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In the final moments of I Blame Society, Gillian Wallace Horvat goes absolutely apeshift on a couple of film bros. “I am a strong female lead,” she grunts as she wields a blade across the throat of Producer #2. Blood spurts and covers the walls. The screen is coated in thick red plasma, leaving the film title seeping through. That solitary line punctures the graphic violence with sardonic humor, circling back to an earlier conversation when the same film bros eviscerated Gillian’s latest script for not having a compelling enough protagonist. The venomous refrain encompasses not only the entire thesis of the found-footage film but what it’s like to be anyone but a cis white man in the world.
“I am a strong female lead” could also read as the thematic premise to Tragedy Girls 一 a flashy, meta-slasher led by Sadie (Brianna Hildebrand) and McKayla (Alexandra Shipp), two high-schoolers desperately wanting to make a name for themselves within the serial killer arena. I Blame Society is a Making a Murderer demonstration, confined to one artist’s morally-questionable conceits in capturing authentic art; whereas, Tragedy Girls explores a very different hunt for authenticity, a comment on fame and online popularity through a murderous lens. Both films reside within the same blood-soaked realm; three women rising triumphant after clawing their way through the thorny thicket of the patriarchy.
Horvat originally conceived a documentary based upon a compliment she received from friends. “You’d make a great murderer,” they told her. She then set to work compiling interviews with friends, family, and exes 一 but the idea never felt truly complete. She shelved the project, only to return a few years later when producers Mette-Marie Kongsved and Laura Tunstall watched the short film and suggested fleshing it out in a found-footage format. It was like a lightning bolt of creativity, and it was off to the races from there. The set-up in I Blame Society is much the same: Horvat, who plays an exaggerated version of herself, swinging from deadpan to unhinged, plots a mockumentary (titled i, Murderer) around the murderer compliment. She chronicles her every move, from the hilarious introduction in which she proposes killing her friend Chase’s abusive, emotionally-manipulative girlfriend, to how she would theoretically commit the crime.
Three years later, the friendship has understandably fallen apart, and Gillian is going through a period of creative stagnation and toys with graduate work in law. She’s written several other scripts, including one about Israel, but everyone in her life, including her manager (who drops her), finds the lead character uninspired and uninteresting. Back to the drawing board, she decides on resurrecting the murderer mockumentary and forging ahead with her career. “I can’t sit back and wait for permission from some guy to make a movie,” she tells her camera assistant Olivia.
Through i, Murderer , Gillian traces out the “whole arc of a murderer’s career” and the “progression of thrills.” Things begin with something simple, and she shoplifts a bottle of cough syrup from a local pharmacy. Later that night, she works on a collection of knots she may use for the film process and shares with her boyfriend further ideas she has. Exhausted from the day, he complains about working with a progressive woman director and makes a misogynistic joke about Gillian’s filmmaking ambitions. “Are you making a porn now? Is that all you know how to do?” he jests, shrugging it off. The comment grossly underestimates Gillian’s power, and she takes it as fuel for her art.
Gillian plunges into the underbrush of her plan. She scouts out potential locations and targets, first spying a woman with a dog (that’s a no-go from the start) and then someone she surmises as an actress. Bingo! The woman leaves in a rush, and Gillian takes the opportunity to scope out the apartment, pointing out the advantages of carpet over hardwood, and begins proofing the space for her eventual breaking and entering. Amidst her preparations, she gets a call from her former manager’s assistant about a promising high-profile meeting with two producers (the aforementioned film bros). “We need an ally on your side!” Producer #1 and Producer #2 stress, spouting some nonsense about intersectionality within the company. Of course, it’s all performative jargon to seem inclusive; they don’t even give Gillian the floor to discuss her own work. They’d rather give her a menial task in creating a lookbook for another man’s greenlit project. Typical.
It’s a mere bump in the road for her, though. Misogynists will be misogynists. She plows further into the mockumentary. The second step is invading the woman’s apartment while she is present. In the witching hour, Gillian creeps into the window and sets up a series of hidden cameras throughout each room. She goes above and beyond in the scheme, even making herself at home and grabbing a slice of apple and a glass of wine. “I’m living my best life,” she whispers to the camera, as she sits bedside her prey. A creative by nature, she goes all-in on method. It’s both chilling and hilarious.
Gillian’s devolution doesn’t hit into overdrive until reconnecting with Chase, who breaks the silence after three years. They meet up for a hike to chit chat and get a little exercise in. Chase talks about everything, from how he’s doing these days to upcoming nuptials. This sets Gillian off into an epically-deranged monologue about him marrying “the fucking devil.” Chase is bewildered, hurt, and angry at her allegations 一 but has little time to challenge her before he succumbs to a deadly sesame seed allergy. Having no knowledge of this, Gillian claims that she assumed he just didn’t like sesame seeds on his bagel and merely wiped them off. Gasping for air, Chase lies writhing in the sun and squeaks out that he has an EpiPen in his bag. Gillian scavenges for it, but before she stabs him with the medicine, she pleads with him to make her a promise that he won’t marry The Devil. Life fades from his face, and he lies motionless.
It’s just the trigger Gillian needed to send her careening down a path of utter destruction. She kills a myriad of people 一 a calculated decision so as not to alert authorities with a discernible pattern 一 including the actress, a homeless man, and an egomaniac working as an insurance agent. Each slaying tantalizes her and gives her the most intoxicating high. And she’s not even close to being done. “You can’t anticipate me. You can’t predict me,” she stares down the viewer. The stunningly creepy monologue arrives during one of her midnight murders, interspersed with comments on how the police have no idea who could be behind such a sweeping epidemic. Naturally, they peg the killer as a man; how could a woman possibly commit such atrocities anyway? Gillian’s icy smirk says it all.
