A cute little Spooktember round-up

I was in the process of writing my next letter (which is about trying to find the joy in baking and cooking again when eating and cooking has become so utilitarian) when my kid got sick. When my kid gets sick, everything else gets put on hold because she becomes a velcro toddler on steroids. And then, right when she started to feel better, I woke up with a sore throat. And so did my husband.

So here we are, wearily switching off on toddler duty so the other one can rest. I do not have the brain power to complete my originally intended letter this week, so instead here’s a cute little round-up of what I've read and watched and baked for Spooktember so far. (It is my favorite season, after all.)


Categorized as "suburban horror," We Came To Welcome You by Vincent Tirado is the story of a queer interracial couple who moves into a gated community, where all the houses look the same, the pollen count is out of control, and the neighbors are mostly white, mostly straight, very pushy, and extremely nosy. Of course, nothing is as it seems and the protagonist finds herself fighting to stay true to herself in the middle of white suburbia. So much of the horror genre is about the struggle to stay human, and I love that this novel dives into that while bringing ideas about assimilation, race, mental health, culture, and queerness into that struggle.


If you are a Food Network watcher, you know about all the Baking Championship series. There's an iteration for every season, and at this time of year, we get the Halloween one. It's the only one worth watching. There is a horror movie trope theme for every season (a couple years ago, the theme was "horror summer camp" a la Friday the 13th, this year's theme is mad scientist). The bakes are always creative, sound tasty, and look out of this world cool. The host is hilarious, and the judges dress up in full costume in *every* episode to judge the last bake. It's become a spooky season staple in our house.


It Follows is about a sexually transmitted curse. The only way to "get rid of it" is to "pass it on" to someone else. When I summarize it this way, it sounds extremely silly, and it is kind of. This is the second time I've watched this one, and there's a lot I like about it -- the cinematography, the shots, the music, this little chosen family of people who don't leave each other behind and believe each other no matter what. There's something about the story, though, that is missing, and I can't quite figure out what it is. Is it the message? What is the message? Is it a send up of the idea that getting an STI will kill us and/or follow us around forever? Is it about consent and communication around sex? I don't know. I keep thinking about it though, so maybe that's good enough. I also keep thinking about that pink shell e-reader (iykyk) and specifically thinking, "...wha?"


A maybe little-known fact about me is that I am a big fan of wrestling, and I absolutely adore anything and everything that is about the behind-the-scenes of wrestling. This includes the Vice series The Dark Side of the Ring, and it includes a podcast called The Lapsed Fan that puts out literal hours-long episodes doing deep dives into the behind-the-scenes on all past Wrestlemanias, pay-per-views and other big wrestling moments (like the Montreal Screw Job) and legacies (like the Von Erichs). Mr. McMahon is a new Netflix docuseries that centers around Vince McMahon, the former CEO of the WWE. I count it as one of my Spooktember entries because Vince McMahon is a horrific, soulless, creep of a human being. This documentary does a great job of letting Vince paint a picture of himself in his own words, the members of his little echo chamber's words, wrestlers' words, journalists' words, and his own family's words. It adds up to a highly contradictory, and also very clear, portrait of him, especially when every interviewee is asked, "What will Vince McMahon's legacy be?" And nearly every answer is deafening silence.


Speaking of horrific, soulless creeps! The Fall of the House of Usher follows the demise of the Usher family, who run a pharmaceutical company that is on trial for single-handedly starting the opioid crisis (ripped from the headlines!). It's an adaptation of the Edgar Allen Poe story of the same title, and each episode deftly weaves together adaptations and elements of other Poe stories. I am a recently converted Mike Flanagan girlie, so you can take what I'm about to say with a grain of salt. The Fall of the House of Usher is brilliant. It's everything I love about horror *and* it has something to say that is so relevant to our current late-stage capitalist and corporate-run world and society (and it's not afraid to say it!) -- *and* it enacts horror movie justice, which means bad people don't get away with doing a lifetime of bad things. It is cathartic, and the characters are so incredibly well-written and acted and so thoroughly engrossing that I cheer and/or heave a big sigh of relief when the devil shows up. I read a Letterboxd review that called this limited series, "Succession but Final Destination," and that, my friends, is the most accurate description.


I was very excited about The Watchers, a new film written and directed by Ishana Night Shyamalan (yes, she's M. Night Shyamalan's daughter). I won't say much about it because it is so new and I don't want to spoil it for anyone, but it...was okay. I didn't love it, I didn't hate it. I probably won't watch it again. Dakota Fanning was great in it. Ireland is beautiful.


Silent Hill the movie is based on Silent Hill the video game. I had extremely low expectations for this one. In fact, my solitary hope was that it was so bad it was good. The plot, much like the plot of the video games, doesn't make a lot of sense, so all I will say is that a woman takes her daughter to Silent Hill for a reason that doesn't make a whole lot of sense, and then promptly loses her as soon as they enter city limits. The acting is actually quite good for the most part. The monsters are extremely creepy and well-crafted (if you've ever heard of or seen a villain called Pyramidhead, this is where he comes from). Aside from nothing making actual sense to me (despite it trying very hard to be coherent), my only complaint with this one is that it is too damn long (its runtime is 125 minutes). I also don't recommend you watch it unless you're a Silent Hill fan.


