Teen sitcom slasher showdown

Most sitcoms have done a couple of spooky episodes, usually to coincide with Halloween. A god-tier example is “Too Old to Trick or Treat, Too Young to Die” from the third season of That ‘70s Show, which had the cast struggling against Hitchcockian horrors found in Rear Window, Vertigo, The Birds, North by Northwest, and Psycho. 

Two other favorites of mine are the Boy Meets World season 5 episode “And Then There Was Shawn” and the Wizards of Waverly Place season 1 episode “Movies”—both of which act as affectionate parodies of slasher movies despite neither being Halloween episodes. The actual Boy Meets World Halloween offering was a time travel-themed multi-episode crossover arc with Sabrina the Teenage Witch, and it’s just as delightful. “And Then There Was Shawn,” however, is so iconic that it was even given its own oral history treatment in 2012.

Recently I rewatched both of these episodes and decided to do a little side-by-side comparison just for fun, based on six categories, and really to see how they’re each love letters to the slasher genre in their own way.

Do you like scary movies? 

First off: Why a horror episode? According to the team behind “And Then There Was Shawn” (henceforth referred to as “Shawn”), which aired in 1998, it had a lot to do with the big self-aware teen slasher resurgence of the era—and the fact that, after five seasons, the writers had a good grasp on the characters and the environments they would thrive in. Which, apparently, included a dwindling-party whodunit. And it’s because they know these characters so well that it worked. 

“Movies,” on the other hand, aired in 2007, a time when horror was trying to find its voice again, one experiment being a brief foray into moderately successful Hot Topic-coded slasher remakes that aren’t all that fondly remembered. So it probably wasn’t enough of a cultural phenomenon on its own to drive the creators of a Disney Channel show to make an episode just to capture that zeitgeist; it was more likely that they needed an excuse for Alex and Justin to want to see a restricted movie in a theater, and horror movies were the safest bet. 

Who survives? “Shawn.” Scream penetrating youth-oriented Disney-adjacent cable TV is just a testament to its impact and legacy.

Why can’t I be in a Meg Ryan movie?

Boy Meets World and Wizards of Waverly Place aren’t just sitcoms, they’re sitcoms aimed at younger audiences. It calls for a bigger suspension of disbelief when the plot of the episode involves, well, murder. So how exactly do these kid-friendly characters find themselves in a situation that happens to include a masked killer? 

“Movies” had the Russo siblings learning spell improvisation, also known as make-them-ups. Just like genie wishes, these spells have to be super specific and have no room for ambiguity. It backfires on Alex as she’s trying to get into an R-rated screening: instead of putting herself in the theater, she literally ends up in the movie. 

As for “Shawn,” well… it was all just a dream. And cliche as it may be, it gave the episode the creative freedom it needed: “With the dream structure, our writers were able to get away with murder,” said actor Ryder Strong, who played Shawn. “Literally.” 

Who survives? “Movies.” Shawn’s dream may have been written in to make something creative possible and it makes plenty of sense in terms of a bigger season arc, but “Movies” makes use of a metafictional trope that I just love, joining the likes of The Final Girls and Teen Beach Movie.

What do we have behind door number three?

Every slasher needs a Scream Queen. The guest star of “Shawn” was Jennifer Love Hewitt, best known at the time for Party of Five and being the final girl in I Know What You Did Last Summer, one of the less forgettable follow-ups to Scream. She played Jennifer Love Fefferman, a.k.a. Feffy, a new student who becomes a one-time love interest for Eric. (Apt, since JLH was Will Friedle’s girlfriend at the time.) 

In “Movies,” pop star-turned-horror heroine Ruby Donahue was played by Malese Jow, fresh off three years on Unfabulous playing the BFF of Emma Roberts’ Addie Singer. The script tried to flesh her out by having her complain that the trashy sorority slasher role was her agent’s idea, but more than anything it was a fun little cameo made noteworthy by the actress’s Nick-to-Disney network jump. 

Who survives? “Shawn.” Feffy, we hardly knew ye. Bonus points for the joke where Jack says his favorite scary movie is “the one with the hottie from Party of Five” and Feffy quips, “Neve Campbell?”

