Jack described it thusly: “Straddling the line between Gothic horror and folk horror, Dark Waters is a dream-like film that should appeal to viewers who have room in their hearts for both H. P. Lovecraft’s “The Shadow Over Innsmouth” and Mattew Lewis’s The Monk. Elizabeth (played by Louise Salter) arrives at a convent on an isolated island during a tempest; she is assigned Sarah (Venera Simmons), a young novice, to be her guide. The two women delve into the forbidden mysteries of the convent’s library, the secrets in the convent’s catacombs, and even Elizabeth’s own tainted familial history.”
I’m not sure what else there is to add! It’s an ominous, moody story and extraordinarily… damp. Everything is wet, slick, and dripping, even with tens of thousands of candles lit, and there are at least that many over the course of the film in the convent, caves, and catacombs.
This is a dark, disturbing, dreamy film that doesn’t make a lot of sense—who knows if some of the scenes are hallucinations, memories, nightmares, or perhaps portents of things to come. But while the plot may at times be cryptic, the visceral imagery—from candlelit rituals and eldritch rites to murderous cave paintings to blood-stained religious icons—seeps into your subconscious. The oppressive, haunting atmosphere is off the charts, and the set design is incredible, so if you are here for the vibes, this one might be worth seeking out. (I found it on Tubi, and it’s free with ads.)
In lieu of a nuanced take (good grief, I hope you don’t come here for nuanced takes; joke’s on you!), here’s a bunch of screenshots. This is why it takes me four hours to watch a 90-minute movie.
Day Ten of 31 Days Of Horror in years past: 2023 // 2022 // 2021
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To be honest, I am not sure why I watched this one. I guess it’s been on my list since last year, and I must have put it there for a reason—though I sure couldn’t tell you what that reason was.
Rose Cotter is a psychiatrist whose professional life takes a harrowing turn when a new patient, Laura, arrives at her hospital in a state of abject terror. Laura’s frantic description of an entity that manifests as people with unsettling smiles sets the stage for a series of increasingly disturbing events, culminating in her violent suicide right before Rose’s eyes.
In the aftermath of this traumatic incident, Rose finds herself plagued by inexplicable visions mirroring Laura’s experiences. As these apparitions grow in both frequency and intensity, Rose’s grip on reality begins to slip, compelling her to seek answers to the terrifying phenomena she’s witnessing.
Turning to her ex-boyfriend Joel, a police detective, Rose embarks on an investigation that uncovers a disturbing pattern of similar occurrences. Their findings reveal a nightmarish chain of events where the smiling entity seems to transfer from one victim to the next, always targeting those who have borne witness to the previous victim’s demise.
As Rose continues to unravel the truth, the boundaries between her past traumas and her present reality blur. The entity manifests more frequently, often taking on the visage of familiar faces. This freaky, escalating terror is powerfully illustrated during a tense birthday party scene, where the once-celebratory atmosphere becomes a backdrop for Rose’s growing paranoia and the entity’s insidious presence.
Rose’s quest for understanding leads her to a prison, where she interviews a survivor of the entity’s torment, delving deeper into the heart of the mystery. The information gleaned from this encounter propels Rose towards a climactic confrontation with the entity, forcing her to face her deepest fears in a final, desperate attempt to break the cycle of terror.
I’m still trying to decide if the treatment of trauma and mental illness felt gross and messy or actually nuanced kinda nuanced or what, and I don’t even know what I thought about those scenes that took place in the old, abandoned house. Even after writing this, I’m unsure of why I wanted to watch it in the first place or where it falls in my rankings of these things. It feels a little unrankable, actually. I don’t know if I would ever recommend this, but at the same time, I am not sorry I watched it. I am probably not going to share this on social media. I hate the promotional materials and posters for the film; it’s not that they’re unsettling or scary…I just find them not very aesthetically pleasing, I guess? I’m not critiquing the appearance of the person in it, just overall…I hate it?
Day Nine of 31 Days Of Horror in years past: 2023 // 2022 // 2021
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This was the copy I had for years before the tattered cover fell off. It has since been rebound.