One of my all-time favorites, and obviously the best of the 80s slasher franchises, is A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984). It's so campy, so fun, and still very creepy. This time around, my husband commented that Freddy Kreuger's full of dad jokes (it's true). I marveled at the special effects, like the outline of Freddy Kreuger's face and hands pressing through the ceiling above the bed, as if through a stretchy bedsheet (I kept thinking throughout, "Ugh, Jason and Michael Myers could never!"). Not to sound like an ancient cranky human being, but CGI is overrated -- it could never depict Johnny Depp's iconic death scene as beautifully as it was done in 1984 with practical effects.


So far, the only true Spooktember bake I've done are these pumpkin chocolate chip æbelskivers. My kid loves æbelskivers and asks for them at least once or twice a week. She also loves pumpkin puree and chocolate chips, so this was an all-around no-brainer bake for me. It's delish and filling and we don't need any additional toppings or sides, usually, though they wouldn't hurt. I've got plans to bake some pumpkin ginger scones and some pumpkin chocolate swirl muffins eventually.

Once this raging sore throat subsides, anyway.


Spooktember has gotten off to a slow start. Maybe it's because it's been 80+ degrees up until a couple days ago, so it hasn't felt particularly spooky. Maybe it's because I haven't been able to read as much, thanks to my kid dropping her last nap. But spooky season is picking up now, and I'm feeling more and more in the spooky spirit. Maybe I'll do another one of these in a few weeks.

For now, I'm going to crawl under a blanket with a steaming cup of Throat Coat and try to read or doze off while my kid plays with some squishy jelly decal pumpkins (???) (who knew these would offer at least an hour of independent play????).

Stay healthy out there, friends. I'll see you in a couple weeks, and hopefully this cold will be so far behind me I won't even remember what it's like to have a sore throat.


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A Primer in Grief Horror (A Friday Bites Re-Issue, With Minor Revisions and One Addition)

Hello! As I continue to figure out my writing and publishing rhythms in the Substack universe, I've decided to give my public-facing writing brain a break so I can focus on my private writing projects. I want to keep my promise to publish every two weeks, though, so I've decided to re-issue this post that I originally published on here in February 2020 (with some minor revisions and an addition). While I’m on the horror film track (tis the season!), this letter will share some of my favorite movies in the "grief horror" subgenre. Enjoy! I'll see you again with something new in 2 weeks.


Growing up, I unintentionally traumatized my little brothers with all the horror films I used to watch, so neither of them are big horror fans. So after my brother watched The Babadook, I was over the moon excited when he and I had a conversation about the way the entire movie was a metaphor for grief, and then he got intrigued about the potential of horror movies to serve as metaphors for grief/loss/guilt.

And then I got even more excited because that’s one of my favorite subgenres of horror — horror as a metaphor or analogy for grief/loss/guilt. You can make the argument that a good horror film is always serving as a metaphor for something, which would be true, but I especially love ones that star grief, guilt and loss.

So I decided to write up a crash course in this subgenre for my brother and for all of you. In no particular order, I present to you: a primer in grief/loss/guilt horror:


Pet Sematary (1989)

Stephen King is a true master of horror, and Pet Sematary is no exception. A doctor and his wife move to a new town with their too-adorable-for-their-own-good kids, yadda yadda yadda, an ancient Native American ritual site whose soil has “gone sour” gets involved (I know, it’s a…questionable choice, but here we are) (although, you might be able to argue that the crux of the film resting on an ancient Native American ritual site is also some kind of commentary on colonialism, I don’t want to start reading things into the text that aren’t really there), things get weird with a zombie cat, and then things get REALLY creepy. This movie is iconic for a reason.


The Babadook (2014)

Obviously. The catalyst for this list. There is so much to love about this film — that it’s about a woman whose husband died while she was giving birth to her son is heartbreaking enough. To watch her struggle to be a “good” mother to her son, who is a constant reminder of her husband and his death is so real and gut-wrenching. It upends tropes about what it means to be a “good” mother and what “good” parenthood looks like, and asks questions about what it means to be a mother and parent when you’ve experienced devastating trauma alongside an event that is supposed to be one of the happiest of your life, and what it means to struggle with a grief that threatens to consume you. UGH. Plus, it’ll keep you double-taking the shit you see out of the corner of your eye for at least 24 hours after you watch it.


Dark Was The Night (2015)

A favorite horror trope of mine is “small town law enforcement suddenly has to deal with a whole bunch of supernatural shenanigans and MAN, is it above their pay grade” and Dark Was The Night fits that bill. A creature feature shot mostly in frosty, moody blue tones, this one follows a small town sheriff who is swimming in grief and guilt following the loss of his son. His backstory is revealed bit by bit in tandem with his investigation into what exactly is terrorizing his small town. We grow to really love the sheriff and his deputy, and all you want for them is love, happiness, lively earth tones, and some sunshine, for god’s sake. Creature features (another absolute favorite horror subgenre of mine) can be hit or miss with the creature effects, but Dark was the Night keeps the mystery alive throughout most of the film and saves the big reveal for the very end, which is the best move they could have made. I’ve watched this movie three times now, and still, every time, my heart just wants that sheriff to open himself to love again.


