I mentioned previously that I had a particular hankering for a specific sort of ’70s horror, something brimming with dreamy, moody, autumnal vibes, and preferably something I’d never heard of before. The examples I gave were The Haunting of Julia (1977) and Images (1972). The former is a drizzly autumn in London, all grey skies and rain-slicked streets, while the latter unfolds in a misty, golden-hued countryside. In both, the location isn’t just a backdrop—it’s almost a character in itself, infusing every frame with a palpable sense of melancholy and unease. The sense of place is really important for this mood, creating an atmosphere that seeps into your bones.
While I received tons of suggestions, many were things that I’d already watched or just didn’t fit that very specific atmosphere. Lots of folks mentioned things like The Changeling, Don’t Look Now, Rosemary’s Baby, The Sentinel, The Legend of Hell House, The Other, Picnic at Hanging Rock, The Eyes of Laura Mars, and Suspiria–which are all great, but I’d already seen them, and either they were not the level of obscure I was looking for, or they leaned too heavily into thriller or giallo territory.
I promised to share a list of the interesting ones, even if they didn’t *quite* fit. Here are the ones that stood out.
There were also a few mentioned that I was familiar with because I’d read the books. But I loved the books, so finding the film adaptations is now a priority!
But my friend Kate (who, as you may recall, has written a few things for this very blog) came through in the end. She seemed to understand exactly what I was looking for—even if neither of us could articulate it perfectly. We agreed on a few key elements: the film must be deeply atmospheric, potentially at the expense of a conventional plot. We were looking for surreal, dreamy sequences that border on nightmarish, yet remain too elusive to instill outright fear. Above all, we wanted what Kate aptly described as an “unshakable sense of the uncanny.”
As I would soon discover, this last suggestion was precisely what I had been seeking all along.
Louis Malle’s Black Moon is a celluloid incantation, a fever dream caught on film. To describe it fully would be to break its spell, but glimpses may be shared:
A war rages, men versus women, gas masks, and tanks in pastoral fields. Lily flees, her car careening through countryside both beautiful and menacing. A mangy unicorn appears, vanishes. She finds a secluded manor, but safety is an illusion.
Inside, a bedridden old woman babbles through a radio, conversing with a giant rat. Naked children dart between shadows, chasing pigs across immaculate lawns. Beautiful twins, both also named Lily, move through the manor with eerie grace, tending to housework and animals with an unsettling, dreamlike intensity. Animals and plants whisper secrets, while time stretches and contracts. Alarm clocks shrill at odd intervals, their urgency at odds with the languid unreality of the scene.
Lily wanders, observes, participates. She chases the elusive unicorn, tends to the old woman, joins a surreal family dinner. Scenes bleed into one another. Is she awake or dreaming? Are we? The war intrudes and recedes like the tide. Nature feels alive, watching, waiting. Lily transforms, but into what?
Malle draws clear inspiration from Alice in Wonderland, but filters it through a 1970s arthouse fever dream. His film evokes for me Jaromil Jireš’s Valerie and Her Week of Wonders–both works being hazy, hallucinatory coming-of-age tales where reality and fantasy intertwine. Black Moon also reminded me a bit of Darren Aronofsky’s Mother! – particularly in its sense of escalating absurdity and horror within a confined space. All three films lean into surrealist storytelling, leaving viewers unsettled and searching for meaning amidst apparent chaos. Nothing makes sense, yet everything feels ominously significant.
Black Moon finds horror not in jump scares or gore, but in the profound unease of a world unmoored from reason. The film’s refusal to provide clear meaning or resolution can be deeply unsettling. Malle apparently said that “each time something appeared that looked like a plotline, I would cross it out,” and obviously, this leaves viewers adrift in a world where the rules of reality no longer apply, which is its own kind of terror.
To say more would be to risk breaking the enchantment. Some spells are best experienced, not explained.
Day Twenty of 31 Days Of Horror in years past: 2023 // 2022 // 2021
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In the spring of 2023, I found myself utterly engrossed in Ling Ling Huang’s Natural Beauty. This haunting tale follows a former musician who takes a job at a mysterious, high-end beauty startup, blending themes of grief, identity, and the dark side of our beauty obsessions. Little did I know I was witnessing the emergence of a trend. At the time, I simply noted its kinship with the imaginative strangeness of Mona Awad’s works, the visceral unpleasantness of Ottessa Moshfegh’s writing, and the sheer peculiarity of Beth Morgan’s A Touch of Jen. I mentally categorized it under a loose umbrella of magical realism, alternate reality, or perhaps speculative fiction.
It wasn’t until I saw the marketing for Mona Awad’s Rouge,about a woman who is drawn to a cult-like spa after her mother’s passing, that I began to notice a recurring theme in recent horror literature. Though I couldn’t get into Rouge and gave up after a few chapters, I soon observed an influx of similar books hitting the shelves. A pattern was emerging – a concentration of horror stories rooted in the fertile soil of wellness culture and influencer glamour. It was as if our collective obsession with youth and beauty had finally coalesced into a specific strain of literary nightmares, emerging from vials of peptide serums and sleek microcurrent devices.
As I immersed myself in these stories, I experienced a moment of alarm. I found myself really noticing, for the first time, the sheer abundance of beauty products in my own bathroom. What had once been a simple shelf of basics had, without my conscious realization, transformed into a small apothecary. Serums, essences, ampoules, and creams in elegant bottles crowded the space, each promising miracles with increasingly complex ingredients and protocols. The realization was jarring – I’d been mindlessly accumulating these products, unconsciously influenced by the very culture these books were critiquing. The volume of products and the pseudo-scientific jargon that accompanied them suddenly felt almost comically overwhelming. At this point, I wouldn’t be surprised if my bathroom cabinet achieved sentience and started its own wellness blog.