Movies make psychos more creative

“Movies” and “Shawn” wholeheartedly embraced and had plenty of fun with the postmodern leanings of Scream, from exaggerated, way-too-long movie titles to the lampshading of ever-present tropes. The film Alex and Justin find themselves stuck in is called Night of the Halloween Sorority Party Disaster 2. Alex asks a perky sorority sister, “ Aren’t you a little too old to be in a sorority?”—an obvious dig at how high-schoolers and co-eds in low-budget slashers have a tendency to be played by 30-year-olds. When the suspense ramps up, Alex observes, “Why did the music get all scary?” Not long after, Ruby remarks, “This is the part where I run screaming into the steam-filled showers, which have been left running for no reason at all.” 

Of course, this is still the Disney Channel, so there’s no body count, and the (non-)killer’s weapon is nothing but a hair dryer. But the logline of NOTHSPD2 (“[an] evil sorority sister [has] come back from the grave to punish us for our reckless destruction of pillows”) and the subtle attention to detail that extends to switching aspect ratios more than make up for it.  

“Shawn” dials up the meta elements in ways that were so much edgier than Boy Meets World ever had a right to be. There’s an actual body count (ten, just like in its reference title And Then There Were None!), jump scares, and red herrings. When the first victim—a character whose first and only appearance took place in this episode—questions why he has to be the one to die, Cory says, “Well, Kenny, it’s certainly not going to be any of us.” There’s even a genuinely creepy song that plays over the school’s sound system. Shawn steps into the role of the resident horror fan who states the rules and tropes and makes commentary. Notably, they discuss the trope of virgins being safe from death, with Shawn muttering that he’ll get as injured as he can without actually dying. 

There’s also a running gag that never fails to make me giggle: 

SHAWN: “The death of the janitor signifies the end of the last of the obvious suspects, just like in the cult classic, The Last of the Obvious Suspects.”

CORY: “The killer is one of us.”

SHAWN: “Like in The Killer is One of Us.” 

ERIC: “Killer, killer, you’re the killer, and I know you’re going to tell me you’re not the killer, and because you’re beautiful you think I’m going to believe you but I’m not! It’s just like that movie, Killer, Killer, You’re the Killer, and I Know You’re Going to Tell Me—”

Who survives? “Shawn” would make Randy Meeks absolutely proud.

They sell this costume in every five and dime in the state

Both of the killers’ costumes are—surprise, surprise—based off of Ghostface from the Scream franchise. The version in “Shawn” trades the elongated ghoulish face of agony in for a generic skull, making it look like the Grim Reaper. “Movies” has the killer don a translucent mask similar to the ones in Jawbreaker, giving its would-be victims a glimpse of its eyes and the pink of its lips pulled into a slasher smile, albeit in a blurry, flat, doll-like uncanny valley way not unlike in Alice, Sweet Alice. 

Who survives? “Movies.” Because I love Jawbreaker, and because the mask did make the killer look creepy despite its silly weapon.

Like the plot of some scary movie

Neither of these slasher episodes can be considered “throwaway” when it comes to the overall progression of either show’s story. On Wizards, “Movies” provided an opportunity for character development and coming of age—it brought the siblings closer and taught them not to be in a rush to grow up. Being the ninth episode of the series as a whole, though, it’s still a little too early to make any real changes, so its effect is quite surface level. 

“Shawn” is the culmination of the title character’s feelings regarding the events of BMW season 5, which centered heavily on Cory and Topanga’s breakup. Aside from being a fully realized story with twists and reveals, the episode actually moved the overarching plot along, affecting character relationships and giving the audience insight into Shawn’s headspace (i.e. his guilt and anxieties) as his best friends go through this rough patch.

Who’s the Final Girl? “And Then There Was Shawn” nabs the honor with four out of six points, and for a lot of the categories, it’s not even close. There’s a reason people still talk about this episode all the time not just as a best for Boy Meets World, but as a cultural shift for television, period.

Self-isolation in the movies

 

Lauren Ashley Carter in Darling (2015)

Our days in quarantine have been compared to post-apocalyptic dystopia and endless time loops — but how do movies actually depict what it’s like when you’re physically disconnected from the rest of the world?  

One of the movies I have watched under lockdown is Vivarium, which is science fiction horror featuring Imogen Poots and Jesse Eisenberg. It was two weeks into the community quarantine, and I felt shaken as I watched the main characters — a couple looking to buy their first home — try to find their way out of the never-ending suburbia in which they had found themselves trapped.