I recently had the pleasure of appearing on the Paperback Perfumes podcast, where I was given an intriguing challenge: to pair a book with a perfume. My choice? Daphne du Maurier’s timeless classic, Rebecca. In the promotional materials, Claire used an older portrait of me, several hair colors ago. In it, my head thrown back, I am cackling into the void. That photo is so ridiculous, and I love it so much.
Anyway. Rebecca. As I revisited this beloved novel for what must be the dozenth time, I approached it with a new perspective – one focused entirely on the sensory experience, particularly scent. What struck me most was the sheer abundance of olfactory references throughout the book. Du Maurier’s prose is rich with descriptions of smells, from the natural world of Manderley to the more subtle, character-driven scents that permeate the story.
Curious about my chosen fragrance pairing? You’ll have to listen to the Paperback Perfumes podcast to find out! But in the meantime, I’ve compiled a comprehensive list of every scent reference I could find in the story. It’s a fascinating journey through the novel’s sensory landscape, one that adds depth to an already multilayered narrative.
Rebecca rebound by McCall Co. Bindery & Book Arts (photo: Nate McCall)
Below, you’ll find my catalog of scents from “Rebecca,” organized by category. As you read through, consider: what fragrance would you pair with this gothic masterpiece?
Nature and growth:
“Nature had come into her own again”
“Monster shrubs and plants”
“This jungle growth”
“Choked wilderness”
“Unnatural growth of a vast shrub”
“Garden had obeyed the jungle law”
Earth and moss:
“The smell of wet earth”
“Sour tang of moorland peat”
“Feel of soggy moss”
“Dank rich moss beneath our feet”
Water and sea:
“Rain and the lapping of water”
“Mists of autumn and the smell of the flood tide”
“Murmur of the sea below me, low and sullen”
“Smell of damp salt and seaweed”
Flowers and plants:
“Daffodils… stirring in the evening breeze”
“Crocuses… golden, pink, and mauve”
“Primrose… vulgar, a homely pleasant creature”
“Bluebells… smoky, rather bitter smell, as though a wild sap ran in their stalks, pungent and juicy”
“Great branches of lilac… filled the house with a wistful, poignant smell”
“Azaleas and rhododendrons… The air was full of their scent, sweet and heady”
“Magnolia scent… faint, soft”
“Sweet lilac in the vase… mauve warm scent filling the room”
“Hydrangeas… somber… funereal”
Food and drink:
“Dripping crumpets… Tiny crisp wedges of toast, and piping-hot, floury scones”
“Sandwiches of unknown nature, mysteriously flavored”
“Angel cake, that melted in the mouth”
“Marmalade, and coffee, and that tangerine”
Indoor spaces:
“Old quiet smell about the room”
“Ancient mossy smell, the smell of a silent church”
“Queer musty smell”
“Wardrobe smelt stuffy, queer”
Seasonal changes:
“Smell in the air of mist and damp, the smell that comes with the first fall of the leaf”
“Rain smelt of moss and earth and of the black bark of trees”
Specific Rebecca-related notes:
“Vanished scent upon the handkerchief… same as the crushed white petals of the azaleas”
“Azalea scent… turned stale inside the wardrobe, tarnishing the silver dresses”
Miscellaneous sensory descriptions:
“Manderley stood out like an enchanted house, every window aflame”
“I knew the scent she wore, I could guess her laughter”
“Smell of mud and rust, and that dark weed that grows deep beneath the sea”
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Polybius by Colin Armstrong is a horror novel that plunges readers into a nightmare unfolding in a small coastal town in 1982. At the story’s center is Andi, a smart, tech-savvy teenager working at the local arcade/movie rental place, where the trouble begins with the arrival of a mysterious new arcade game. This game quickly becomes an obsession for the townspeople, young and old, players and nonplayers alike, triggering a series of disturbing events. As the victims start experiencing severe mood swings, paranoia, and hallucinations, Andi finds herself drawn into investigating the game’s sinister origins. The situation takes a dire turn when a violent coastal storm cuts the town off from the outside world, coinciding with a surge in aggressive behavior among the residents. Alongside her friend Ro, the sheriff’s son, Andi races to uncover the connection between the game and the town’s descent into chaos, all while grappling with her own desire to escape Tasker Bay.
