of every bulleted paragraph and you can skip the ones you haven’t seen. Also, please know that I always get kind of nervous writing about horror? Because while I really love it, there are so many people who are giant horror movie fans first / straight up historians and I feel like I may get stuff wrong when it comes to the overall shape of the horror narrative. After all, it’s so easy to forget how many horror films there have come out every year https://horror.fandom.com/wiki/Chronological_List_of_Horror_Films and how many actually did X or Y first. We’re just making all different kinds of movies all the time. But the point of this analysis is not to paint a complete picture of history or anything, the point is to get at all the varying ideas of different kinds of horror catharsis.

And these are simply the films that best characterize it.

The Classic Universal Horror Movies - The “Old School Punishment” - Blame it on the Hays Code I guess? But so many horror films of the golden era had to end with the monster facing some kind of tangible punishment for their actions, which often meant death. It doesn’t matter if the horrible creature is imbued with empathy and pleas for our understanding along the way. In the end, whatever IT is has to be punished for whatever transgressions or crimes it has perpetrated. Heck, sometimes they even have to be punished for existing, for no such irregularities deserve to be incorporated into the status quo! No siree bob! But so often we’ll see the classic movie play a little coy with this death, with the bodies merely sinking or fading away. Or sometimes it’s showing the entire systems that come down around them, whether it's a windmill or castle toppling and the like. All of this punishment often feels like part of a moralist way of upholding the social contract, while simultaneously taking a slight dig at its hypocrisy. But the funniest part of all this is the way it constantly led to this string of sequels where they’re like “oh everyone survived somehow.” But I actually like that they did it that way, instead of always having something survive at the end. Because I honestly think it's better when it’s a “tomorrow you” problem instead of something being automatically accounted for in the immediate narrative. But we’ll come back to this!

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre - “The “Delirious Exit” - This is one of those films that scared the crap out of me on first watch and *still* scares the crap out of me. Partially because the ending characterizes so much of the terrifying tone of the movie. Sally has been put through a truly heinous ordeal and at the climax, there’s the horrifying “dinner” scene, which she only survives by jumping from the second floor window. Then we get the chaotic ending footchase, which has so many close calls before she finally manages to get in the back of pick-up and barely escape with her life, all as Leatherface swings his chainsaw around in fury. Now, you may think I’m going to talk about tropes and how she’s “the final girl” and all that, but that doesn’t really mean anything to me on a story level (most stock tropes don’t). Because that’s just an observation of fact, NOT WHAT WE’RE ACTUALLY LEFT WITH. What actually means something is the emotion at the end of this sequence. In particular, it’s Marilyn Burn’s incredible performance in those final shots. She’s screaming, laughing, crying all at once. There’s this manic, unhinged delirium of someone finally getting away from the most traumatic day imaginable. It even gets at this idea that even if she’s surviving this, there’s something irrevocably broken in her now. And it has an energy matched by the Leatherface’s infuriated swings. It finally cuts and THAT’s what we’re left with. This is why you should never get caught up in the tropes, but instead zoom in on “what is this trying to make me feel?” Because it’s the incredible specificity of this film’s ending energy that is so damn haunting. And we leave the film feeling the same exact way as her.

Halloween - The “It’s Still Out There” - While it technically didn’t invent the slasher, it is one of the most fundamental horror texts imaginable that popularized half a dozen tropes in turn (which again, isn’t why it was so successful and why most of its imitators are lamer). So much of the film works because Carpenter is such a steady hand and can create eeriness from framing alone. But also, so much of the film’s ideological power rests in all the things that seemed quietly invasive. Because Michael Myers AKA “The Shape” seems like a silent, deranged killer who is invading the places of literal safety. So much of the film takes place in the suburbs during daylight for Pete’s sake. But what makes it scarier, as anchored by Donald Pleasance’s insight, is how much The Shape becomes an unknowable, seemingly unstoppable force. There’s a purity to his evil. And the final moments speak to just that. Because this is not the classic Universal days where the castle collapses. Instead, they look on the ground and Michael’s body has now disappeared from the ground. I know it practically seems like a tired trope now (where the monster is always killed and then magically has gotten away), but this is one of the first films to really do that in a way that resonated. Because even if there were technically others before, it’s the execution which gives you the deepened feeling of terror. It’s that eerie music cue at his being discovered missing. It’s the shots around all the houses and all the places we’ve been in the story. It’s all the breathing that’s still going on. It’s the houses that look just like yours. It’s the implication… he could be in your house right now. And THAT’S what makes it so damn good. Like so many tropes, the “it’s still out there” was copied literally without understanding what made the original so scary in the first place