The Final Girls (2015)

I love a good horror comedy, and The Final Girls is such a pleasant surprise. Taissa Farmiga stars as a woman whose late mother was an actress whose claim to fame was the lead role in a campy 80s slasher flick (that is clearly a spoof of Friday the 13th). Through some weird inexplicable twists, Farmiga’s character gets to see her mother again, except they’re all inside the campy 80s slasher film. This film will startle you with slasher scares while making you laugh and breaking your heart and sending up the campy 80s horror genre, all at the same time. Also, you can’t beat this cast: Malin Akerman, Nina Dobrev from The Vampire Diaries, Alia Shawkat from Arrested Development, and Adam Devine from Pitch Perfect and Workaholics. SO GOOD.


The Ritual (2017)

This is a British creature feature that follows 4 friends who go on a backpacking trip through northern Sweden in honor of their murdered friend. One of them busts an ankle, and they opt to take a shortcut to their hotel through some ominous-looking woods. We all know what happens next, but also…we don’t. I’ve watched this one at least three times, and get a mood for it more often than you’d think. This film is a seamless blend of creature feature, Swedish folklore, and a metaphor for an overwhelming grief and guilt that forces you to bow down to it.


The Void (2017)

A small-town cop finds a drugged out guy in the middle of nowhere and brings him to a hospital that is in the process of shutting down. The bare-bones night staff includes his wife, from whom he’s separated, and things get real intense, real quick from there. Many reviews of this movie call it an homage to low-budget ‘80s horror, which it is, but it really is so much more than that. There are nods to Lovecraftian horror and even ‘80s Italian horror director Lucio Fulci, and it’s clear that horror video games like Resident Evil are an influence here too. Aesthetics aside, at its heart, The Void is about different facets of grief, and all the ways it can destroy a person’s humanity.


Phantasm (1979)

Now, this one might be stretch, but I can’t not put it on the list. Phantasm is a Don Coscarelli film, and it’s a bonkers one at that. Jody and Mike are brothers whose parents have recently passed away. When Mike begins to be chased by a creepy entity they call the Tall Man, Jody tries to protect him, and things get pretty bananas from there. This movie is full of bonkers one-liners and WTF moments, and you’re probably never going to fully understand what’s going on. You’ll just have to be okay with that, and go along with wherever the movie takes you. It’s like a glorious, hilarious, campy, gory poem. In the midst of all its disorientation, Phantasm has great moments of tenderness and its characters live out emotions that will feel familiar to anyone who has been stricken with panic about the possible death of a loved one or has felt fiercely protective of a family member for whatever reason. I’ve seen this one countless times, and it hits me just as profoundly (and hilariously) every time.


The Murmuring (2022)

The Murmuring (written and directed by Jennifer Kent, who also wrote and directed The Babadook) is the last entry in Guillermo del Toro's Cabinet of Curiosities horror anthology series. It stars Essie Davis (who was also in The Babadook!) and Andrew Lincoln (ever heard of a little show called The Walking Dead?) as an ornithologist couple who move to a secluded house in order to study the movements of starlings. It quickly becomes clear that they are also living through a thick and heartwrenching grief, both from within themselves and the house they're living in. I love this short film’s quietness and its solitude, even as they become oppressive and suffocating. It's a film with a full heart, exploring and witnessing every character's grief with tenderness and nuance, taking us on a tour of the lonely islands that grief can make of each of us.


These are only the first few that came to mind when I started this list — I’m sure there are many obvious ones that I’ve forgotten to add (The Descent is the first obvious one to come to mind), but this is a good start. There are also movies I initially wanted to put on this list that didn’t make the cut because they featured grief, but not as a metaphor (see: Hereditary and Midsommar) (although, the more I think about it, Midsommar might qualify, but I'd need to watch it again). If you’ve thought of more films that fit in this genre, please comment and let’s get a list going!


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Motherhood, Horror, and Me : Processing How Motherhood Has Changed My Relationship to the Genre


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Me, circa 1988, modeling my clown makeup.

I am, and have always been, a horror girlie through and through. I was recently stopped by a community access television team on the street to answer questions about movies -- unprompted, all of my answers were about horror films. Some of my favorite books growing up were the Scary Stories to Tell In The Dark series, and R.L. Stine's Fear Street series. When I was pregnant, I not-so-secretly hoped that my daughter would be born on Halloween so that we could have Halloween birthday parties forever.

My first horror movie memory is a scene from Friday the 13th, though I couldn’t tell you which one. All I remember is that hockey-masked Jason is chasing a young woman through the woods. She screams as she runs through the trees, and Jason ambles along after her, his long strides somehow closing the distance between them. 

That’s all I remember. I must have been maybe 4 or 5 when I saw this. It must have been on in the background at my mom’s friend’s house during a party. Even though I was so young (too young), I wasn’t terrified or scared. I was too young to know what was going on or to be worried about death.

I can't imagine showing something like this to my own child at so young an age. Now that I have my own kid, my relationship to horror has changed in unexpected ways.


Now, what I'm about to tell you will sound wild. Like, really, extremely out there. If you don't have a kid or have the same values as me, this might be a horror story in its own right, but I'm going to tell you anyway.