My skincare routine, once a simple cleanse-tone-moisturize affair, had evolved into a complex, multi-step ritual. Each product came with its own set of instructions, optimal times of application, and promises of transformed skin. If my routine gets any longer, I’ll need to start it next Tuesday to be ready for Friday night! It’s a little bit insane.
This cluster of stories seems to draw sustenance for this insanity from our digital age. The carefully curated perfection of social media provides ample shadows for horror to lurk in, each story a cracked mirror reflecting our aspirational selves. In this landscape of distorted reflections, authors are crafting images that unsettle in new and compelling ways, revealing the monstrous potential of our beauty obsessions.
The rise of this beauty-horror trend isn’t happening in a vacuum. Increasing awareness of the beauty industry’s darker sides – from exploitative practices to dangerous products – lends credibility to these horrific tales. The pressure to conform to ever-changing beauty standards, the environmental impact of cosmetic production, and the psychological toll of constant self-scrutiny all provide fertile ground for horror narratives.
As I delved deeper into these works, I found myself becoming increasingly attuned to what I might call a beauty-horror wavelength. It was as if each book was adding another layer to my understanding, priming me for what was to come. This realization hit home when I heard about the release of The Substance in cinemas. People started discussing screenings before I’d even caught a glimpse of the trailer or heard a whisper about the plot. At this point in time, I have only seen movie posters and a few friends’ reactions online. I am deliberately staying away from trailers and reviews because I want to go into it knowing nothing about the story itself, only armed with the knowledge of everything else I have been absorbing. Interestingly, from the title alone, I had a strong inkling of what it might be about. This past year and a half of immersion in beauty-centric horror had been preparing me for it, and I hadn’t even realized it.
The arrival of The Substance feels particularly timely, though it’s hardly the first film to explore the horrors of beauty culture – one need only recall the body horror of The Neon Demon or the satirical edge of Death Becomes Her. I must admit, though, that I’ll likely wait to watch it at home. Even before the pandemic, I found myself reluctantly acknowledging that I don’t particularly enjoy the cinema experience. The chatter, the noise, the sight of bare feet propped on seats – it’s all beyond my control. At home, I have a handle on things: I can pause for snacks or to take dozens of screencaps and avoid the anxious compulsion to shush my fellow viewers (an urge I resist but resent having in the first place). Also, I have a tiny bladder; it’s much easier to take pee breaks at home!
There’s a certain irony in preferring to experience these tales of beauty-obsessed dystopias in the comfort of my own carefully curated space, but perhaps it’s fitting. After all, isn’t the pressure to conform to beauty standards often most insidious in our private moments? It’s in these intimate settings – our bathrooms, our bedrooms – where we often confront our reflections and grapple with societal expectations. Perhaps that’s why the beauty-horror subgenre resonates so deeply; it taps into the anxieties that lurk in our most personal spaces.
This connection between beauty, horror, and what we do in our personal spaces is explored in several titles I’ve encountered in what turned out to be an unintentional deep dive into this emerging subgenre…
The Glow by Jessie Gaynor follows desperate publicist Jane Dorner as she becomes entangled in a bizarre wellness retreat. Gaynor’s novel stands out with its self-aware humor, a refreshing change in the sometimes stifling atmosphere of wellness retreat horror.
Allie Rowbottom’s Aesthetica takes us deeper, following a 35-year-old former Instagram influencer now working behind a cosmetic counter. On the eve of a high-risk surgery to reverse all her past plastic surgeries, she’s forced to confront her traumatic past.
youthjuice by E.K. Sathue follows Sophia, a copywriter who joins a skincare company with a too-good-to-be-true product. While it aims to critique beauty influencer culture, the novel fails to dig beneath the surface. In a subgenre that demands fresh perspectives on our beauty-obsessed world, youthjuice unfortunately adds little to the conversation.
Yet it’s Natural Beauty by Ling Ling Huang that truly captivates. Huang’s prose is lyrical yet doesn’t veer into purple territory, creating a beautiful meditation on grief, family, and beauty itself. The story skewers the cult of beauty in a surreal and somewhat satirical way, while maintaining a gorgeous sincerity.
As I write this, I’ve just begun reading the recently published Snake Oilby Kelsey Rae Dimberg, and while it’s too early for me to offer any personal insights, the premise alone is enticing. Dimberg’s novel follows three women caught in the orbit of Radical, a billion-dollar wellness company. I’m particularly intrigued by how it might explore the tension between empowerment rhetoric and exploitative practices often found in these spaces, and as I continue reading, I’m curious to see how it fits into the broader landscape of beauty-horror we’ve been exploring.
In the midst of this fictional exploration, I stumbled upon a work that cuts straight to the heart of the matter: Gore-Geous: Personal Essays on Beauty and Horror by Alexandra West. West, whom I already admired from her brilliant discussions on the Faculty of Horror podcast, has crafted something truly special here. In these essays, West deftly explores the intersection of beauty standards, societal pressures, and horror films. She delves into how horror narratives often reflect and critique our obsession with physical perfection, examining everything from body modification nightmares to the terror of aging in a youth-obsessed culture. West’s insightful analysis unpacks the harmful messages we receive about beauty and how horror films can serve as a space to challenge these norms. Her words, “Horror is a haven for me when the world feels too obtuse, moronic, or basic,” resonated with me deeply, encapsulating how horror can offer a critical lens through which to view our beauty-obsessed world.
As I contemplate this landscape of beauty-horror, both fictional and analytical, I find myself both continually unsettled and intrigued. The genre seems to be holding up a funhouse mirror to our society, reflecting our obsessions and anxieties in grotesque new forms. From the promise of snail mucin for dewy, glass-like skin to the allure of vampire facials, each innovation in beauty tech seems to offer new, fodder for horror narratives. I’m half expecting my next face mask to come with a liability waiver and a living will.