Night Of The Living Dead - The “No Quarter, No Hope” Bleakness - Whether comic or straight-faced, there’s a certain bleakness that’s always been associated with zombie films. It makes sense as they always invoke the idea of apocalypse. They show the ending of our humanity and leaving us nothing but organic, thoughtless, brain-chewing swarms of bodies. Not to mention the breakdown of humility as survivor’s fight with each other. But it’s Night of the Living Dead that’s the landmark zombie film, and in many ways, it’s still the pinnacle. I know Romero plays coy in interviews, but you can see how much of warfare, racism, and societal strife were directly on his mind and invoked right into the film. Particularly as there’s so much on Ben’s shoulders, the emergent black hero of the film who shows such humanity and resourcefulness as he somehow manages to survive everything. There’s such power to his story… only to, in the end, be shot down by an armed posse of rednecks who mistake him for a zombie. It cuts deep not just because it’s the cruelest of storytelling ironies, but in 1968? Hoo boy is it the most crushing yet honest portrait of the dark heart of America… and those who were trying in earnest to save it.

Rosemary’s Baby - The “Giving In” Cycle - Yes, this is a film about the horror of giving in against one’s best instincts. For Rosemary, there’s so much earned paranoia in telling details and horrible dreams, yet her instincts keep slowly getting railroaded by the world of satanists around her. Which all cascades into that final ending. Yes, it turns out she has indeed given birth to Satan’s baby. But what’s so powerful about that ending is not the mere confirmation of this truth, nor the fact that we never see the baby itself and thus get the implied horror of what it COULD look like. Nor is it even the incredible normalcy of how all these satanists behave around her and the baby (especially if it’s sometimes comic, hail satan!). In the end, the scariest thing is what she decides to do in the wake of such horror. Because she could have grabbed it and tossed it out a window (okay that would be kind of funny), but instead, the real implied horror is that she’s gone through it this long, and given so much love in trying to give birth to this child and in the end it’s this longing glance for them… maybe… just maybe she could keep raising it. It’s all part of the horrible cycle of giving in against all fears and judgment… Can we lose ourselves to that completely? Well, in for a penny, in for a pound they say.

The Exorcist - The “Be On Your Guard” Forever - Speaking of Satan, there’s so many tangible devilish horrors to this film. There’s the visceral, shocking bits of gore, profanity, and so much more. But the most terrifying idea is how it taps into a lingering worry in the depths of the nation at the time. Because 1970’s America was the first time there was a really steep-drop off of people abandoning their religion. So many grew up with it in a strict way and it’s not that director Friedkin was after some big conservative reminder for people to be pious. No, it’s more tapping into that old adage of “I don’t believe in god, but I fear him.” Which is more a fear set of: what if all those stories are actually true? What if God and the Devil are real? And most important of all, particularly within Catholicism, what if all those little annoying rites and actions are the things that CAN actually protect you from damnation? So, after all the heinous actions of the story, what’s so ideologically scary about the ending is, yes, the little medallion of St. Josephs was the thing protecting him the whole time (it’s the reason it starts and ends the film). No, it’s not your godliness. Not your piousness. Not your belief. Those do NOTHING. You need a little item imbued with the power of god. Which shows the REAL terrifying idea of a world where both god and the devil exist… is that we are powerless next to both of them.