From the time my kid was about 6 to 9 months old, she slept just fine in her crib, in her own room. She slept through the night every night, and everyone got great sleep. As soon as she hit the 9-month mark, she began waking up instantaneously upon hitting her crib mattress. Sometimes, she would open her eyes mid-transfer and refuse to go back to sleep unless I picked her up. Sometimes, I'd be able to put her down and sneak out, only to have to return 5 minutes later when she woke up and realized she was no longer being held. My husband, M, would try to settle her, and she would only cry harder and louder. The only way my kid would go to sleep and stay asleep was to be held. By me.

And so, I started getting ready for bed when she did, which meant I was holding my child for hours in our nursing chair, reading a book or watching Gilmore Girls on my phone, until I was ready to go to bed — so I was essentially changing into my PJs, brushing my teeth, and going to bed with my kid around 8pm. I didn't get to watch tv or enjoy precious alone time with my husband. Sometimes, we would swap places so I got a break -- she would always stir or wake up during a transfer, though, and M would have to hold her tight and shhh her back to sleep. We were like two lone, exhausted ships passing in the night, tossing a small, infuriating but wholly beloved package back and forth. It was another lonely time.

A friend, who has raised her own children, suggested that I hold her while I watched tv or movies in the living room with M, instead of going to bed when she fell asleep. We tried it out one night -- and it worked. It turns out our Velcro kid is a heavy sleeper (except when she's being put down?!), and we were able to once again spend time together and watch our shows and movies. Of course, we had a tiny sleeping third wheel, and we had to whisper everything to each other, but we were able to return to a somewhat normal routine (...while holding a sleeping child).

In this new phase of life, I was able to begin watching horror again (again, while holding a sleeping baby/toddler). It felt like stumbling out of a dark cave (a la The Descent) into the light. I had no idea where I was or what new horror movies had come out. I didn't even know what I was in the mood to watch most of the time.

We started out light with My Best Friend's Exorcism (Disappointing! The book by Grady Hendrix is and will always be better! Please read it!). I kept falling asleep during Teen Wolf (1985). I finally watched and loved Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992). And then we waded out a little farther into the horror waters with Hellraiser (1987). And then we dove into the deep end with Barbarian (loved it) and The Black Phone.

The Black Phone stars Ethan Hawke as a truly terrifying man who kidnaps children, keeps them captive in his basement and eventually kills them. (I’m getting the creeps just seeing the thumbnail of the trailer above.) It's worth a watch, but not more than one. As a mother, actively holding her sleeping child while watching a child in a film be terrorized, this film was bone-chilling. Of course, I wanted our protagonist to make it out alive and I felt a deep sorrow for all the dead children and their parents. Most surprisingly though, the largest thought in my mind was: this serial killer was a baby once. He had a mother and a father, and he was a small, innocent child at one time. What happened to him?

Yes, yes, I know, he's not real, he's a character in a horror film. But I've found that this sentiment has traveled with me to most other human interactions in life. Even my girl, Britney Spears, talks in her memoir about this _seeing_ of other humans after becoming a mother. I listened to the audiobook (highly recommend!) so I wasn’t able to underline the things she wrote that were profound (which were many!), so I'm paraphrasing. She says something about how she looks at everyone, even those who have fucked her over, and thinks about how they used to be a baby.

There's something about how this way of seeing people unlocks a deep compassion for others, a way into understanding who they are and why they are the way they are. It’s not a path to excusing bad behavior, but understanding it. For me, this has become a form of radical empathy, providing a foundation for setting firm and loving boundaries with the people in my life.


The other thing I've discovered about horror films when I watch them in this way (while holding a sleeping angel) is how the body physically reacts to the terror on the screen -- the jump scares, the eerieness, tension.

When I was learning how to breastfeed, I learned that relaxing my body helped my baby relax, which helped her nurse better. Breathing deeply helped my fussy baby calm down. The same applies to the contact nap -- my relaxed body leads to a sleeping baby. A tense body might mean baby has a harder time getting comfortable and falling asleep, or they might wake up more easily. (This is all just my personal experience, not a science!)

So watching a horror movie -- especially one with jump scares The Nun and The Nun 2, I'm looking at you) -- shed a light on all the ways horror is a bodily experience. I can't remember what we were watching, but there was a jump scare and I somehow had enough control over my body (which, remember, was holding a sleeping baby) to NOT jump. Instead of jumping, though, I felt every hair on my body stand on end. It’s how I imagine it feels like to realize you’re being watched by a creature in the dark woods.

While watching the first Orphan film, I found myself holding my breath because I was so worried about the children. I had to keep taking deep breaths, and at one point, I turned to my husband and whispered, "Are these kids going to be okay?" I remember he looked at me and said grimly, "I don't know."

And of course, there are the jump scares where I actually jumped and/or whisper-shouted, "Oh shit!" Miraculously, my kid stirred but did not wake up a single time after one of these incidents.


I have expanded my definition of horror and spooky, which has expanded what I love. Paradoxically, what has also changed is that I now have limits on it -- what I know I can enjoy and when.

I’ve discovered that I have a distinction between comfort horror (i.e. The Lost Boys (1987), Fright Night (1985), The Crow (1994)), horror that I love that truly scares me (i.e. The Taking of Deborah Logan, The Ritual, Pontypool), and the horror that is out to get me in real life (meaning it is scary enough to keep me creeped out after the film is long over) (i.e. Evil Dead Rise, Barbarian, Hereditary). Entire months can go by where I don't watch a single horror film because I just don't have the stomach for any of it. Daily parenthood shreds my nerves enough some days.