The houses, all the same pallid shade of green, were ordinary-looking, stood next to each other in neat rows that seemed to go on forever into a sun that seemed more artificial than anything. No matter which way the characters drove or walked, they ended up right back outside the house that’s been chosen for them. It was deadly silent, the air stale, and there was nobody else around. There was no escape, nowhere else to go.

It was chilling, and it was too close to home. Literally.

I didn’t know it at the time, but the movie would end up embodying the uncertainties of the future that lay ahead of not just me personally, but the planet as a whole. You do what you can to survive, and you do what you can to alleviate your own nervousness, to rekindle your sense of purpose and direction, even if it means digging a hole into the earth just to find where it leads.

Vivarium (2020)

In the weeks since, it has left me curious about what other movies have to say about self-isolation and disconnect. I looked back on what I’ve watched and emerged with a list that has its fair share of collective similarities and differences. There’s a whole range of genres and stories, from the lighthearted to the mindscrew-y. Quarantine movies, after all, have never had a reason to exist before today — a gaping hole in cinema that I have no doubt will soon be filled.

The first movie that came to mind when I started thinking about this running theme was Two Night Stand, a romantic comedy starring Miles Teller and Analeigh Tipton. A pair of virtual strangers who have a one night stand end up not being able to stand each other come the morning after — only they’ll have to put up or shut up, because there’s a blizzard and now they’re stuck with each other for the time being. The movie has plenty of the recklessness that comes with being removed from routine or the status quo, and its depiction of people trying to get along under close quarters rings especially true these days.

In Weepah Way for Now, the fictional sisters played by real-life siblings Aly and AJ Michalka aren’t necessarily stuck at home. It revolves around the pair as they plan a going-away party in their house, and each scene is conversational and very slice-of-life. It resonated with me and felt very relevant to current events anyway; there was the bickering and adjusting that came with cohabitation, there was reminiscence and nostalgia for days gone by, there was purposeful movement coinciding with flights of fancy. The sisters cling to favorite places and the objects that have made up their lives. Their comfort and their grief come hand in hand and they live through the endings, the changes, and the bad news because they have each other.

Evan Rachel Wood and Ellen Page in Into the Forest (2015)

Into the Forest also features a pair of sisters, Nell (Ellen Page) and Eva (Evan Rachel Wood). Set in the near future, its plot is set into motion when a power outage and technological collapse occur nationwide, causing an apocalypse. With their father dead, the girls board themselves up in their remotely located home, surrounded by the forest and, beyond it, the still turning world. Food and supplies run scarce while fear and danger run high, but as in Weepah Way for Now, they still have a semblance of hope and protection in each other’s presence.

Two interesting studies of madness in isolation are Darling and Queen of Earth. The former is about a young woman who slowly loses her grip on reality when she takes on a job as caretaker of a New York apartment with a vague but morbid history. The movie is told in chapters that come off more like non-sequiturs instead of telling a linear narrative, serving only to better illustrate the descent into madness of the unnamed lead, who spends most of her time alone. Being shot in black and white with an absence of modern objects gives it the feel of being lost in time — a stylistic choice that heightens the anxiety and horror, especially set against the backdrop of a grand but empty home.

Queen of Earth, on the other hand, is a psychological thriller with a brilliant performance from Elisabeth Moss, in which two friends spend a weekend at a cabin in the woods and realize they’ve drifted apart. Moss’ character Catherine, in particular, already spiraling from a breakup and the death of her father, undergoes emotional distress that breaks down her sense of self: “I don’t really feel like I exist anymore.” There’s biting tension and hostility, the plot unfolding to ominous music that makes the viewer wonder where it’s going, or if it’s even getting anywhere — in his review, film critic Brian Tallerico describes it as “those hazy, uncertain days of our lives when our definitions of ourselves have to change.”

Elisabeth Moss in Queen of Earth (2015)

Finally, there’s 10 Cloverfield Lane. Mary Elizabeth Winstead plays Michelle, who after a car accident wakes up in an underground shelter after being “taken in” (read: kidnapped) by Howard (John Goodman), who appears affable but soon reveals himself to be quite unhinged. He claims that the world is in shambles and she’ll never be able to survive out there. Together with the third inhabitant Emmett (John Gallagher Jr., a delight), they quickly fall into a new day-to-day — but Michelle will stop at nothing to find out what’s really going on with the bunker and the world outside.