While I eagerly await The Substance‘s streaming debut, I’m not exactly starved for beauty-horror content. In our current landscape of late-stage capitalism and entrenched patriarchy, the well of beauty-related anxieties seems bottomless. Each new product, each impossible standard, each ’empowering’ marketing campaign seems to birth another grotesque narrative. It’s a genre that, unfortunately, may never struggle for inspiration.
Thoughts? Feelings? Favorite beauty routine YouTubers? I am all slightly elongated and probably not very aesthetically pleasing ears…!
P.S. If you have made it this far, I have a confession: tonight I watched Death Becomes Her for the first time. This entire post was inspired by how much I just really didn’t want to write about that movie.
Day Nineteen of 31 Days Of Horror in years past: 2023 // 2022 // 2021
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After watching A Stir of Echoes, I found myself wondering what other gems from the late ’90s horror scene I might have missed. I was particularly interested in films that weren’t part of major franchises or typical slasher fare. When my friend Maika recommended Mimic, I realized I only knew of it in passing. To be honest, I’d always assumed it was some kind of Species knockoff (another film I’ve yet to see). But when Maika also mentioned it was an early Guillermo del Toro film, my interest was immediately piqued.
Set in the grimy shadows of New York City, Mimic tells the story of genetically engineered insects created to combat a deadly disease that’s been decimating the city’s children. When the “Judas” breed seemingly accomplishes its mission and dies off, the city breathes a sigh of relief. But three years later, something far more terrifying emerges from the subway tunnels.
I can’t help but to think that this kind of premise definitely takes on a different significance now compared to how it might have been received in 1997. In light of COVID, a story about a pandemic-averting plan gone awry resonates in ways the filmmakers couldn’t have anticipated.
Mira Sorvino is Dr. Susan Tyler, the entomologist behind the Judas breed, who finds herself way out of her depth when her creations start causing havoc. As the body count rises and the true nature of the evolved insects is revealed, Susan teams up with her CDC officer husband, Dr. Peter Mann to stop the threat before it overtakes the city.
Jeremy Northam as Dr. Peter Mann: whenever he was on screen, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was watching David Duchovny. The physical resemblance is uncanny – same intense stare, same chiseled features. It’s purely superficial; Northam’s Dr. Mann is his own character, distinct from Duchovny’s spooky Mulder in personality and approach. But that visual similarity kept throwing me for a loop, making me half-expect some paranormal explanation for the insect invasion. It added a constant little jolt of “Is that… no, wait” to the viewing experience that oddly enhanced the film’s late ’90s sci-fi horror atmosphere.
Josh Brolin shows up looking impossibly young, Charles S. Dutton brings some much-needed grounding to the wilder moments, and the treasure that is F. Murray Abraham steals every scene he’s in. Also: a surprise Norman Reedus appearance!
Even though this was early in del Toro’s Hollywood career, you can see his style everywhere. The way he shoots the subway tunnels, turning them into a dank, labyrinthine underworld. The strangely awe-inspiring design of the monsters. That blend of horror and empathy that’s become his trademark. His ability to find beauty in the monstrous and humanity in the grotesque.
I don’t know enough about practical effects vs. CGI to offer any commentary, but I can say that the creatures in Mimic have a tangible presence that’s genuinely unsettling. Whether it’s practical effects, early CGI, or a mix of both, the end result is a bunch of creepy bugs with uncanny humanoid faces that were intensely disturbing.
Mimic balanced creature feature thrills with bigger ideas–and I was not expecting that. It’s not just about godawful big insects chasing people through tunnels. The film explores questions about evolution, human interference in nature, and the unintended consequences of playing God. These themes add a welcome depth to what could have been just another gross bug movie. Maybe not groundbreaking, but these elements give us something to ponder beyond the immediate juicy, visceral thrills of the horror sequences.
Watching Mimic for the first time in 2024, I was struck by how well it holds up. Obviously, there are moments that clearly date the film, but the core of it – the atmosphere, the tension, the ideas – all still works. It’s made me curious to revisit more of del Toro’s early work. I actually have a date to watch Cronos at the end of the month with my sister! (Edit: whoops, I got confused– it’s actually Manos: The Hands of Fate that we’ll be watching. Womp womp.)
Also…maybe I still need to watch Species?
Day Eighteen of 31 Days Of Horror in years past: 2023 // 2022 // 2021
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For years, fans of horror manga master Junji Ito have been waiting for a worthy adaptation of his spiral-obsessed masterpiece, Uzumaki. Well, the wait is over. The Uzumaki anime adaptation is finally here, and wow wow wow, it’s a wondrous, terrifying realization of Junji Ito’s work.
Uzumaki unfolds in the small town of Kurouzu-cho, where an incomprehensible, spiral-related phenomenon begins to take hold. In this first episode, we’re introduced to high school student Kirie Goshima and her boyfriend Shuichi Saito, who find themselves at the forefront of these bizarre occurrences. As inexplicable events unfold around them, what starts as unsettling quickly escalates into a nightmare that threatens to consume the entire town.
The adaptation wastes no time in plunging us into this unsettling world. The opening frames make Kurouzu-cho feel like a character itself – a decaying, isolated place that oozes malevolence, perhaps teetering on the edge of madness. Or maybe it just feels that way to me because I already know the story? Anyway–they nailed it. Even the most ordinary scenes feel tinged with menace. I’m impressed by how the animators have infused every scene with this feeling of impending doom, even before the spiral motif kicks in.