Something else that’s new is my renewed enthusiasm for horror literature. While spending hours nap trapped, I came to read and love so much horror lit. The Hacienda and Vampires of El Norte, both by Isabel Cañas. Mexican Gothic by Silvia Moreno-Garcia. Motherthing by Ainslie Hogarth. Bad Cree by Jessica Johns. Mister Magic by Kiersten White. Empire of Wild by Cherie Dimaline. In the Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado. I could go on for awhile.

My definition of spooky has come to include murder mysteries, noir, and some thrillers. I'm talking about Tana French novels, and Sherlock (starring the dream team of Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman), and things like Glass Onion and Knives Out, Only Murders in the Building, and the Poirot murder mystery movies (like A Haunting in Venice).

I appreciate a well-built spooky atmosphere, an uneasy ambience, characters that feel untrustworthy but you're not sure why, the feeling that something is not quite right but you can't put your finger on it (see: the Midnight Mass limited series on Netflix for a master class in what I'm talking about).


These days, I am able to transfer my sleeping toddler to a sleep surface (our bed), so I am learning what it feels like to enjoy horror -- and also regular films! -- with the wholeness of my body again without trying to suppress my body's reactions, or whisper my shocked profanities.

September means that Spooky Season is officially here. This year, my husband and I have decided that our Spooktember film list will be comprised mostly of our favorites, rather than trying to watch every horror film we haven't seen yet that is on the streaming platforms we have access to. We'll be watching what I consider comfort horror -- The Crow (1994), Fright Night (1985), The Lost Boys (1985), the entire Phantasm series, The Ritual, and I Know What You Did Last Summer (1997)are a few of the titles on our list.

I've prematurely asked my toddler, who has no sense of time or seasons, what she wants to be for Halloween and how she feels about going trick-or-treating. She doesn't quite "get" Halloween yet, but I hope she eventually comes to love it the way I do. I'm unsure what movies I'd feel comfortable introducing to her and and at what age. We'll figure it out when and if the time comes. Right now, she's an Xmas girlie. If she never shares my enthusiasm for the spooky, that's okay. I have room in my life to enjoy the extra sparkle of lights on the tree, wrapping presents, the warming comfort of butter rum shortbread cookies, the punchy spice of gingerbread, and the chilly terror of Krampus (2015).


P.S. Now that I’ve finished this letter, I’m finding I have so much more to say about the intersection of motherhood and horror, so this is very likely the first of a few letters about it. Stay tuned.


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A Primer in Grief Horror Films, Just In Time For Valentine's Day

We all have feelings about Valentine’s Day. I’m not a huge fan, but I’m not grumpy about it either. Originally, this week’s post was going to be a “real love song” playlist, but I just couldn’t get excited about it or make up my mind about what the theme would actually be.

And then my brother and I started talking about one of my all-time favorite topics: horror movies. Growing up, I unintentionally traumatized my little brothers with all the horror I used to watch, so neither of them are big horror fans. My brother watched The Babadook recently and loved the way the entire movie was a metaphor for grief, and he got intrigued about the potential of horror movies to serve as metaphors for grief/loss/guilt.

And then I got excited because that’s one of my favorite subgenres of horror — horror as a metaphor or analogy for grief/loss/guilt. You can make the argument that a good horror film is always serving as a metaphor for something, which would be true, but I especially love ones that star grief, guilt and loss.

So I decided to write up a crash course in this subgenre for my brother and for all of you. In no particular order, I present to you: a primer in grief/loss/guilt horror:

Pet Sematary (1989)

If you’re on Twitter, you might know that Stephen King has really stepped in it recently and shown his cis-male white privilege on a few occasions. While that’s unfortunate, it doesn’t change the fact that Stephen King is a true master of horror, and Pet Sematary is no exception. A doctor and his wife move to a new town with their too-adorable-for-their-own-good kids, yadda yadda yadda, an ancient Native American ritual site whose soil has “gone sour” gets involved (I know, I know, it’s a…questionable choice, but here we are) (although, you might be able to argue that the crux of the film resting on an ancient Native American ritual site is also some kind of commentary on colonialism, I don’t want to start reading things into the text that aren’t really there), things get weird with a zombie cat, and then things get REALLY creepy. This movie is iconic for a reason.

The Babadook

Obviously. The catalyst for this list. There is so much to love about this film — that it’s about a woman whose husband died while she was giving birth to her son is heartbreaking enough. To watch her struggle to be a “good” mother to her son, who is a constant reminder of her husband and his death is so real and gut-wrenching. It upends tropes about what it means to be a “good” mother and what “good” parenthood looks like, and asks questions about what it means to be a mother and parent when you’ve experienced devastating trauma alongside an event that is supposed to be one of the happiest of your life, and what it means to struggle with a grief that threatens to consume you. UGH. Plus, it’ll keep you double-taking the shit you see out of the corner of your eye for at least 24 hours after you watch it.