The Fly - The “Greek Tragedy” - The coup of the fly is that you end up caring so damn much about them. But this is what Cronenberg is great at. For much of the film there is this intertwining of hyper-sexuality, crudeness, and provocation through body horror. But so much the story also doubles for horrible treatment toward Geena, whether it’s the terrible ex boyfriend, or the new manic episodes from Goldblum, who is slowly losing his humanity to a genuine illness. That’s the real fear of course, and the one that drives him to want to be together forever with her. He MUST preserve his humanity. But when all is truly lost, with that last bit of humanity left is a pile of fly bits and merged metal, he silently takes her shotgun and… puts it at his temple. Gah, there’s so much sadness to project into this moment. It’s the knowing sentience of it. The suicidal and rueful admittance. And once done (in trademark horrible gore) the only thing left for her to do is to collapse to her knees and fade to black. There’s something that evokes Greek tragedy about all this. Goldblum, with the invention and his hubris, challenged the fates and paid dearly (as one always does in Greek tragedy). But it also feels of a pair with the old Universal horror movies. Not just in the way that there is a transgression that does not stand. But there’s this way you feel awful about everything that happened. A sense of empathy. A feeling of “how did we get here?” Because in the end, it made you care so much about something so beastly that you never imagined you could at all. That’s the part the lingers.

The Thing - The “Moment of Doubt” - Nine times out of ten, ending your film with a blank or vague stalemate would seem like such an incredibly unsatisfying, no? So why does the ending of The Thing work so damn well? Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know some overly-logical people think it’s a cop out and others like to approach it like it’s a puzzle you can figure out from clues in the movie, but that’s so clearly not the point. Because the final moment is more meant to speak to the entire tone and tension to the movie. Here, both characters have seen so many friends turned by imposters and learned not to trust anyone. In the end, there’s just MacReady and Childs and one telling the other it's been killed. But at any point, as far as the other knows, one of them could have been turned. The ending isn’t about “which one, if any?” It’s about capturing that horrible feeling: that not knowing. It’s capturing the staring at one another while in their ice-y doom, understanding that death could come at any moment, or worse, letting that thing onto the mainland and dooming the world… No, there’s nothing scarier to me than living in that moment of doubt forever.

Ginger Snaps - The “Careful What You Wish For” Pact -  Few horror movies capture 90’s gen x gothic-ness and its intersection with 2000’s attitude-laden sass better than this one (plus there’s a lot of Canadian sore-ys). But really, it’s a story about the dynamic of two sisters who have their own little world. Chiefly, there’s an older sister who takes the lead and a younger sister who followers her. And they are OBSESSED with death to the point that they literally make a suicide pact. But so much of this isn’t about DEATH death, but more maintaining their own little world. Unfortunately, things change when the older sister gets her period (and to make metaphor clear, she is IMMEDIATELY attacked by a werewolf) and thus becomes a rebellious man-eater (again, making the metaphor clear). Will little sister follow suit? Or will she kill her? Or will she cure her? She obviously wants the last option, but it all leads to one of my favorite endings because it so taps into that thing where you love a family member who is in trouble. She doesn’t want to hurt her older sister, but still, older sister wolf ends up stabbed and is dying - while younger on the edge of turning. Faced with a decision, does she use the cure on herself or her sister? Instead, younger curls up by her older sister’s side, unable to bring herself to do either option as it slowly fades out. I know it’s easy to think this is a “you decide” ending and not entirely wrong, but what I find so powerful is the way it taps into the dynamic again. Little sister is still stuck in the process of following her still. In the end, she can’t say good bye. She’s paralyzed and hugging, the portrait of love and unsured-ness, not knowing a way out of their suicide pact. This is tragedy in so many ways, the inability to find a way to complete one’s arc and instead giving back into the flaws that doom us. It leaves us with such a powerful image. One that’s less horrifying, but still absolutely haunting. And boy will that do, too.