Yet, beneath this ominous veneer, daily life in Kurouzu-cho carries on with an eerie semblance of routine. This jarring contrast between the town’s menacing aura and its mundane activities creates a cognitive dissonance that’s central to the horror of Uzumaki. In this deceptively ordinary yet nightmarish setting, we follow Kirie and her boyfriend Shuichi as the creeping dread of the spiral curse unfolds.
Kirie meets Shuichi at the train station and on their walk home through the town, he voices his concerns about there being something amiss in Kurouzu-cho before we even get a chance to grasp the situation ourselves fully. While doing so, whirlpools appear in the canal next to their walking path, and an eerie whirlwind whips by as if to illustrate his point. As the town continues its everyday routines, Shuichi’s unease, exhaustion, and paranoia increase, and it’s incredibly unsettling to see the immediacy of how his fears clash with the surface-level normalcy around him.
He confides in Kirie that his father has been acting weird…holing himself up in his study for hours with a collection of spiral-shaped objects, stirring spirals into his soup at dinner as if in a trance, eyes rolling madly around in their sockets. No wonder Shuichi is distressed–his father’s descent into spiral obsession is excruciatingly disturbing – I found myself genuinely disconcerted watching how the curse relentlessly burrows into the psyche before it starts twisting bodies.
But the real horror, for me, lies in the spiral threat’s dual nature: it’s both unstoppable and utterly incomprehensible. It’s everywhere and nowhere at once, infecting reality itself, yet defying any rational understanding. From Shuichi’s father’s manic fixation to how Kirie’s friend Azami seems to hypnotize all the town’s boys, the spiral’s influence permeates every aspect of life, its purpose as inscrutable as its power is undeniable.
This cosmic force operates beyond human comprehension, leaving the characters (and us viewers) grappling with a terror that can’t be reasoned with or escaped. It’s clear that this isn’t going to end well for anyone, and the worst part is, we may never truly fathom why.
I think Hiroshi Nagahama’s (Mushi-shi, Flowers of Evil) direction perfectly captures the suffocating atmosphere of Ito’s work. The fluid animation, when set against those stark character designs, creates an uncanny effect that really heightens how wrong everything in Kurouzu-cho feels. The choice to go with black-and-white visuals is obvious! I can’t imagine it any other way. Who would have even considered a color version of this?
But it’s not just about being faithful to the manga – beyond fidelity to the source material, it adds a layer of unreality that really fits the story. I know the 3D animation might be divisive, but I think it works. It adds an otherworldly quality that fits perfectly with the eldritch atmosphere of Ito’s work. And when you pair it with that haunting sound design? It’s an immersive experience that I think fans of the original work are going to love.
This first episode establishes a tone of inescapable doom and promises a descent into cosmic horror that’s both mesmerizing and terrifying. It feels like Ito’s vision has finally been faithfully and effectively translated to the screen.
As a long-time fan of Ito’s work, I’m thrilled to say that this adaptation might be the one that truly does justice to the master of manga horror. I can’t wait to see how the rest of this spiral of madness unfolds, especially since I read the manga quite some time ago, and my memory of it is delightfully hazy. It’s exhilarating to experience the existential terror and weirdness anew.
Day Seventeen of 31 Days Of Horror in years past: 2023 // 2022 // 2021
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“Your mother’s a bitch!” exclaims the man. “She’ll pay for what she did to you.”
And thus Cathy’s Curse opens! Picture it: 1947. A father and daughter perish in a fiery car crash while pursuing the mother who’d left them. Fast-forward three decades, and we meet George Gimble, the deceased girl’s brother, who moves into his childhood home with his troubled wife and young daughter Cathy.
The plot thickens when Cathy stumbles upon an old doll in the attic, unleashing a barrage of supernatural chaos. What follows is a smorgasbord of horror movie clichés: blood-spewing faucets, inexplicable defenestrations, spiders, snakes, and rats appearing out of nowhere in the midst of a generally tidy and well-kept home, and naturally, a child possessed.
Why on earth did I ever watch this film? Ever since I started my 31 Days challenge this month, I’ve had a hankering for some moody, atmospheric 1970s, preferably somewhat obscure horror. I was thinking along the lines of The Haunting of Julia. Or …if not obscure, at least not mainstream, totally obvious choices. Not giallo. Not slasher. Just quiet, creepy, vibes out the wazoo.
I had some ideas of my own, but looking to expand my watchlist and wishing to leave no stone unturned, I turned to social media for suggestions. The horror community, as always, was eager to help. While many recommendations were classics I’ve enjoyed multiple times – think The Wicker Man and Rosemary’s Baby – it was heartwarming to see such enthusiasm for sharing beloved films. It reminded me of how passionate horror fans can be about introducing others to the genre’s cornerstones. However, I was hoping to uncover some hidden gems, those lesser-known atmospheric 70s chillers that might have slipped under my radar over the years.
(Note: I revised this paragraph because I realized my original version sounded snarky and dismissive. Though you gotta love it when people assume you’ve somehow missed the horror equivalents of water and oxygen, ha! Still, it’s better to appreciate the spirit in which recommendations are given, even if they miss the mark.)
Alas, I cannot blame a single one of those very helpful folks for my choice of Cathy’s Curse. I kept thinking of Stacie Ponder’s mention of it on her Gaylords of Darkness podcast a few years ago (I don’t remember which episode, but it doesn’t matter, they’re all amazing and hilarious. Pick one and listen.) In looking up to see if Stacie had ever written about it, I found that not only she had –way back in 2009!– but she’s also quoted on the Severin Blue-Ray! Not the following quote, this is from her blog.