Dark Was The Night

A favorite trope of mine is “small town law enforcement suddenly has to deal with a whole bunch of supernatural shenanigans and MAN, is it above their pay grade” and Dark Was The Night fits that bill. A creature feature shot mostly in frosty, moody blue tones, this one follows a small town sheriff who is swimming in grief and guilt following the loss of his son. His backstory is revealed bit by bit in tandem with his investigation into what exactly is terrorizing his small town. We grow to really love the sheriff and his deputy, and all you want for them is love, happiness, lively earth tones, and some sunshine, for god’s sake. Creature features (another absolute favorite horror subgenre of mine) can be hit or miss with the creature effects, but Dark was the Night keeps the mystery alive throughout most of the film and saves the big reveal for the very end, which is the best move they could have made. I’ve watched this movie three times now, and still, every time, my heart just wants that sheriff to open himself to love again.

The Final Girls

I love a good horror comedy, and The Final Girls is such a pleasant surprise. Taissa Farmiga stars as a woman whose late mother was an actress whose claim to fame was the lead role in a campy 80s slasher flick (that is clearly a spoof of Friday the 13th). Through some weird inexplicable twists, Farmiga’s character gets to see her mother again, except they’re all inside the campy 80s slasher film. This film will startle you with slasher scares while making you laugh and breaking your heart and sending up the campy 80s horror genre, all at the same time. Also, you can’t beat this cast: Malin Akerman, Nina Dobrev from The Vampire Diaries, Alia Shawkat from Arrested Development, and Adam Devine from Pitch Perfect and Workaholics. SO GOOD.

The Ritual (2017)

This is a British creature feature that follows 4 friends who go on a backpacking trip through northern Sweden in honor of their murdered friend. One of them busts an ankle, and they opt to take a shortcut to their hotel through some ominous-looking woods. We all know what happens next, but also…we don’t. I’ve watched this one twice, and get a mood for it more often than you’d think. This film is a seamless blend of creature feature, Swedish folklore, and a metaphor for an overwhelming grief and guilt that forces you to bow down to it.

The Void

A small-town cop finds a drugged out guy in the middle of nowhere and brings him to a hospital that is in the process of shutting down. The bare-bones night staff includes his wife, from whom he’s separated, and things get real intense, real quick from there. Many reviews of this movie call it an homage to low-budget ‘80s horror, which it is, but it really is so much more than that. There are nods to Lovecraftian horror and even ‘80s Italian horror director Lucio Fulci, and it’s clear that horror video games like Resident Evil are an influence here too. Aesthetics aside, at its heart, The Void is about different facets of grief, and all the ways it can destroy a person’s humanity.

Phantasm

Now, this one might be stretch, but I can’t not put it on the list. Phantasm is a Don Coscarelli film, and it’s a bonkers one at that. Jody and Mike are brothers whose parents have recently passed away. When Mike begins to be chased by a creepy entity they call the Tall Man, Jody tries to protect him, and things get pretty bananas from there. This movie is full of bonkers one-liners and WTF moments, and you’re probably never going to fully understand what’s going on. You’ll just have to be okay with that, and go along with wherever the movie takes you. It’s like a glorious, hilarious, campy, gory poem. In the midst of all its disorientation, Phantasm has great moments of tenderness and its characters live out emotions that will feel familiar to anyone who has been stricken with panic about the possible death of a loved one or has felt fiercely protective of a family member for whatever reason. I’ve seen this one countless times, and it hits me just as profoundly (and hilariously) every time.


These are only the first few that came to mind when I started this list — I’m sure there are many obvious ones that I’ve forgotten to add, but this is a good start. There are also movies I initially wanted to put on this list that didn’t make the cut because they featured grief, but not as a metaphor (see: Hereditary and Midsommar). If I left a film off this list that you think would be a good addition, tell me about it!

If you have a dark, broody, twisted side, like me, then this actually feels like the perfect Valentine’s Day post. So happy Valentine’s Day anyway, everyone. Hang out or snuggle up with your preferred scary movie partner and please, please, please, for the love of god, watch and enjoy these movies. These ones are some of my favorites, and I hope you all love them as much as I do.

I’m hard at work this week testing a recipe for a (hopefully) super delicious pie for M’s and my own V-Day celebrations, and I’ll tell you all about it next week. It might even have a playlist to go with it. And you might need to get ready for a lot of Jason Isbell and Kacey Musgraves.

Meanderings on I Know What You Did Last Summer

I feel like I can't start this post without saying two things. First: the majority of this post was written pre-election. That feels important for some reason. It might not be, but I wanted to say it, so I did. Deal with it. Second: there are spoilers (kind of), for those of you who have somehow gone 14 years without seeing I Know What You Did Last Summer but want to, but just haven't gotten around to it yet. (If you haven't seen it yet, just do it. Please. I mean, I Know is pretty predictable, but..???)

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I used to be a list maniac. Like, by the time I left for college, I had an entire notebook that was filled with lists. Favorite songs. Favorite song lyrics. Favorite smells. Favorite life moments. Favorite albums. Favorite movies. Lists of all the albums I owned, plus their track listings. Lists of all the books I owned. 

I Know What You Did Last Summer was my first favorite movie, and it was my #1 favorite movie all throughout high school. Up until I Know…, I didn’t have favorites, really. There were movies that I really liked, but there wasn't one that was my favorite. Scream came out the year before, and I liked it a lot, but it didn’t do for me what I Know… did. 

First of all, I Know… was a book first. And I had read it. It wasn’t my favorite book. The cover and the premise were scarier than the actual story. 