Don’t Look Now - The “Not-Actually-Closed Loop” - Speaking of feeling trapped, this 1973 Nicolas Roeg movie was one that seriously messed me up on my first watch as a teenager. But that’s because it hits you in a really big way late in the game. For so long, you feel like the film is constantly looking backwards. We have a couple that lost their child and it gets at the horrifying idea that her ghost is somehow haunting them, needing to be saved. At the same time as the couple seems to be losing their minds in the pursuit, we come to understand that the police are wrong about a serial killer in the area. How is this all linked? Using psychics, Sutherland starts to feel that maybe all of this has something to do with his wife, whose own delusions are haunting him. And all these premonitions and warnings are maybe part of how he can save his little girl in ghost form! Finally, he gets to the little ghost girl he’s been chasing, telling her it’s okay. The little turns and… its not a ghost, we reveal a terrifying older woman who pulls out a cleaver and cuts into his neck. This WHAT THE FUCK twisty moment is burned into my brain. But it’s here we also start to realize he hasn’t been seeing images of the past, but he’s been seeing premonitions of his own death. They were warnings. Now, there are a lot of closed-loop horror stories that give us a sense of helpless inevitably, but a lot of times they feel kind of trite and pointless? But this is where the larger metaphor opens up this film in such a provocative, understanding way. It’s not about ignoring your trauma, per say, but it is directly invoking the idea of being SO trapped in hauntings of the past, that you’re outright ignoring the dangers right in front of you. It’s not fate that’s closing the loop. It's ignorance. Which is ten times scarier and more human than any fatalistic imagining.

The Sixth Sense - The “Twist But Good” - I feel like this movie spawned a host of poor imitations because they never realized why the film’s infamous twist works so well. For starters, it’s because the movie is still so damn good without it. Like, if Bruce Willy just helped this boy deal with his fears of the ghosts, become good at the play, and talk to his mother, then it would still feel cathartic because we’re so invested. But in the end, the final “twist” not only utterly makes sense for the central conceit and what you’ve seen on character relationship level, but there’s a genuine catharsis to it, too. Because right in that moment we are able to see Bruce learn the truth, he’s also able to move on and complete his own character arc in a way that directly addresses the narrative. None of it is out of nowhere or part of a shock tactic. It’s all part of a fully complete story that was hiding in another one the whole damn time. THAT’s what makes it a classic film.

The Babadook - The “Metaphor Upholder-er” - I’ve read a lot of pieces for this and there’s a lot of good ones that talk about how The Babadook monster is a metaphor for her depression and mental illness and they’re all great takes. But I think there’s an aspect that takes it one further… I think this horrible monster is a bluntly honest metaphor for regretting having a kid / wanting to murder them / or at least do violence to them. I mean, that sounds harsh, but it’s right there in the damn text. The character almost acts on it several times and even talks about it implicitly. And yes, it’s more about reacting in anger / yelling at your kid / passing abusive cycles / etc. and yes this film is understanding that those instincts are monstrous (hence it being a monster). It IS that dark, which is part of what makes the narrative so audacious. But it’s in that un-blinking honesty of something so raw that it can capture the enormous difficulty of raising a child as truly difficult as Samuel. And more importantly, it wants us to understand the whole point is this “monstrous” feeling isn’t something to be hidden and other-ized (which just gives it more power through denial), but to be acknowledged, understood, and treated. The ending shots of her feeding the monster and telling her son it’s good today? There’s something so powerful about this. Because so often the darker impulses of female characters are treated with this deeply judgmental moralism. It’s all part of the need to uphold some facade. But here Kent is using horror to tackle the biggest social taboo imaginable with actual empathy and understanding. Even the ending part of the monster still being alive is not a “dun dun dun,” but something that’s actually a way of transcending the monster’s dark goals. And to some of those judgmental deniers, this is precisely what’s so scary about it. But it’s also what makes it transcendent.

Train to Busan - The “Actual Growth Moment” - Right when I was most zombie-ed out, of course a truly great zombie film came into the fold. But what makes 2016’s Train To Busan so resonant is not that it had some brilliant new take on the genre, but that it kept things so focused on the character dynamics of a group trying to survive their train ride. But I always ask of genre fare, what’s the movie if the genre part of the movie never happens? Because there should be a story that would be just as compelling without it. And at the core of this story, there is a distant father and his young daughter - culminating in the simple, but beautifully constructed arc of seeing someone going from being selfish to being selfless. Along with the true growth moment written right into the climax. Now you may ask, is this even a “horror” arc? I mean, why the hell not? Why not have a story be emotionally affecting? Why not have a character grow and learn and do something heroic? Even the last horror button of doom is about how the song can save them, there’s nothing wrong with going for the earnest ending… you just got to tell the other story that earns it along the way.