“Cathy’s Curse is here to remind you that you know absolutely nothing and you never truly will. Like a member of The Flat Earth Society or a cinematic hardened rogue vigilante cop, Cathy’s Curse feels stifled by “the law,” be it the law of man or the law of nature. Cathy’s Curse operates outside the system, beholden only to the rules of its own world, a world in which the logic of our world simply doesn’t apply. Nothing has meaning. Meaning itself has no meaning. It laughs at your struggle as you try to figure it out, as you try to impose order on its chaos–for within this film there is only chaos.”
This is a pretty awful film, but I loved it. I would not recommend it, but I hope all of you watch it! Peek back over the next few days; I am going to compile a list of all the best ideas (not the two listed above) that people shared regarding my request for moody, atmospheric 70s films, and I’ll hopefully have decided on one to watch, too.
Anyway…your mother’s a bitch! (Why is that such a weirdly catchy earworm of a phrase???)
Day Sixteen of 31 Days Of Horror in years past: 2023 // 2022 // 2021
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I was planning on posting this up as the culmination of 31 Days of Horror as I did last year, but…
1. I finished these reviews last night, and I am impatient. If something is done, the temptation to share it is too great not to do it immediately! ‘
And 2. holding off until Halloween isn’t helpful for those who are looking to place orders before Halloween and may need a bit of help in the way of a review that tells them something, while… if not useful or helpful (I don’t kid myself about the kind of “reviews” that I write) at least…illuminating? Insightful?
Moroccan Pumpkin (pumpkin spices wind through a blend of warm musk, carnation, red sandalwood and cassia) Immensely slatherable, an oozing study in autumnal comfort, heavy and sweet on the skin. The pumpkin note is rich and velvety, with a buttery smoothness that goes beyond coating the back of a spoon…I think the spoon would stand straight up in this if it were an actual edible thing! Spices add depth and complexity – warm cinnamon and golden, resinous amber – their heat tempered by the syrupy sweetness of brown sugar crystals seemingly dissolving into the blend. There’s a thickness to this scent, almost tactile in its presence, like the last spoonful of preserves clinging to the jar. It’s a scent that embodies the season’s most indulgent desserts – think slices of custardy pumpkin pie topped with dollops of whipped cream, warm cinnamon rolls dripping with gooey icing, and sticky toffee pudding saturated with a rich maple butterscotch sauce.
Darling, Darling (sugared pear and wild violets with orris butter, coconut milk, white musk, and vanilla silk) opens with a creamy, candied tartness that swoons into a misty moody, melancholic violet – a fevered vision nestled in the heart of a midnight reverie. This is a sugar-frosted bloom with a nocturnal appetite – powdery yet sharp, a strange, romantic sweetness on which one feeds exclusively and voraciously. A velvety richness mingles with a subtle lactonic note, providing a silky backdrop that amplifies the scent’s confectionery nature. A diaphanous veil of clean musk intertwines with gossamer-light vanilla, forming an ethereal shroud of tender menace clinging to trembling skin. TLDR; this smells like the tender caresses of a succubus who is feeding you a handful of Smarties.
Dead Leaves, Incense Smoke & Oud Imagine you are Mazzy Star circa 1993, but you are also slowly being consumed by the trees. Damp, earthy autumn leaves whisper songs of decay, a slow plume of incense smoke hangs low on the breeze, and the sun drops below the bloody, burning horizon. Rich woody darkness, a tree’s shadowy heart, and you, a pile of dust, an endlessly fading chord.
Dead Leaves, Black Tea & Bergamot The earthy, euphoric scent of autumn rises from a carpet of fallen leaves, their colors a blanket of umber and gold spread beneath rusted wrought-iron gates. Wisps of aromatic steam curl from an abandoned mug on a weathered stone bench, mingling with the garden’s fading sighs. At twilight, a crisp breeze rattles the trees, carrying a jolly, vegetal brightness that disperses the melancholy haze like a peal of laughter at an unexpectedly inappropriate joke! A moment, a reflective pause between seasons, rich with the comforting warmth of autumn and the lingering mischief of the departing summer, the last chirp of a cricket giving way to the first croak of an autumn toad.
The Bell Witch(rusted iron, mandrake root, burnt vetiver, and patchouli leaves) What is it about the human heart that loves a place forsaken? This is a quote from a book I read recently, so I can’t take credit for it, but it is super appropriate for this perfume. In a forgotten corner of an abandoned homestead, weathered tools rest against crumbling walls, once-gleaming surfaces now a canvas of rust and patina, shadows pool in the pitted surface of an old axe head. From between warped floorboards, gnarled tendrils reach upward, twisted and pale, insistently seeking. A tenebrous botanical scent rises with them, vegetal and searching. It mingles with the musty air, a complex perfume of damp wood, old leather, and the faint memory of smoke. Dust hangs suspended in slanted beams of light; each mote a silent witness to creeping decay and desolation.
Single Note: Black Lipstick (waxy drugstore lipstick and clove cig residue) Velvety pigments and wine-darkened lips, inky midnight fruits, rich, jammy, plummy, plush malaise-as-a-lifestyle-choice kisses.
Pumpkin Spice Halo-Halo(ube halaya and ube ice cream chonked with mango jelly, flan, boiled taro, evaporated milk, sweetened kidney beans, dried coconut, kaong, gulaman, tapioca pearls, and a copious shake of pumpkin spice) This is a very creamy blend, but also very …earthy? Velvety ribbons of milky jam weave through wobbling mounds of coconut custard. Lumpy dollops of an almost figgy milk jelly jostle jiggingly aside pillowy palm sugar flan. But there is also the starchy nectar of sweet rice, beans boiled in fruit syrup, and the subterranean, geosmic sweetness of mashed tubers. This fragrance has all of those things…plus a tiny spoonful of salty, nutty, browned butter.
Pumpkin Musk & Black Oud Pureed gourd flesh and nutty, toasted grains steep in dusky, caramelized sweetness. A slice of pumpkin bread devoured at a forsaken crossroads, where a witching-hour deal is yet to be struck.