Armstrong’s writing style immediately reminded me of the horror novels I devoured in my younger years. It’s action-packed and straight to the point, not trying to romance us with flowery language and linguistic frills. Polybius is quite different from the “literary horror” that’s become popular (I don’t want to say “lately”…I can’t pinpoint when we started referring to it that way.) But there’s been a lot of talk about horror with lush, beautiful prose and supposedly elevated concepts, but Armstrong’s novel isn’t trying to be that. The writing is straightforward and focused on propelling the story forward rather than waxing poetic. It gets you from point A to point B efficiently, even if you won’t swoon over the writing. I am not trying to say one is better than the other, I am not trying to be a judgemental contrarian edgelord! Just…managing expectations, I guess?
I will say though, that I wanted more from the urban legend aspect of the story; I honestly didn’t come away from the book with any sense of urban legendry at all, and only remembered it was supposedly meant to be an aspect of the story as I was reading reviews about it, so I definitely feel like there was potential for deeper exploration there. On the other hand, the government conspiracy angle didn’t really grab me, and I found those parts a bit boring.
The marketing compares this to The Walking Dead or Stranger Things, but I’d say it has more in common with the Crossed comics (not THAT bad, though) or CJ Leede’s American Rapture. The rapid spread of the contagion, the extreme violence and aggression of those affected, and the overall bleakness of the situation really reminded me of those works.
For readers who appreciate horror that prioritizes visceral thrills over introspection, “Polybius” capably scratches that itch. It’s not going to win any literary awards, but I am not sure that’s why we are reading horror in the first place, is it?
Polybius by Colin Armstrong is due out on April 29, 2025. NetGalley provided this digital review copy.
The next two books are more in the vein of the more literary-type horror that I mentioned above. And although the two stories are completely different and told in very different voices, interestingly enough, they have a fair bit in common. Another for the list of literary synchronicities! Unlike Polybius, these are both recently published, and you should be able to find copies easily.
A bit of a trigger warning for Private Rites. If you are someone who has recently been affected by weather and water…you might want to skip this one for now.
Private Rites is one of those books that didn’t always keep my attention…until all of a sudden, it did. Julia Armfield’s writing is so unlike any author in my memory, with a lush intelligence that’s hard to articulate. It feels scientific and philosophical, distilled into lyrical, emotive prose without being overly fraught. Set in a drowning world, the story follows three sisters dealing with their emotionally distant father’s recent death. Irene’s relationship is straining at the seams, Isla is grappling with her own personal complications, and the cynical Agnes is falling in love for the first time. As they sort through their father’s legacy in his famous glass house, their fragile bond is tested by revelations in his will and a mysterious purpose they’ve been chosen for. Armfield’s unique voice and the gradual unfolding of the sisters’ stories eventually drew me in. Private Rites is an atmospheric read with its beautifully distinctive prose, tumultuous family dynamics, and the nerve-wracking enigma of its watery apocalypse.
Rivers Solomon’s Model Home is an unrelentingly haunting tale centered on the Maxwell siblings – Ezri, Eve, and Emmanuelle. Their childhood in a gated community outside Dallas, where they were the only Black family, was marred by strange and terrifying events in their home at 677 Acacia Drive. This traumatic past has kept them at a distance from both the house and their parents in adulthood. The siblings’ forced return home following their parents’ mysterious deaths sets the stage for a confrontation with their history. As they delve into family secrets and attempt to unravel the truth behind the house’s disturbing occurrences, Solomon crafts an atmosphere of intense unease and palpable dread.