Beyond its otherworldly themes, what struck me most about the film is how it portrays a person’s sense of safety, and how the characters find ways to fill their days. When you’ve gotten used to a strange situation and begin to feel secure in it, it’s easy to forget that there could be very real threats outside, the way many of us tend to do in the midst of this pandemic.

Time moves differently when you’ve shut yourself away from the rest of the world. The movies I’ve seen over the last few weeks in order to write this essay sometimes take place over a few days, or weeks, or months — it’s interesting to me how they depict the passage of time, especially when characters have to remain in one place through it all. Hair grows, or the weather changes, or there’s a sudden dance montage. Being stuck in a certain space for that long, you’re forced to confront your own notions of ennui and amusement. Your resourcefulness and creativity are put to the test. The movies address that, too: characters doing their nails, bringing out VHS tapes and old board games, filling the silence with conversation.

AJ and Aly Michalka in Weepah Way for Now (2015)

Just beneath it all remains the paranoia and anxieties we’re trying to see through to the other side, always thrumming — along with the sides of ourselves we’d rather not face. I like that these movies have a wide variety of tone and mood; it shows that these thoughts that haunt us can lead to enlightenment and promise just as much as madness and despair.

But the part I keep holding on to is that most of these characters are never truly alone, no matter how dire their situations become. I find myself going back to that scene in Weepah Way for Now where, after the sisters face an unimaginable tragedy, the narrator refuses to dwell on the pain that follows: “We can choose to focus on other things if we want to.” It’s impossible to do that in real life — and it would be foolish and uncouth. But I like the idea of it anyway, that there will be an after that comes at the end of hard times.

The story skips ahead, instead, to the first time the sisters have a good laugh after what they’ve experienced. They’re overlooking the city they’ve grown up in; their movements are stilted and tentative at first, but they begin to smile in earnest and goof off, their limbs growing looser and bolder. They feel good, they’re surviving, they’re fearless, they’re loved. Together.

Something to die for

For the generation who grew up with Final Destination, the supernatural slasher franchise would end up embodying the anxieties and ennui of our adult years.

The last Final Destination movie came out nine years ago, so it was a bit of a surprise when the franchise trended on Twitter in the Philippines  recently. It wasn’t news of a new installment or a reboot however — there was just a game prompting users to share the movie that traumatized them the most, and Final Destination was the most common answer.

Even someone like me, who has become so desensitized to horror that I was able to shrug off Hereditary as soon as the credits rolled, could understand why. Who wouldn’t be traumatized by movies about people who cheat death and then are stalked by its vengeful supernatural form, meeting their ends in gruesome Rube Goldberg-esque accidents like burning in a tanning bed and strangulation via laundry line?

I could argue that Final Destination was actually my gateway to horror, beginning with a morbid fascination that soon became honest appreciation. My first glimpse of it was a scene from the second movie as it was airing on TV — a woman’s braid gets caught in the elevator doors, and she literally loses her head in the process. The whole thing was tense and drawn-out, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen. I was terrified.

When we talk about these movies, though, almost everyone agrees that Final Destination 3 is the icon of the series. Despite being released in the winter of 2006, it was a perfect summer movie, taking its bright colors from its initial setting of an amusement park, where a malfunctioning rollercoaster results in the deaths of a few high school seniors.The focus this time is solely on a group of teenagers who managed to get off the ride and narrowly escape their dark fate — before realizing that it, of course, has begun following them around. (Set to The Vogues’ “Turn Around, Look at Me” for added creepiness, and also added rock ‘n’ roll cool.)

Turns out, there’s a whole generation of 20-somethings who now walk around still carrying the fear instilled in them by this movie. Maybe they saw it in theaters, maybe it was shown to them by a friend. It was certainly a favorite for cable television reruns. Either way, a certain group of people seem to have grown up defined by Final Destination just as much as they are by Mean Girls or even Harry Potter. 

Again, horror barely ever affects me anymore. But I still remember the first time I stumbled on Final Destination 3 while looking for something to watch on cable when I was 13. I’d lie awake that night tossing and turning, replaying the tanning bed scene over and over in my head. Or the scene where a car’s engine fan obliterates some poor guy’s head. Or even just “Turn Around, Look at Me” giving me the worst kind of last song syndrome.