For those who aren’t familiar, I Know… is about a group of teenagers who accidentally hit and kill someone with a car. Instead of calling the police or an ambulance, the teens dispose of the body and vow to never talk about it again. In the film, nearly a year after the incident, someone begins stalking and murdering all the teens who were involved. In the book, I remember the menace being mostly a metaphor for their guilty consciences, which was very disappointing to me. I wanted action, I wanted vengeance, I wanted blood. I didn’t want the moral to be, “Don’t hit someone with your car and then dispose of the still-alive body because your guilty conscience will never leave you alone.” I wanted the moral to be, “Don’t hit someone with your car and then dispose of the still-alive body because someone’s going to come back and kill your ass, and rightfully so.” 

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Back then, I adored Ryan Phillippe. His character, Barry, was the dickish aggressive jock who started to become a nicer human being (kind of), and then he got murdered. (Oops, spoiler. Sorry.) 

I can’t really remember what else made me love the movie. It took place in a New England fishing town, which I think I liked. Ryan Phillippe/Barry was cute. Maybe I liked the idea that such unlikeable people (Barry, in particular) could possibly change — right before they were murdered, of course — but nevertheless, they could change. That's what made their deaths tragic. 

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Now, when I watch I Know… Sarah Michelle Gellar’s character, Helen, is my favorite. She’s a beauty queen (literally) who had big dreams of moving to New York City to become an actress. Those plans didn’t work out, and she finds herself back home, working at her sister’s shop and preparing to hand last year's beauty queen crown over to her successor. Helen is supposed to be vain and shallow, but Gellar plays her with nuance. Underneath the vanity and supposed vapidness, there’s a sadness to Helen, and when it comes time for her to die, she fucking fights to the last breath. Helen’s death is the one I mourn the most. 

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The two main characters who survive — Julie (Jennifer Love Hewitt) and Ray (Freddie Prinze Jr.) — are the most annoying to me. Julie’s judgy self-righteousness, and Ray’s wide-eyed earnestness are so off-putting.

At the beginning of the movie, there’s a scene where the four sit around a bonfire on the beach and tell a scary story about a murderer with a hook for a hand. After the storytelling, the couples pair off: Helen and Barry, Julie and Ray. Helen and Barry fully embrace their sexual selves and make out next to the bonfire in full firelight. Julie and Ray sneak off to a shadowy cave, where they exchange cheesy words of love (Ray says, “Did you know that the success rate of high school relationships is higher than any others?” then Julie says, “Oh yeah? Cite your source.” And then Ray puts Julie’s hand on his heart. BARF.) and then bashfully have sex for the first time. 

I do appreciate that there is an attempt at a self-aware, feminist lens in Julie, though, especially in the pre-accident scenes. She calls out Barry’s sexism, and delivers a screed on tales used to “scare girls out of having pre-marital sex.” That all ends with the accident.

And even though both Helen and Julie have sex, only one of them lives — the modest, self-righteous one. 

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Folks of color, where are they at? They’re nowhere. Julie has a Black roommate, who tells her that she needs to “get some sun on that pasty tail.” Because Julie looks like death at that point in the film, to be honest. 

And that is the end of any folks of color in the film. 

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I imagine that the soundtrack was what some might refer to as "hip," if only for this: 

And I won't lie. I loved this song then, and I still love it now. It feels like a summer song, and it also feels slightly creepy? I don't know, maybe that's just the I Know What You Did Last Summer context talking to me.

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At the end of the day, the moral of the story is: don’t murder someone, intentionally or unintentionally, and then try to cover it up. Your guilty conscience, literally and/or metaphorically, will come for you. 

Also, be prudish about sex. You can have sex if you want, but be cool about it, I guess. 

And even though you might be a voice of dissent in your group of murderer-friends, but you still go along with the whole thing and don’t tell anyone, you should still be self-righteous about the whole thing. 

And definitely find your courage by spinning in a circle and yelling, “What are you waiting for?” into the trees. 

Damon Salvatore & the Supernatural Bad Boy

When I tell people that I watch The Vampire Diaries, I usually qualify it with this: I loved the books when I was in high school. I loved The Vampire Diaries more than a decade before it was a tv show. I’m a little bit of a hipster about it. 

Even before that though, I loved L.J. Smith’s trilogy, The Forbidden Game. 

The story centered around Jenny (blond hair, blue eyes), her boyfriend Tom (he might be on the football team, I can’t remember), and Julian, a bad boy wizard type (his eye color is described as the blue of the sky just before the sun rises) who has a big crush on Jenny and a penchant for sadistic survival board games.  In the first book of the series, The Hunter, Jenny buys a carnivalesque board game at a creepy little shop. Once she begins playing the game with her friends, they’re all whisked away into a life-sized version of the game. 

Yaddi yaddi yada, Jenny finds out that Julian, has been watching her for her entire life from another dimension, and he’s fallen in love with her. Which is not creepy at all. 

And it turns out that by playing the game, Jenny has unwittingly agreed to play for her freedom from Julian. (He wants her to be his queen.) 

And she also has to try to save her friends from death traps. 

Super romantic, right? 

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After The Forbidden Game, I headed straight for The Vampire Diaries. 

In the original story, Elena (another blond, blue-eyed teenager) falls in love with Stefan, a brooding and serious guy who turns out to be a vampire. Things get complicated when Stefan’s brother, Damon, comes to town and starts causing a ruckus. Namely, he begins threatening Elena and also seducing her somehow (???), and so — a love triangle is born. 