I already love reading about the complex dynamics between the siblings, and Solomon’s portrayal of the family kept me invested throughout. I found myself particularly drawn to Ezri’s perspective, though it was often a difficult and heartbreaking place to be. Spending time in Ezri’s head was truly horrifying at times, as their trauma and struggles were so vividly portrayed. Model Home was not anything like I expected, and Solomon doesn’t pull any punches when it comes to dark themes and disturbing scenes. It’s a brutal read, and there is no doubt about it. But I could not put it down, even when it made me uncomfortable. If you’re up for an intense, unsettling read, this book offers a bold, unconventional take on the haunted house story.
Finally, the twisted tale of Victorian Psychoby Virginia Feito introduces Winifred Notty, a governess who arrives at dreary Ensor House, where in three months’ time, she informs us that everyone living there will all be dead. Winifred is tasked with educating the Pounds children in subjects ranging from English and French to ornamental needlework, and in the course of their lessons and bedtimes, we learn that while outwardly embodying Victorian propriety, Winifred’s carefully constructed persona belies a chillingly dark imagination and inner world. As she becomes further entrenched in the estate’s oppressive atmosphere and uncovers the Pounds family’s peculiar proclivities, Winifred finds it increasingly challenging to maintain her façade. If you relished Maeve Fly’s violently irreverent antihero and unhinged plot, you’ll find Winifred Notty’s distorted and uniquely vicious mind equally captivating in this eerie, blunt, and grotesquely humorous masterpiece. Warning to sensitive readers: maybe don’t. Victorian Psycho by Virginia Feito is due out on February 4, 2025. NetGalley provided this digital review copy.
Day Eight of 31 Days Of Horror in years past: 2023 // 2022 // 2021
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Abigail (2024) is a film that I have been dying to see for what feels like over a year now, but I have been waiting for it to show up on a streaming service that didn’t require any extra money from me. As of yesterday, I gave up. I could wait no longer!
It starts as a crime heist kidnapping movie that gets hijacked by a monster movie. The narrative opens with a meticulously orchestrated abduction: a cadre of criminals extract young Abigail from her ballet recital, whisking her away to a secluded estate that may well be her own domicile. They’re all going by fake names, but we know the leader is actually Matthew Crawley and the guy who hired him is Gus Fring of Los Pollos Hermanos! Anyway, what begins as a calculated ransom scheme rapidly devolves into a nightmarish ordeal, as the captors find themselves ensnared in a situation far beyond their comprehension or control when they realize that the tiny dancer is a vengeful vampire.
So far, I have told you nothing that you haven’t already seen in the trailer, and I don’t think I will reveal much more than that. What I will do, however, is tell a story via my favorite screencaps.
Here we have the soon departed Dean (also RIP Angus McCloud) investigating some noises in a subterranean basement kitchen, a sort of haunted Williams Sonoma advert, that inexplicably has a bowl of fresh fruit on the table and an industrial bread mixer on the floor. What a strange culinary twilight zone. Maybe vampires are really into sourdough?
Abigail’s transformation is stark and unsettling. Her ballet costume is drenched in crimson, her face is a canvas of gore, and her eyes remain hauntingly beautiful. But it’s her grin that is awesomely unnerving—rows of fanged teeth gleaming, a predator’s smile ripping across a child’s face. Ethereal and monstrous. Am I terrified of her? Undoubtedly. Do I love her? ABSOLUTELY.
A marble sentinel stands frozen in the attic, nature reclaiming art in the most unlikely of places. Our intrepid criminals stumble upon this ghostly gallery, only to find their colleague has joined the undead ranks. She attacks with newfound fangs and superhuman strength, but I can’t help being distracted by these statues. Who curates a sculpture garden in their attic?
Abigail’s choice of footwear is a dazzling spectacle amidst the carnage. Encrusted with silver glitter that catches the light with every movement and emblazoned with charming pink stars, they’re such a whimsical witness to the dark deeds of the evening. Ballet shoes might be elegant, but they’re hardly ideal for the messy work of hunting down your kidnappers and draining them of their delicious blood. Our girl Abigail knows that when it comes to a proper rampage, traction is key. It’s nice to see a monster with both a sense of style and sensible shoes. Who says you can’t be cute while terrorizing your captors?