I swore up and down I would never watch it again, but somehow I did keep tuning in whenever it was on. And over time the debilitating fear I felt at the mere thought of it became something more like comfort — especially after I knew that my friends had seen it too, and they were also scarred by it the way I was. It became a bonding thing for us; we talked about the parts that scared us until we could laugh them off, and by the time The Final Destination came out, we had moved on to heckling the characters and making fun of their cartoonish demise. When Final Destination 5 turned out to be a stealth prequel to the first movie, we could even recognize it as a one-of-a-kind cinematic experience. (Or maybe that’s just me.)

These days I find that my relationship with horror has changed again. When I was in university it was a way to reduce stress; mindless entertainment with reliable patterns that might still form together to create twists and turns that could shock me and make me question reality. Now I suppose it’s a little more cerebral, a little more critical — something to help with the anger and powerlessness I feel about a world that refuses to make sense, something to take the edge off when my mind feels a little too full and a little too empty all at once.

I read an essay from Nick Antosca, creator of the horror series Channel Zero, about “creating horror in the era of Trump.” They had been filming an episode of the second season No-End House during the 2016 US elections, and he wrote, “When I watch that scene now, I can barely separate the sinking feeling we had that night with the sense of dread that lives within the show itself. The horror genre has always been a place where Americans go for cultural catharsis, but never in my generation has the day-to-day American experience felt so consistently like a horror movie.”

I realized this week that the trauma left behind by Final Destination goes beyond irrational fears of tanning beds and LASIK surgery. Somehow its nihilism and haunting imagery now reflect the modern anxieties and fatalistic coping mechanisms my generation came to embrace. Make it make sense, we’d recite, maybe even with a “weary face” emoji for emphasis. Because these days, it does feel a lot like everything in the world is out to get you — but if there’s anything I’ve learned from these movies, it’s that even if the worst to come is inevitable, it doesn’t mean there’s nothing you can do to fight back and live another day. 

Class rage goes to the movies

From Knives Out to Parasite, the past year’s most talked-about cinema explores every intricacy of the gap between rich and poor and, in some instances, turns it on its head.

It’s been quite a year for Bong Joon-ho’s Palme d’Or-winning Parasite. It has garnered a Screen Actors Guild Award nomination for Best Ensemble Cast, and recently won a Golden Globe for Best Foreign Language Film.

It has been the first South Korean feature to reach such heights, connecting with worldwide viewers on a scale that’s unmatched and unprecedented. In his acceptance speech, the director posited that if more people were willing to watch movies in languages they can’t understand and put a little more effort into reading subtitles, they would open themselves up to amazing storytelling and filmmaking. Parasite, for its part, has certainly earned all the accolades. There’s a complexity and a twist to it that makes it hard to describe and a joy to watch when you go in not knowing anything about it, but it’s also plain in its stark depiction of class dynamics — which could be what makes it so resonant, even to “very local” (Bong’s words) Western sensibilities.

Interestingly, the line that divides the well-to-do and the rest of us who struggle financially has also been explored in other favorite movies from the past year, unveiling a possible pattern in what makes today’s audiences tick. This discussion was arguably brought to the table and anchored by Rian Johnson’s Knives Out, released last November and another awards season frontrunner.

The whodunit opens, like murder mysteries are wont to do, with a body: bestselling mystery author Harlan Thrombey’s (Christopher Plummer) throat has been slit in his gothic mansion. Initial investigation reveals he did it himself, but it’s hardly case closed. With his fortune and property up in the air, Harlan’s surviving family reveal themselves to be despicable and unpleasant in several different ways — daughter Linda (Jamie Lee Curtis), for instance, built her own business “from the ground up,” conveniently leaving out the hefty loan from her father, son Walt (Michael Shannon) refuses to give up control of the family’s publishing house and has raised a teenage neo-Nazi, and grandson Ransom (Chris Evans) is spoiled and jobless.

When the Thrombeys — who have been swimming in privilege and privilege-blindness — find themselves threatened with the possibility of losing their wealth, they prove themselves each willing to do whatever it takes to protect their own interests. Caught in the middle is Marta (Ana de Armas), Harlan’s nurse and friend, who is an immigrant and not exactly living in comfort. What she does have, however, is a pure heart, integrity, and fearlessness when it comes to standing up for what’s right.