The Fading Crimson of the Sky (bergamot shuddering through lime leaves, ruby-tinged amber sunlight, violet leaf, oak bark, and sandalwood smoke) An unsettling missive scrawled in smoke; the honeyed light and amber glow of a strangely flickering twilight; a slice of citrus wrapped in lace, pale jade juice seeping into the threads. The pearlescent moon rises, and violet-tinged shadows writhe over a hushed glade.
Dry Ice Cocktail(a sparkling absinthe martini swirled with a glow stick and overflowing with cascades of dry ice fog) A spectral chill in frosted glass; anise and verbena spark with eerie luminescence. Icy tendrils spill over the rim, a fog that bites at curious fingers. The elixir shimmers with cold vapor suspended between tipple and mist – green herbal shivers and sharp, aromatic secrets swirling in misty limbo.
The Autumn People (hay-dusted oak, honey mead, pumpkin rind, vetiver root, corn husk, and maple leaves) An unexpected autumnal breeze; crisp leaves carry secrets of golden fields. Honey-tinged sunlight clings to weathered bark, earthy roots anchor fleeting warmth. Tattered pumpkin rind scrapings compost with the sweet decay of fallen foliage. Deceptively fresh, almost cheerful, yet a ghostly chorus lingers in wind-stirred branches – a chill, whistling echo of summer’s fading warmth.
The Ruins of Karnstein (the rich, earthy depth of oud, vetiver, and moss, grounded in the untamed wilds of the forest, echoing the ancient stones that remain) Monstrous vegetation breathes a verdant miasma, its exhalations heavy with the weight of countless eons. In the same space, the same breath, the other eye observes a study in boreal archaeology: a drift of dead branches, ancient pine cones, desiccated moss. Tendrils of primordial green intertwine with crumbling stone, suspended in time. Undergrowth, thicket, and canopy exude a vast murky viridescence, revealing a mirror world where forest and ruin reflect endlessly, an unsettling symmetry of growth and decay.
Traditional Sheet Ghost A farmers market fruit basket tumbles into the washing machine, emerges an olfactory apparition. High-thread-count luxury cotton sheets, spin cycle séance, rustling with tales of anemic fruits transfused with linen-fresh detergent. Bedclothes drift through air heavy with warm humidity and the powdery tang of fabric softener, an olfactory bedtime story of fruits gently haunting your freshly laundered linens.
Datura Blossom This impression of chlorinated florals, aquatic honey, and a slight mineral effervescence is not at all what I expected… although I think this is going to be a summertime favorite! . This is a midsummer fever dream, foamed with flowers, pearled with light. Narcotic petals lounging poolside: honey-sweet poisonous blooms take a dip in cerulean waters at high noon in mid-July, and they’re floating on neon pool noodles and drinking slightly flat but icy-cold Topo Chico. For those who appreciate such things, this one reminds me a bit of the long-discontinued Danube.
Hollow Hallow (a suffocating pumpkin kyphi soaked in dark red wine and darkened by vetiver, opoponax, and black oud) The pores of the earth yawn open, exuding an inky miasma perfumed with earthy autumnal spices and sweet brown sugar musk. This glazed, glistening cascade of aromatic sap gleams under a harvest moon, a glossy pool of honeyed incense golden and thick, an aromatic oil slick of resinous depth and syrupy darkness. From the viscous depths, a pumpkin-headed silhouette emerges, its hollow eyes glowing with ancient malice—an old god awakening to reclaim its hallowed home.
The Great and Titled Dead (the haunted stillness of a long-decayed cemetery plot choked by ivy and wild blackberry thorns) Did I hear a blackberry giggle? And why did it sound so chilling, soulless, and evil? A chorus of tiny, wicked voices rises from the brambles, their sweet menace carried on a gentle breeze. The scent drifts lightly, deceptively airy, its delicate touch belying the weight of ancient malice it carries.
Tropical Print Sheet Ghost (cascades of banana Leaf, bamboo fiber, mango, papaya, and hibiscus, streaked with ectoplasm and sticky tears of strelitzia sap) I always list the notes with these reviews because sometimes I forget myself and get lost in impressions or dreams or memories or go off on labyrinthine tangents that stray very far from perfumereviewlandia. In this case, it is helpful to share the perfumer’s notes because I am going to list a very different set of smeller’s notes: honeydew, rhubarb, & honeysuckle preserves, a translucent shiver of ginger leaf, a rosebud preening, its reflection glassy and cool in a pool of clear rainwater. Fresh, clear nectar, lush and swirling in a prismatic jelly jar, balancing on a small tray carved of young, green wood.
Pumpkin Latte (espresso, pumpkin syrup, smoky vanilla bean, milk, raw sugar, and a dash of cinnamon and nutmeg) I don’t know how I’ve been reviewing these Halloween scents for so long, and yet I have never talked about this one. Perhaps it’s because it’s been lurking in the shadows, biding its time, waiting for the perfect moment to reveal its true nature. And that nature? It’s not what you’d expect. The coffee is strong and smoky, a dark roast rebellion against the expected sweetness. This is not the sticky-sweet pumpkin syrup bomb of your coffee-chain drive-thru order with your name spelled ridiculously wrong (ugh, poor “Keighleigh”). Instead, imagine a barista witch concocting a potion of bitter mysteries and autumnal secrets in a cauldron of burnished copper. Vanilla bean smoke curls around the edges, more felt than tasted, while cinnamon and nutmeg whisper spicy nothings from the shadows. A ribbon of milk weaves through it all, not to soften but to complicate – binding the realms of wake and sleep, summer’s fading warmth, and winter’s approaching chill. Raw sugar lingers as an afterthought, crunching softly like leaves underfoot or the last grains of sand in October’s hourglass. This is a PSL for those who find comfort in decay and seek beauty in the turn of seasons – a not-too-sweet (ultimate compliment) toast to endings that taste like new beginnings, the best, most perfect, most WEENDERFUL TIME OF THE YEAR.
