At Sitges Film Festival, uncertainty is scary

By B.C. | SITGES

HORROR films frequently, and subtly, tap into the anxieties of their time. Even the most unrealistic and absurd works do it: back in 1956 “Invasion of the Body Snatchers” cast a knowing eye on American McCarthyism while “Hostel”, a silly slasher flick released in 2005, nodded to the fear of outsiders and foreign travel in the wake of the 9/11 attacks. In recent years the genre’s reputation as a vehicle for original storytelling and serious social commentary has been restored. In “Get Out” the spectre of casual racism manifested itself not in a weapon-wielding fascist, but in the form of a girlfriend’s family. “A Quiet Place” featured bloodthirsty monsters, but they forced the protagonists to question how far they would go to protect their children.

At this year’s Sitges International Fantastic Film Festival, a key launch pad for horror and fantasy films, more such nuanced fare was on show. Whereas sudden nuclear annihilation preoccupied movie-going publics of the past—resulting in films that relied on shock and awe—contemporary fears over things like Brexit, global warming or demographic change are less visceral and urgent. Angst over these issues has built up over time, and that is echoed in the lingering menace that shapes many contemporary horror films. They are low on surprises, chainsaws, screams and characters hiding in cupboards. They often forsake big scary reveals, investing instead in a more general sense of helplessness and the notion that events are beyond the characters’ control. Tension, suspense and dread comes not from bodily or psychological torture, but disorientation and uncertainty.

“I Think We’re Alone Now”, directed by Reed Morano, is set in the near future and begins with a standard apocalyptic premise: a nondescript illness has apparently wiped out all but two members of the human race, Del and Grace (Peter Dinklage and Elle Fanning). When Del discovers that other humans have not only survived the plague, but are creating a techno-utopia in the American West, he is confused and hesitant. Soon he concludes that this new beginning for the human race is far from idyllic. The audience is kept on edge by a sustained feeling of foreboding and that all is not what it seems; a vague idea that whatever is coming, when it comes, will be bad. By the film’s end, the prospect of synergising humans and computers amid the pastels of Palm Springs, California, feels as dystopian as extinction. In looking to technology to solve society’s problems, the movie argues, mankind is sacrificing some of the core traits of being human.

“Animal” (pictured), an Argentine film directed by Armando Bo, opts for a suburban domestic setting to question the idea of self-determination. Antonio (Guillermo Francella), a devoted father, collapses on his morning jog and discovers that he needs a kidney transplant. The official waiting list is too long, so Antonio finds a vendor on the black market. As the pair barter over the organ, Antonio is extorted for ever greater payments; eventually he is asked to turn over his home, jeopardising the safety of his wife and children. For the audience, fear comes not from any supernatural occurrences, but from the logical and horrifying escalation of events.

Characters in “Suspiria”, Luca Guadagnino’s reimagining of the film of the same name released in 1977, also seem resigned to the inevitable. Dakota Johnson plays Susie Bannion, an innocent American who enrolls in a Berlin ballet school in the 1970s. Amid the dull grays of a divided city, and a melancholic score penned by Radiohead’s Thom Yorke, the mood at once conjures the isolation of “The Shining” (1980) and the eerily casual black magic of “Rosemary’s Baby” (1968). Dancers disappear with no explanation; their friends sense something strange afoot, but are neither shocked nor curious as to its cause. It is an unsettling and confounding to watch characters so indifferent to an obviously deteriorating situation.

While this new crop of horror films is similar in atmosphere to classics of the genre—particularly the work of Alfred Hitchcock—existential dread and fear for characters' longer-term futures have displaced concerns about their immediate physical safety. At a time when the daily news cycle leaves little room for shock, in which snapshots of real-world violence are only a click or two away, these films probe slower-moving, often intangible, concerns. That appeals to a wider audience and provides an opportunity, as horror films always have, for many to confront their fears through metaphor instead.