Ok, I actually have no notes on this one. Perfection.
What I truly appreciated about Abigail is its refreshing approach to the vampire reveal. Unlike countless other films where characters spend precious screen time in denial, this gang swiftly accepts the bloodsucking reality they’re facing. There’s no tedious dithering or drawn-out disbelief – they see a vampire, they believe in vampires. It’s as simple as that.
This approach felt wonderfully respectful of the audience. Let’s face it, we all knew Abigail was a vampire from the trailer. The directors acknowledged this and aligned the characters’ knowledge with ours, cutting straight to the chase. It’s as if they said, “We know you know, and now the characters know too, so let’s get to the good stuff.” By skipping the usual skepticism and existential crises, Abigail cuts out all the fluff and dives headlong into the action–and I adored every crazy, gruesome minute of it.
Day Seven of 31 Days Of Horror in years past: 2023 // 2022 // 2021
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All You Need is Death has only been on my radar for a few months or so, but the more I stared at the creepy movie poster, the more certain I was that I had to watch it sooner rather than later.
The film follows Anna and Aleks, a shady couple traveling around Ireland, recording rare folk songs to sell to collectors. Because apparently there are collectors of such things? Their pursuit of an ancient, never-before-recorded ballad leads them to Rita Concannon, an eccentric old woman who knows a rare—and most importantly—original—song. Meaning not a variant of something familiar, but something that’s never been sung by anyone else outside the women of the family. But they’re not alone in this quest. Agnes, initially introduced as a potential mentor to the couple, is actually a coldly calculating competitor and is also after this elusive tune.
Olwen Fouéré’s portrayal of Rita is mesmerizing – she’s mysterious, slightly unhinged, very inebriated, and utterly captivating, especially in the scene where she insists on singing from inside a wardrobe. But then she eventually emerges to sing for the small group, which, on the one hand, is hilarious, considering her initial crotchety wardrobe-creeping stance, but on the other is actually quite terrifying in light of her intense performance singing the brutal song, sung in a pre-Irish language that no one in the room understands.
Rita eventually explains that the song is called “Love is a knife with a blade for a handle.” And unbeknownst to all in the room, despite warnings that the songs are not to be passed on, Agnes is recording the forbidden song with the intent to translate it and, in doing so, unwittingly unleashing a malevolent force. Agnes is deeply unsettling and a bit of an asshole, although…as the story unfolds, one almost begins to feel sorry for her. Almost.
But first, we have to feel sorry for Rita, who, once everyone clears out of her home, is gruesomely dispatched by a shadowy assailant, leaving her son Breezeblock (yes, that’s his name) to discover her body in a truly shocking scene. Nigel O’Neill plays Breezeblock with a complex mix of menace and tragedy that’s quite compelling. His character starts as an aggressive, somewhat one-dimensional antagonist, but as we learn more about his childhood trauma and witness his grief, he becomes a much more nuanced and sympathetic figure. The murder sets off a chain of increasingly bizarre and horrifying events, as the power unleashed by the recording of the forbidden song begins to manifest in nightmarish ways. The film treads an interesting line between the allure of preserving lost cultural artifacts and the potential horrors of unearthing things best left forgotten. It’s an interesting take on folk horror that doesn’t just rehash the usual “don’t mess with old rural traditions” trope. Instead, it questions our modern obsession with documenting and commodifying every aspect of culture, even (and especially) the parts that might be dangerous or sacred.
I loved this film. The atmosphere is utterly drenched in dread, and Ian Lynch’s nerve-wracking score only amplifies that feeling. Duane mixes Irish folklore, the power of oral traditions, the consequences of unearthing long-buried secrets, and some unexpected body horror into something I haven’t quite seen before. All You Need is Death creates a world where music holds terrible power, and the climax, involving possession and gruesome practical effects, is both shocking and oddly poetic. Also, I absolutely need that poster by Haley Marie Hennier hanging on my wall!
