Sinister Delights

This week, witches, workers, and worshippers (light-to-medium spoilers for the first two films) . . .

From the Grave.

Three ideas from horror cinema's past.

◆ Häxan, dir. Benjamin Christensen, 1922.

1. Sinister but seductive. What sparked medieval persecution for witchcraft? Christensen's Swedish-Danish, silent "documentary" classic points out that “. . . it was dangerous to be old and ugly, but it was not safe to be young and pretty either.” This is all misogyny (punishing the feminine body at its most or least pleasing by hegemonic standards), but it also underlines a duality in the figure of the witch. The witch is horrifying but also seductive. And there’s something of this duality in Häxan’s own treatment of witches. Häxan presents itself as a scholarly documentary, as a serious examination of the historical figure of the witch, tying ideas of witchcraft to a 1920s mental health outlook, but its beating heart (and what makes it a classic) are its wild vignettes about witches and devils. Christensen might have something serious to say, but there’s no denying his enthusiasm for bringing medieval fantasy (and occasionally reality) to life: the Witches’ Sabbath, a possessed nun stabbing the Communion wafer, witches on brooms flying over houses, witch trials, the Devil appearing to women in the middle of the night. Is this stuff sinister or delightful? The answer, it seems, is “both.” 
2. Variety (horror) show. Petersen does with documentary what indie horror filmmakers will rediscover years later—harnesses it as a container for a range of filmmaking modes and techniques. Häxan embraces collage—showing and explaining primary sources; recreating medieval fantasy; depicting actual, historical events; turning the camera on Petersen’s acquaintances (one woman demonstrating a thumb screw); walking us through models that depict ancient and medieval understandings of the earth and solar system; and engaging in essayistic argument. Häxan’s collage resembles the “documentary” format of contemporary found footage and pseudo-documentary horror filmmaking, e.g. the world of footage varieties assembled in Man Finds Tape. Häxan comes across, at first, as something hard to classify, but it fits quite neatly into this lineage. 
3. Uncontained. Unreliable narrators are unsettling in horror. Unconvincing arguments are destabilizing. In Häxan this isn’t a device — rather Petersen makes an oversimple argument connecting witchcraft accusations to 1920s, misogyny-inflected notions of “hysteria." But what of all the social forces a viewer today might be meditating on during the film? Häxan is coherently made and argued, and its depiction of the combination of torture, panic, and grievance that fueled witch trials feels broadly true (if incomplete), but capping the argument with an unconvincing conclusion leaves us wanting. All these social currents are still with us. A pat, tidy conclusion only highlights how uncontained they remain.

Right Behind You.

A thought on horror's present.

◆ No Other Choice, dir. Park Chan-wook, 2025.

4. Negative self-stalk. Park Chan-wook’s latest, which is more horror-adjacent than horror-proper, asks us to think about who killers kill. There are many reasons to kill for sure, but victims are often those the killer hates, or envies, or lusts after (or some combination of these). In No Other Choice, the victims instead are our protagonist’s mirror images—people he recognizes as reflections. One attack finds him lecturing a victim with the precise critique his wife has previously directed his way. There’s a unique difficulty in the undertaking. After all, he is killing himself every time. It's a fitting trial in a story about the disintegration of worker solidarity under the weight of our remorseless, mechanized, capitalist present. 

Living Deliciously.

A recommendation.

◆ The Mephisto Waltz, dir. Paul Wendkos, 1971.

5. Still obsessed. The Mephisto Waltz is perverse; stuffed full of sumptuous, gothic decor; quite unsettling (see the woman leading a black dog through a crowded party, the dog wearing a human mask); and an audacious story that speeds to a feverish denouement. A satanic tale as delightful as it is sinister, its two female leads (Jacqueline Bisset and Barbara Parkins) both fierce and captivating, The Mephisto Waltz might be over-the-top, but whether you’re laughing or shuddering, this is a movie you can watch and rewatch. I am kind of obsessed with The Mephisto Waltz (which is why I wrote about it in my first ever post in this space, back when I was doing essays). You probably will be too.

Dead of Night publishes every Tuesday.

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