Need more ‘Weenies? Have a peep at my ‘Weenie reviews from the autumns of yesteryear 2023 // 2022 // 2021 // 2020 // 2019 // 2018 // 2017 // 2016
And PSSSST! Did you know I have collected all of my BPAL reviews into one spot? Here you will find 88 pages of my thoughts and rambles on various limited-edition scents from Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab over the years: BPAL REVIEWS BY S. ELIZABETH (PDF download)
Are you new to one of our very favorite indie perfumers, Black Phoenix Alchemy Lab? See my three-part primer here, here, and here.
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Every October, there’s at least one or two evenings where the occasion of a “family movie” is called for. Yvan has two brothers, and both of their birthdays occur over the course of this month. This means that one of them flies in from out of state (the other already lives nearby), and now the whole family is together, and there are multiple dinners and lots of socializing and endless rounds of Olsen Olsen, usually a very tame movie or two …and very little time for me to watch and write about something scary.
This year, the time is especially important because their mother—my mother-in-law—isn’t doing very well health-wise. She was diagnosed with ALS, and she has been rapidly declining in the last six months or so, and of course everyone wants to spend as much time with her, and together as a family, as possible. My own family was never as close as this one is. In one month, I have more family dinners with these people than I have ever had in my entire adult life with my family.
This is not to say that my sisters and I aren’t close. We love each other dearly. But even when my mother and grandparents were still alive, we never really did these things as a family, other than, say, once a year at Thanksgiving. Whereas with Yvan’s family, for the past three years now, we have twice-weekly family dinners. (I do think this is a little excessive, but I keep my mouth shut.)
Much of that is due to the influence of my mother-in-law, who works tirelessly to keep everyone close. She is a very special lady. She accepted me immediately into the family when I first met her twelve years ago and never said anything about my shyness or weirdness or piercings or tattoos or changing hair colors. As a matter of fact, when I mentioned over a fish dinner a few years ago that I was thinking of blue hair, she very seriously considered it for a second and said, “Hmmm…maybe I should do that too!”
This is the woman who, when my first book was published at the height of the pandemic, staged a little book signing for me in her backyard with various family members so I could have “the whole experience!” And all of this is expressed with a gentle, lullaby-inflected Icelandic accent, which always makes conversations with her take on a dreamy, storybook feel. We’re losing her bit by bit, and these conversations are all but impossible now.
But we all got together for hamburgers and Beetlejuice Beetlejuice this weekend. She sat next to me on the couch, and we laughed and cringed because it was funny and gross, and everyone had a good time, and I am glad.
The movie hasn’t been out for a long time, so I won’t get into it over much because I don’t want to spoil anything for anyone. I’ll just say it was a lot of fun, and a lot better than I expected, and that it’s always interesting revisiting future versions of these characters and stories from your formative years; perspectives and priorities are so different these many years later, and things like plot, for example (at least for me) become second fiddle to things like relationships.
I think I was mainly tuning in to see Lydia’s interactions with her stepmother thirty-six years after the original film. And I was not disappointed. You know what else did not disappoint? THE FASHUN. Which I think I can share loads of without giving any of the story away!
Day Fourteen of 31 Days Of Horror in years past: 2023 // 2022 // 2021
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Were you the kid who sat on the floor next to a grimy, dusty corner of a vending machine to eat lunch alone? I was. I was reminded of this in some of the opening scenes of I Saw The TV Glow. A part of me wishes that I’d had a kindred weirdo to connect with. But…not like this.
I Saw the TV Glow unfolds as a tale of two outsiders, Owen and Maddy, bond via their shared obsession with a mysterious TV show called “The Pink Opaque”. Set against the backdrop of a nondescript suburban town in the late ’90s, the film follows Owen from his introduction to the show as a shy seventh-grader through to his unfulfilling adulthood.
The Pink Opaque, a Buffy-esque series about two psychically linked girls battling supernatural forces, becomes more than just entertainment for Owen and Maddy – it’s a lifeline. When Maddy suddenly vanishes, leaving only a burning TV behind, Owen is left adrift. Years pass, and he finds himself trapped in a dreary existence, unable to move on or fully embrace who he is. The film weaves between Owen’s memories, the eerie world of The Pink Opaque, and his present-day struggles, building towards a confrontation with the truths he’s long avoided about himself and the inexplicable events of his youth.
I’m not quite sure what to think of I Saw the TV Glow, and yet even so, this strange, sad tale of outcasts searching for belonging and identity has burrowed its way into my thoughts. And sad it was. Relentlessly sad. Owen and Maddy’s journey, so intertwined with The Pink Opaque, speaks to the pain of not truly knowing yourself yet being acutely aware that the version of you the world sees isn’t authentic. Their diverging paths – one fading into an uncertain void, the other slowly suffocating in suburban purgatory – leave a hollow ache in my chest, with its heart that already carries an inexplicable emptiness all its own.
I found myself entranced by the moody soundtrack, which, according to an NPR article, was curated with a great deal of care. Featuring original songs from indie artists, the music captures what the article describes as “teenage malaise and … a ‘Ph.D. interpretation of goth.'” It perfectly complements the film’s themes of alienation, longing, and despair. Also, I want a perfume that smells like how King Woman’s brutal, howling “Psychic Wound” performance in this movie makes me feel.