Day Six of 31 Days Of Horror in years past: 2023 // 2022 // 2021
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Horror lurking in unexpected places is when horror horrors the hardest. I did not expect to find it in Season Two, Episode Seven of Rings of Power, grabbing me by the throat and dragging me face-first into some of my deepest fears and traumas, but. Well. Here we are.
For those not watching, The Rings of Power is a fantasy series set in Tolkien’s Middle-earth, way before Frodo and his merry band set off to toss a ring into a volcano. This, at least to my way of thinking, is not exactly prime real estate for personal horror. And yet, there I was, one moment watching pretty people with pointy ears and enjoying my takeout sushi, and the next feeling brutally emotionally sideswiped and wanting to throw up my spicy tuna roll.
Sauron disguised as Annatar, Lord of Gifts and emissary of the Valar, has been insidiously and methodically dismantling the elven smith Celebrimbor’s grip on reality for the past few episodes. The sinister manipulation and devious gaslighting were off the charts. Annatar’s nefarious playbook is straight out of Abusers 101. He slyly isolates Celebrimbor, cutting him off from his support system by deceptively convincing others that the elf-lord is unstable. A classic, underhanded move. He love-bombs Celebrimbor with calculated praise and hollow promises of greatness, then swiftly and cruelly pulls the rug out, leaving him constantly off-balance and vulnerable. I squirmed in my seat, horrified at the way he maliciously twists Celebrimbor’s words, using them against him…it’s the slow, poisonous erosion of self-trust, that loss of all control because someone has craftily convinced you that they know better…it’s like watching someone being mercilessly filleted alive, their sense of self peeled away layer by excruciating layer, and they’re perversely thanking the sadistic butcher for the privilege.
Watching Annatar crush Celebrimbor’s spirit was like seeing a star collapse into a black hole – a once-brilliant light being inexorably consumed by darkness, with devastating consequences for everything in its orbit. This wasn’t just about one person’s mind being twisted – it was the unraveling of an entire community. Celebrimbor, the prince of his people, trusted and loved, reduced to a shadow of himself. His reputation in tatters, his life’s work corrupted, and the lives of those who depended on him left in ruins. The collateral damage was almost too much to bear, seeing trust turn to suspicion, love to fear, as Annatar’s web of deceit spread through Eregion. I felt sick, angry, helpless – all too familiar feelings bubbling up as I watched this fantasy world crumble in ways that felt all too real.
And Sauron? Annatar? That smooth-talking, gaslighting piece of shit? Every time he appeared, it was like every version of myself being violently punched in the gut twice over, leaving me winded and reeling. My body remembered before my mind could catch up – heart thundering like an explosion in my chest, breath so shallow and ragged I was certain I was suffocating. Annatar wasn’t just channeling an abuser – he was channeling mine, and the realization crashed over me in a suffocating wave of shame, fury, and helplessness. The world narrowed to a pinpoint, and I was drowning in a sea of remembered trauma, helplessly pulled under again and again by the relentless undertow of manipulation and fear.
I was beyond physically ill. It wasn’t just costumed actors anymore (and wow, these costumes are awful) – it had somehow turned into my own personal theatre of horror. My brain was violently regurgitating years of suppressed memories, moments when I’d been convinced I was worthless, unlovable except by the very person systematically destroying me. I couldn’t even muster the strength to turn it off. I just sat there, convulsing with silent sobs, as the credits rolled, feeling as if I’d been eviscerated and left to die on my own couch. This is the kind of horror that doesn’t politely bow out when the episode ends. It lingers like a toxic miasma, it festers in the deepest recesses of your mind, it echoes in every quiet moment, threatening to drown out all else.
Echoing. It’s funny how that word keeps popping up in these reviews. From the literal Stir of Echoes to the psychological labyrinth of Broadcast Signal Intrusion, and now this sucker punch from a fantasy show in my comfort genre (LOtR is a whole genre as far as I am concerned.) And maybe that’s the real horror – not the initial shock, but the way it bounces around in your head long after, impossible to shake off, leaving you wondering what else is hiding in the shadows of your mind, waiting to be triggered by a random elf in a bad wig on TV.