Similarly, there’s bold and brash horror-comedy Ready or Not, in which Grace (Samara Weaving) marries into the Le Domas family, whose wealth comes from their board game empire. On the night of her wedding, she has to play a game with them as an initiation of sorts and ends up drawing Hide and Seek, which apparently now means they have to hunt her and kill her in ritual sacrifice to the Devil. But Grace is not so willing to die just for them to carry on with their elitism and their affluence, so she fights back and bursts their bubble (and maybe their insides) in the process.

Both Knives Out and Ready or Not depict the rich as the clear antagonist; the chaotic evil to Marta’s lawful good and Grace’s chaotic good. They’re both disruptive and subversive to a system that favors the upper class, and while this makes them far-fetched, it’s no less fun to watch some rich snobs get their comeuppance.

Mikhail Red’s Dead Kids, which premiered on Netflix in December, takes a more realistic approach. A group of misfits carry out a plan to kidnap the biggest jerk in school, motivated by revenge and the cool P30 million they’ll be receiving as ransom. The least well-off is Sta. Maria (Kelvin Miranda), who struggles to pay rent and couldn’t get a scholarship to the expensive university of his dreams. When they discuss what to do with the money, his co-conspirators talk about cars, and he only wants to get away from the big city and return to the province.

The movie comments on the drug war and how unfair society is and uses status symbols like Yeezys and AirPods to illustrate class differences, but perhaps lacks the tension and doesn’t simmer enough in the consequence for either the would-be kidnappers, the self-absorbed victim, or the corrupt cops to leave an impression or get a message across.

Parasite itself was criticized for its “failed revolution,” as the Kim family’s ruse of monopolizing the Park family’s payroll through taking different jobs without the latter knowing they’re related to each other — a scheme that would have made their lives infinitely more comfortable, if only it were sustainable — did not lead them to the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, after all. But it’s a criticism that doesn’t really have merit when you consider how the turn(s) of events flow into one another and toward an ending that’s not only justified and believable, but also equal parts hopeful and wistful. It highlights that “work hard for a better life” is bullshit, and for the lower class, there’s always, always more to lose.

The main difference is that the Parks aren’t cruel. Kim Ki-taek (Song Kang-ho) observes that they’re actually quite nice despite their wealth, and his wife Chung-sook (Chang Hyae-jin) is quick to interject that they’re nice because they’re rich, because they can afford to be. What the Parks are, instead, is stuck-up and blissfully ignorant, and this cultivates a resentment in the Kim family that festers and boils over as the action continues to rise — which is the most radical, true-to-life part of all.

Filipinos are used to narratives that lay out the class hierarchy for us, but it’s mostly on teleseryes and in movies that depict being rich as something aspirational. But with billionaires amassing collective net worths higher than those of the rest of the world combined, more and more people have become uncomfortable with the mere idea of wealth, even for themselves.

Cinema has always reflected the times, and these days, people are driven by their anger against and frustration with a system that puts certain races, genders, and classes first and leaves them powerless. It’s refreshing and thrilling to see that filmmakers are pushing back on the status quo, and that the general public is actually here to listen. In telling, hearing, and sharing these stories, we can find ways to revolt and lay the groundwork for change — or at least see what change could be.

viewer discretion is (not) advised

I found out about Alejandro Amenábar’s 1996 feature debut Thesis on the same list of 1990s horror movies that led me to Perfect Blue. I have to say, the person who wrote that best-of list just gets me—or, more likely, they just have great taste—because it became one of my favorite movies not even a quarter of the way in. 

The Spanish thriller centers on Ángela, a film student who’s studying violence in cinema for her thesis. Her search for material to analyze brings her to Chema, a scruffy classmate with an almost unhealthy fixation on anything gory and NSFL, and the extensive video collection to prove it. While watching a movie in his apartment (practically decorated like a horror museum), Ángela wonders aloud about the idea of real violence caught on tape. (Un)lucky for her, she gets her answer: The next morning, she finds her thesis adviser’s body in the viewing room of the university’s video archives, and what killed him was a heart attack caused by a snuff film hidden in the collection. The tape depicts the brutal torture and killing of Vanessa, a girl from her class who’d gone missing two years ago. 

To further complicate things, Ángela meets and finds herself helplessly drawn to Bosco, a handsome and aggressive young man who claims to have known Vanessa—and who may or may not have had a hand in her disappearance. Desperate, terrified, and curious, Ángela enlists Chema to help her investigate the recorded murder, and soon uncovers a mystery that’s bigger and more sadistic than she ever imagined. And try as she might, she can’t look away. 