Let The Right One In - The “Too Hard To Describe But It’s Great?????” Ending - This is one of my favorite horror movies - and in particular, one of my favorite horror endings, but it’s hard to describe in simple story terms. It’s hard to even describe the emotion of what’s being characterized here. As a climax, you have the amazing static shot in the pool and these bullies both getting what they deserve and… probably too much more, depending on which one you are talking about. And then it’s Oskar and Eli going off on the train, communicating with her in the box and traveling to… where? To do what? And you wonder, is this a cynical cycle thing? Where these two kids are going off to be on their own, a girl-identifying vampire who can never age and us thinking he will become like the old man who takes care of her? Or is it more hopeful? Or are they the same? Or does it not matter? Is it more the idea of  just cherishing someone who understands you and you understanding them in turn? Sometimes it feels like nothing else exists. But is that enough for a relationship? Or is this a failure to condemn something so inherently toxic and violent and doomed to fail? The thing about this ending is that it’s emotionally cathartic and specific, and yet completely loaded with a billion questions. Which is not the same thing as being vague. We know exactly what happened. It just gives you so much ammo to think about all of the things that could happen next, and to imagine many different futures, and also - to feel many different complicated things. The real point of this is that when you tell your horror story (or any story really) there are no hard and fast rules. No box that you have to be put in. If you tell a story that really, really resonates with us, you can take us anywhere in the process.

Orrrrrrrrrr you can have fun with a lark and make it very simple.

Because lastly, there is…

Pieces - The “Punchline Ending” - There’s a whole host of lovely trashy horror movies, particularly in the 80’s that end on one of final absurd note (even deeply problematic ones, like Sleepaway Camp). One that I’ve come to love is Pieces, but for a long ass time of watching, it might not be apparent why. For much of its run-time, it’s one of those poorly-acted affairs with a voyeuristic killer who kills naked women and much the same of what you’ve seen before. But the whole time there’s this “campus stud” named Kendall who just has this goofy hair and is such a funny fit for the movie (it almost feels like Ken Marino’s character in Wet Hot was based off him, but then again there were lots of guys like this). You’re constantly like, is this ironic? How is this guy the hero stud of this movie? Why is every woman fawning over him like he’s James Dean? Why are they focusing on this so much? It all leads up to what you think is the final fake-out where the puzzle made Frankenstein girl falls on him and he’s so scared and cries, but nope that’s not it, either. Because a moment later he’s reaching for his jacket and somehow, out of nowhere, the Frankenstein woman comes alive, reaches up and uses nails to tear his crotch, squeezing his junk gushing in blood and he screams in cross-eyed terror… cut to black! The end! It’s such an absurd, ridiculous joke to end on, but actually a weirdly cathartic one. Because this entire time the movie is treating this guy as a dream boat and then has the hilarious audacity for it all to be the build-up to getting his miraculous junk torn up. It totally makes the movie 100 times better. And if the filmmaker really meant for this to be terrifying and this all just slid into camp??? Even better! Sometimes, it really is okay to be lark, whether on purpose or not. And either way, it the kind of transcendently stupid moment that pays off the character’s goofiness and makes the movie so damn memorable.

* * *

The thing I want to highlight is that so many of these stories either do two things. 1) They give you such a strong emotional feeling that it grafts onto your own. Or 2) they create a terrifying psychological idea that rings around in your head and says with you. But you can’t do that with cheap scares. You have to craft something bigger than the moment itself. Something that ties right back into the catharsis of the story you have been telling through drama, character, plot, and theme. Something that feels whole and of a piece with a larger film. Because when you do that? Then you have something that isn’t just another January programmer… Then you have something that lives on and on and on in fear of our hearts.

Even the day after Halloween.

<3HULK