P.S. I know this post was a huge freaking bummer and also probably a bit triggering for some people. I am truly very sorry. There was one thing that occurred to me about a character unrelated to this post that made me laugh, though!
Day Five of 31 Days Of Horror in years past: 2023 // 2022 // 2021
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Be Very Afraidassaults your senses with an acrid, bitter burst that leaves the impression of scorching the back of your throat – not the actual sensation, but what that might smell like if it were a scent. It’s reminiscent of a blast of canned air and clingy plastic on cold metal, with an undercurrent of something inexplicably familiar yet eerily alien. Scorched rubber morphs into singed leather as ozone crackles on deranged wavelengths and electricity arcs through your fingertips. It evokes a storm cloud wearing a leather mask, or a tuft of cotton candy spun from TV static – a harbinger of the chimeric evolution to come.
Within seconds, it shifts and softens, mutating radically. The initial character lingers, but it’s altered into a much gentler thing. That leather storm deconstructs into a whisper of quantum foam infused with dermal matrix nanofibers; bioengineered herbs emerge with a faint electric hum, while tendrils of ionized spectral vapors delicately intertwine with a moss-derived floral musk pulsing softly in a miniature supercollider of scent. On the skin, it continues to evolve, the original identity fragmenting and recombining as that once confrontational and unsettling opening transforms into something unnervingly inviting, now floating just at the edge of awareness.
The scent’s newly fleshed final form is a metamorphosis complete – subtly strange and softly electric, yet no longer unsettling. The dry-down reveals a sophisticated, green, barely-there tingle in a woody-mossy framework that feels both molecularly aseptic and ingeniously verdant. This enigmatic synthesis evokes an angel gently resequenced in a lab, emerging from a whisper-quiet decontamination chamber – a seamless fusion of the otherworldly and the synthetic. What began as something exceptionally weird has settled into an infinitely wearable fragrance that still carries ethereal echoes of its uncanny origins.
31 Days of Horror Day Four in years past: 2023 // 2022 // 2021
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Watching Broadcast Signal Intrusion on a whim, I was struck by an eerie synchronicity – like A Stir of Echoes, which I’d just watched, this film is set in Chicago, 1999. It’s a strange coincidence that has me experiencing yet another slice of late ’90s Windy City life, a world I’ve only glimpsed through the lens of pop culture. This neo-noir feels like a funhouse mirror version of that other film, reflecting a tech-obsessed underbelly of the same city at the same time.
The movie follows James, our protagonist, as he stumbles upon bizarre pirate broadcasts that hijack regular programming. Picture masked figures popping up on screen, looking like they crawled out of a glitchy nightmare. It’s the kind of urban myth I would’ve read about online years later, marveling at the strangeness of it all from the safety of my bedroom.
James, still reeling from the mysterious disappearance of his wife Hannah two years ago, dives into this rabbit hole headfirst, and as he delves deeper, he uncovers a conspiracy theory on message boards linking these broadcasts to missing girls, adding layers of intrigue and unease to his search. Harry Shum Jr. plays James with an intense, slightly unhinged energy that had me completely invested, and the supporting cast is full of eccentrics who feel like they’ve stepped out of those weird, late-night cable shows I’ve heard so much about but never actually stayed up to watch.
Sometimes, the film gets a bit hazy on the details, prioritizing mood over a clear-cut narrative. But that haziness works for me. It’s like trying to piece together a story from forum posts and second-hand accounts – the details might be fuzzy, but the atmosphere lingers. Broadcast Signal Intrusion left me with that uneasy feeling I get after reading about real-life mysteries late at night, jumping at shadows and wondering about the strange possibilities that all the crazy internet posters with names like pacorabanneswiener have put into my head.
For anyone who’s ever been intrigued by stories of strange, obsessive technology or urban legends, this film will resonate. It’s a deep dive into retro-tinted unease and watching it now, so soon after A Stir of Echoes, it feels like I’ve stumbled into a hidden chapter of 1999 Chicago – a city apparently rife with psychic phenomena and sinister broadcasts.