Mmm, jelly doughnuts.

I don’t know how easily perceptible this is about me, but I’m the kind of person who has a favorite serial killer. (It’s Jeffrey Dahmer.) Which is horrible, I know. But my interest is purely from a true-crime, psychological perspective… All right. Maybe I have more in common with Ángela than I thought. Point is, there is nothing out there quite like Thesis, with its balance of academia, snuff films, Nancy Drew-type sleuthing but better, dangerous boys, and Hitchcockian intrigue and paranoia, complete with a tense but highly subdued chase scene that turns the tables on our heroine. Nothing out there that’s as sharp or as subtle and surprisingly sensitive. There’s even a light spatter of humor throughout. 

Basically everything I want to say re: this movie is already in this excellent (spoiler-heavy!) discussion on Girl Meets Freak, a super nifty horror film blog that sadly hasn’t been updated in around two years. So many great points and witty observations about things that I barely even noticed. (My only qualm is: How could they not find Chema, played by a 21-year-old Fele Martínez, easy on the eyes?! I told my cousin this and she vehemently sided with me.) 

Still, there are a few more things I want to rave about.

Aside from incredibly nuanced performances from the leads (Martínez is joined by Ana Torrent and Eduardo Noriega), Thesis finds strength in layered characters with varying degrees of grace, magnetism, and moral ambiguity. There’s Ángela’s true relationship with violence, Chema’s exploitation obsession and whether or not he’s taken it a step too far, and whatever the hell Basco’s deal is. Such characterizations kept me guessing and made the twists and turns of the plot fresh instead of having them come across as stale or tiresome. The mystery itself is tightly written and very clever, with relevant clues and secret hideouts and all these great, horrifying details.The film’s two-hour runtime hardly drags, and it’s destined for multiple rapt rewatch sessions because it’s like there’s always something new to discover about it after every viewing. 

Nylon Private Icon material.

Finally, I adore how it had a very clean look to it that almost appeared to make use of a predominantly pastel (or at least light) palette. It just worked so well. I’m obsessed with the production design—from the My Own Private Idaho poster and little plants in Ángela’s pale pink room to Chema’s creepy/impressive nightmare lair with tons of horror paraphernalia and “REDRUM” spray-painted on the wall. Some literary references and callbacks made it sweet. (Really!) There’s also Ángela’s wardrobe, a fine, ultra-covetable example of the fashion of the decade. Very 1996. (Come to think of it, Chema and Basco, in their own very distinct ways, weren’t slacking in the dress-sense department, either.) 

Which, all in all, adds up to the fact that I’m super glad Thesis exists, and that it was made the way it was, when it was. How I was able to live twenty-one years without it is one case I’ll never solve. 

my loneliness is killing me

I'd never heard of Perfect Blue until I read about it on, of all things, a list of '90s horror films. 

I've never been an in-deep anime fan, sticking to the Ghiblis and the Cardcaptor Sakuras and the Sailor Moons, but last year my professor showed Whisper of the Heart in our creative writing class (I hadn't seen it before) and I just garnered this sudden deep appreciation for it. I haven't branched out, still. (Sorry, Cheska!) But I've definitely become less likely to write anime off from the start. I love the fantasy and sci-fi ones as much as the next person, but I find that I'm most amazed by the titles that are more realistic, like She and Her Cat: Everything Flows, because of what the creators can do with such apparent simplicity. 

Anyway, the list I read had described Perfect Blue as a mind-screwy thriller that was the inspiration for Black Swan. It's about a former pop idol, who leaves her girl group behind, hoping to be taken more seriously as an actor. She gets cast in an intense murder mystery series that pushes her beyond her comfort zone—to, you guessed it, dire results. Soon the lines between reality and illusion are horrifyingly blurred. The tight jump cuts and sequences that are equal parts dreamy and nightmarish (as only the Japanese can manage) will stay with you and leave you mulling over them long after the film is over.

It's so unique in its concept, and so haunting. Plus, it's meta and firmly rooted in true-to-life situations, which might just be the scariest part of all. I'm still trying to process. 

Perfect Blue tells of a descent into madness, punctuated by paranoia, the loss of identity, obsession, and fan culture. But more than that, it's about loneliness.     

And obviously, I identified with that. 

(Don't let these screen caps fool you, by the way—the film has its fair share of creepy get-me-brain-bleach visuals.)