Day Thirteen of 31 Days Of Horror in years past: 2023 // 2022 // 2021
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I started watching Evil over the summer, but as I am still watching it—in fact, I watched an episode last night—I think it totally counts toward my October viewing.
Everyone in the world already knows all about this show but me, so I feel like an asshole offering a synopsis of it, but just in case you haven’t seen it yet...Evil is a psychological mystery series that explores the boundary between science and the supernatural and follows an unusual investigative team: a skeptical forensic psychologist, a Catholic seminarian, and a tech expert. They work together to examine the Church’s backlog of unexplained phenomena.
What’s both interesting and frustrating is its refusal to give easy answers – each case could be demonic activity or just humans being terrible in creative ways. That’s one of the things I enjoyed about the X-Files, too, I suppose, and I think maybe what I like most about Evil is that it scratches that X-Filesian itch for me.
Evil revolves around three distinct characters whose perspectives shape the series. David Acosta (Luke Cage!), a Catholic seminarian, brings unwavering spiritual conviction to their investigations. His strong faith often serves as a counterpoint to his teammates’ skepticism, though he grapples with personal challenges unrelated to their cases. Ben Shakir, a technology specialist, approaches each situation with sharp skepticism, using his technical know-how to seek rational explanations for seemingly supernatural events.
Then there’s Kristen Bouchard: a forensic psychologist, mother of four, and, improbably, a renowned mountain climber. This combination of roles stretches believability to its limits. One can’t help but question how she excels in such demanding and disparate areas of life. Yet, it’s Kristen’s complex nature and her struggle to reconcile her skepticism with increasingly bizarre experiences that form the show’s backbone.
The show’s handling of Kristen Bouchard’s character troubles me. As an attractive, privileged white woman, Kristen literally gets away with murder when her police friend looks the other way. It’s a stark reminder of real-world disparities in justice, as it’s hard to imagine the two other members of her team receiving similar treatment. If it sounds like maybe I don’t love Kristen, well. That would be true.
Beyond our main three, there’s a whole cast of characters that keep things interesting. When we meet Kristen’s mother, Sheryl, she seems like a relatively normal grandmother, albeit one who dresses like a biker bar regular or an 80s metal enthusiast. As the series progresses, Sheryl’s role becomes increasingly unpredictable and intriguing. At this point, I literally have no idea what is going on with Sheryl; she’s getting into some weird shit, and I wonder how “normal” she ever was in the first place! Leland Townsend (Ben from Lost!) is a professional rival turned nemesis and brings a deliciously sinister energy to every scene he’s in.
Dr. Kurt Boggs, Kristen’s therapist, provides a perfect blend of insight and dry humor, and watching his life get weirder with each episode is a treat. Sister Andrea, a sharp-witted, no-nonsense nun with a knack for sensing the supernatural, serves as David’s mentor and ally, offering spiritual wisdom and practical advice in equal measure. And finally, Kristen’s daughters. I’ll be honest: Kristen’s four daughters are A LOT. I could do without them.
One of my favorite things about the show is its seemingly endless autumn or winter setting: characters are almost always bundled up in coats and scarves, their breath visible in the chilly air, while bare trees and gloomy skies create a perpetual atmosphere of unease that perfectly complements the eerie cases the team investigates.
There are possessions, exorcisms, creepy dolls, creepy kids, UFOs, angels, demons, evil influencers, evil VR goggles, evil cops, evil fertility clinics, and …the Elevator Game. A lot of it is awfully goofy. But the show also has a lot of heart, so there’s a good balance, tackling serious existential questions alongside more outlandish plot points. This blend of tones creates an engaging if sometimes bewildering, viewing experience. But…in the best way?
I’ve found myself posting about some of the more perplexing scenes on Facebook…
From August 23: “I am watching Evil on Netflix, and I find it easier to believe that countless exorcisms are happening constantly throughout the New York City area than to believe that the canned margaritas Kristen Bouchard drinks every time she is on screen are any good.”
From September 18: “I am still watching Evil, and I do not even KNOW what is going on with Sheryl. But she and this Edward guy are leisurely boogieing outside Leland’s apartment, singing Foux du Fafa “
I was hoping they might get to this part of the song, but alas… “Ah, Gérard Depardieu Baguette, hon hon hon”
Day Twelve of 31 Days Of Horror in years past: 2023 // 2022 // 2021
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No movie-watching in the last day or so. Hurricane concerns and issues, pre-and-post, didn’t leave time for it. Luckily, the storm had mostly fizzled by the time it reached us, but it’s always an anxious, paralyzing time in the day/hours leading up to these things, and my anxiety didn’t leave room for anything else! The day after was spent in clean-up mode. There was no damage to the our house or property, but the wind knocked a lot of tree limbs and branches around, so yesterday afternoon I cleaned a lot of that up, and after all that, I needed an early bedtime.
So instead, here’s a little list of miscellaneous stuff: a few articles, some recipes, spooky tunes, creepy stories, a collection of upcoming horror films, and a few lists of horror novels, both for those who like to keep up with the newest releases and those who are getting started in the genre and need a place to begin (although I’m pretty sure most folks reading this blog are well beyond horror 101, you never know!)
Day Eleven of 31 Days Of Horror in years past: 2023 // 2022 // 2021
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I mentioned previously that I had a particular hankering for a specific sort of ’70s horror, something brimming with dreamy, moody, autumnal vibes, and preferably something I’d never heard of before. The examples I gave were The Haunting of Julia (1977) and Images (1972). The former is a drizzly autumn in London, all grey skies and rain-slicked streets, while the latter unfolds in a misty, golden-hued countryside. In both, the location isn’t just a backdrop—it’s almost a character in itself, infusing every frame with a palpable sense of melancholy and unease. The sense of place is really important for this mood, creating an atmosphere that seeps into your bones.