If you’re a fan of films and books like Berberian Sound Studio, Censor, Archive 81, Experimental Film, Universal Harvester, Silver Nitrate, or Schrader’s Chord, you’ll likely dig this film. They all tap into that uneasy space where technology, media, and human perception intersect, creating a sense of paranoia that seeps through the screen or off the page. It’s a feeling of reality being slightly off-kilter, where the familiar suddenly becomes alien and threatening. There’s a shared fascination with the act of looking – really looking – at the world around us, and the terror that can come from seeing too much. These stories all seem to ask: What if the glitches, the interruptions, the things we usually ignore, are actually trying to tell us something? They share a quality of leaving you feeling slightly altered after experiencing them, as if you’ve been initiated into some cryptic understanding of the world that you can’t quite pin down but can never fully shake off.
31 Days of Horror Day Three in years past: 2023 // 2022 // 2021
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Watching A Stir of Echoes for the first time now, nearly twenty-five years after its release, feels like stepping into someone else’s memory of the ’90s. It’s a strange experience because I lived through that time–I was in my early 20s in 1999 when this film came out and usually went to the movies with a friend every Friday night–but I never saw A Stir of Echoes then. This slice of Chicago life feels very foreign to me, someone who had just pretty much lived in the FL suburbs for most until I moved to a cappy beachside apartment, right around the time this film was released.
Anyway, Kevin Bacon’s there in this tight-knit Chicago neighborhood, looking like every guy I knew who worked construction or drove a delivery truck. He’s chugging beers, jamming to dad rock, living in one of those neighborhoods where you can smell someone’s dinner cooking three houses down, all the neighbors know each other, and there’s a random block party every other weekend. We soon learn, though, that it’s a place where everyone knows your name, but no one knows your secrets.
Bacon plays Tom Witzky, a blue-collar everyman possessing an abundance of clichéd tough-guy skepticism. His world turns upside down when his sister-in-law Lisa (Illeana Douglas) awakens his latent psychic abilities through casual party trick hypnosis. Lisa, armed with the dubious authority of a few psychology classes, unwittingly opens a door Tom can’t close. Suddenly, he sees ghosts and digs up his backyard like a man possessed, all while trying to solve the mystery of a missing girl. The film balances supernatural chills with the gritty, mundane horrors of financial struggle and marital strain, as Tom’s obsession tests his relationship with his wife, Maggie, and adds an unsettling dimension to their young son’s own psychic gifts.
I’m struck by the late ’90s fashion details – Lisa’s baby tees, chokers, and barrettes are like artifacts from a time capsule. Speaking of Lisa, her character got under my skin in an unexpected way. I usually love these snarky, Daria/Janeane Garofalo-esque characters, but something about her felt grating. In every scene, it seemed like she was teetering on the edge of taking her sarcastic schtick too far. It’s made me wonder if maybe I’m reacting to something I recognize in myself – that tendency to lean too hard into snark as a defense mechanism. This self-reflection added an extra layer to my viewing experience, making me pay closer attention to the nuances in each performance. It’s funny how watching older films can do that – make you scrutinize not just the characters, but your reactions to them. This heightened awareness led me to another unexpected pleasure: spotting actors before they became familiar faces. I may have quietly squeed at both a future House and future Gilmore Girls cast members’ appearance!
The film left me with a strange ache, not quite nostalgia, more like a glimpse into a parallel ’90s I never experienced. It’s made me curious about the Richard Matheson book it’s based on, wondering how much of this gritty, supernatural slice of life came from the page and how much from the screen. Watching A Stir of Echoes now feels like catching up on a conversation I missed years ago, piecing together the context from collective echoes, little more than whispers, the remnant scraps of tee shirts that will never fit you again but that you remember ever so fondly.
If you enjoy posts like these or if you have ever enjoyed or been inspired by something I have written, and you would like to support this blog, consider buying the author a coffee?