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I also loved The Secret Circle, which features a coven of teen witches. The main character is a girl named Cassie (if you guessed that she’s also blond-haired and blue-eyed, you’d be correct), and the coven is made up of both men and women. There’s also a love triangle in this series, but I honestly don’t remember it that well.  

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I had a friend who also devoured these books and talked about them at length. Mainly, we talked about which boy in the love triangle we would choose. These talks always posed conundrums for me. 

For example, in The Forbidden Game, Tom (as I remember him) was a sweet, safe guy. He was perfectly wonderful, respected Jenny’s independence, and supported her ambition. But he just didn’t appeal to me as much as Julian. 

Yes, I preferred Julian, the wizard-stalker from another dimension with white hair and eyes the-color-of-the-sky-just-before-the-sun-rises. 

What was it about him? Well, he was gorgeous, clearly. He was also lonely. He had a lot of angst about having to live in this other dimension, with the object of his affection so oblivious to his existence and unable to reach her. He had never experienced affection or love or a healthy relationship, so the only way he knew to court Jenny was to imprison her in a game of death traps and make her play for her freedom. 

Endearing, right?  

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In all seriousness, looking back on those books, and my inclination toward the “bad” or “darker” sides of the love triangles, speaks to L.J. Smith’s ability to write muddy characters. In The Forbidden Game, the clear “right” choice is Tom. Humanizing Julian and making him a sympathetic character (at times), makes the choice less clear. 

The same goes for The Vampire Diaries. I don’t think I ever really felt the same affection for Damon that I did for Julian. He had his human and complicated moments, but he never really hooked me. But making him a more rounded character made the choice less clear. 

What ultimately makes L.J. Smith’s “bad boy” characters untenable as the “right” choice is this: they don’t change. They reveal their softer sides, they make themselves vulnerable, they reveal emotions. But in the end, they continue to commit acts of violence and generally terrible behavior. The constant back and forth between softness and vulnerability to violence are classic tools of real life manipulation and abuse. 

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When I found out that The Vampire Diaries was being turned into a TV show, I lost my shit. Past Rachel was beside herself with excitement. 

The first few episodes of the season followed the book pretty closely, and then the show’s writers began taking the storyline in a much different direction. And for the most part, I’ve loved it. 

Initially, what I loved was how each episode started off like a scary movie. And I loved that Elena is played by Nina Dobrev, a brown-haired, brown-eyed woman. That seems like a low bar, but… you know? We can’t all be blond, L.J. At first glance, I thought the casting choices for Stefan and Damon were too pretty, and I was terribly, horribly wrong. Paul Wesley and Ian Somerhalder are perfect for their roles in every way. 

What else have I loved about the tv series? The evolution of Caroline, played by Candice King. She has grown to be one of my favorite characters of all time. (YES.) In the books, Caroline was mostly just a mean girl who is easily manipulated. In the tv show, she turns into a badass girly-girl vampire, and I love her. 

The other thing I love about the show: Damon. In the books, Damon is terrible and horrifying. In the show, Damon has a centuries-long history of being completely irredeemable, but his character arcs toward redemption and learning what it means to be a ‘good’ person. His evolution really hinges on these questions: when you have spent centuries being one of the worst and most murderous vampires in the world, how do you begin to be a better person? How do you atone for your violence? How do you begin to forgive yourself? How do you begin to believe that you are worthy of love? How do you embrace the darker parts of yourself and still be a “good” person? What does it even mean to be a "good" person?

I love that journey. I love those questions, and I love how complicated the answers are. 

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In real life, I have zero tolerance for abusive behaviors. I believe that abusers can be rehabilitated. I believe that people can change. But they rarely do, because they aren’t given the tools and support to create change within themselves. Because there is no reason for abusers to change their behavior. Because we live in a society where one of our presidential candidates can brag about sexually assaulting women, and nothing happens to him.  Because this same presidential candidate can try to use physical intimidation and bullying on his opponent (who happens to be a woman) during a debate on a national stage, and nothing happens to him. Because a man can be found guilty of assaulting an unconscious woman behind a dumpster, but only have to serve 3 months of his ridiculously short 6-month sentence, and the world cries about how his swimming career is over. 

And so on, and so on, and so on. 

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So maybe that’s the thing. Maybe L.J. Smith’s bad boy characters are initially appealing because they’re mysterious, dark, supernatural, charming — like so many bad boys in actual life. But despite the magic, they’re just as human, just as unchangeable as an abuser. 

Ian Somerhalder’s interpretation of Damon explores what a reformed abuser might look like. He’s white and never been oppressed in his life. He’s exerted power and control and violence over so many people throughout his centuries of living. And he lives in a world where he is supported in self-actualizing toward being a better human. 

Imagine if everyone had that. Everyone

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Of course, as with most things, it's never that simple. 

I believe that people can change, that people are ultimately good. But we haven’t created a world where every person is supported and nurtured into being the best people they can be. We haven’t even created a world where trans folx can use a public bathroom without fear for their safety. Or a world where trans folx of color don’t fear for their lives every single damn day. Or a world where a womxn — cis or trans or queer — can walk down the street at night — or any time of day, really — without fear of violence or death. 

And so on, and so on, and so on. 

Damn. 

We’ve got a lot of fucking work to do.