In a similar vein to Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon, I Blame Society fully displays the messiness of becoming a murderer. She’s not a natural born killer, but it’s evident through a series of trial and error exploits that her bloodlust lurks in the deep recesses of her soul.
Tragedy Girls ’ Sadie and McKayla, on the other hand, are explicitly driven by some murderous impulse. Paired with their sick hunger to be famous, it creates the perfect storm in transforming them into this generation’s next big psychopaths. “Sometimes, I think nothing I do matters,” expresses Sadie over lunch one afternoon. Her rare confession exposes the insecurities she masks with eye shadow and an imposing presence, matched only with McKayla’s equally-fierce character. Both exude confidence, and as they discover through their murder campaign, no one ever takes women seriously.
The film opens with Sadie swapping spit with a boy named Greg. From the vintage automobile and the moody atmosphere, it’s a scene straight out of any ‘80s slasher flick. But there’s a flip. Sadie is on a mission to lure Lowell Orson Lehmann (Kevin Durand), a real life serial killer after whom they’ve modeled their own ambitions. Like clockwork, Lowell shows up and slaughters Greg in the most grotesque way, giving Sadie and McKayla a window to pounce and take him hostage. “Make no mistake who’s in charge, bitch!” spits McKayla, once they have Lowell bound inside an isolated shed. They profess their admiration for his work and rising body count (five so far) but are quickly disappointed when they have to finish off Sadie’s little boy toy themselves. “You couldn’t even do that right,” chides McKayla.
Sadie and McKayla then map out their entire process, from stalking potential victims to keeping a keen eye on the media. In one of the film’s funniest bits, the duo note the distinction between serial killers and spree killers in a claymation featurette for their YouTube channel. With the help of Jack Quaid’s ever-adorable Jordan Welch, they upload frequent detailed reports as a way to appear with their finger on the pulse, aside from chasing down a higher follower count, of course. It’s all about the theatrics for them, each public display a chance to hurl their stardom further into the sun.
While their morals are skewed, their relationship and love for one another is not, a key element director Tyler MacIntyre wrote into the script. Their commitment to each other and the cause pours forth through murderous binges, as they perfect the crime scenes and the methodical skillset it takes to exact such a plot. With the media naming the killer a male (because duh!) and ruling various deaths as accidents or suicides, McKayla and Sadie are forced to get creative and escalate things. When they off the know-it-all cheerleading captain, it looks like a freak accident, so they chop up her body into gooey parts to make sure there’s no possible way it could be ruled anything but murder. McKayla’s ex-boyfriend Toby (Josh Hutcherson), gym trainer Al (Craig Robinson), and eventually Jordan fall by the wayside.
Despite a temporary detour in their relationship, Sadie and McKayla could never stay permanently estranged. Even the allure of fame as a solo Tragedy Girl doesn’t satisfy Sadie for long. She cares too much and too deeply for her lifelong BFF. In the grand finale, they undergo the ultimate test and conquer Lowell once and for all, thus usurping his throne as the perfect boss bitch villains. They lock hands and slide their neon-colored masks down over their faces. Iconic. Together, they’ve mastered the art of serial killing, and their friendship simply grows more powerful because of it. Borrowing a sentiment from Thelma & Louise, they pack up their entire lives in a convertible and ride off in the sunset.
Tragedy Girls and I Blame Society sees women taking charge 一 of their careers, self-worth, bodily autonomy, and ability to take up space in the world. Where one is a highly-polished meta-slasher bonanza, the other carries a grittier, more disheveled tone in found-footage style. They are two sides to the same feminist coin (and we love to see it). On their own, each film has claimed an indelible place in the modern pantheon of woman-led horror, and jointly, it’s a volatile and electrifying double feature. Spin-off sequel with Sadie, McKayla, and Gillian when?
Double Trouble is a recurring column that pairs up two horror films, past or present, based on theme, style, or story.
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Cows are considered to be the perfect livestock. Not only do they provide food like milk and beef, their byproducts yield everyday goods, including leather, ointments, soap, and toilet paper. Yet as much as cows do for humans, there is always someone who thinks they can do more. Synthetic hormones and gene-editing are common practices when trying to improve cattle, but the kind of biological tampering seen in the 2005 movie Isolation is utterly twisted. These scientists believed they could make a better cow; one that would greatly benefit mankind.
Needless to say, they were wrong.
This atmospheric rural horror, shot outside of Dublin, is based on the director and writer’s rustic upbringing. Billy O’Brien grew up on a farm, but until he moved away to the city, he never realized how unique his childhood experience was. Seeing how his city friends reacted to a story about “calving” ultimately inspired O’Brien’s first movie . Of course he needed something more to go on other than just life on a farm. Which is where the monster cow comes in.
While Ireland is certainly smaller than the U.S. of A, the Emerald Isle has no shortage of cows. There is also so much competition, which is why farms like the one in O’Brien’s debut are struggling to survive. John Lynch’s character in Isolation is in over his head trying to save his late father’s ol’ dairy farm. The milk is not quite dried up, but no one is coming to collect it. Hence Dan allowing his Bessies and Buttercups to become guinea pigs in a mysterious experiment. The desperate farmer takes what is essentially blood money as his cattle are turned into incubators for evil.
Dan has allowed his farmyard to become the testing ground for a bio-genetics firm. And as of late, his only human contact has been with the firm’s emissary, a scientist named John ( Marcel Iureș, The Cave ), and a local veterinarian and friend named Orla ( Essie Davis, The Babadook ). A test subject goes into labor late at night, but something is off about this birth. So, Dan seeks help from the young couple crashing on his land, a pair of star-crossed lovers played by Sean Harris (Creep) and Ruth Negga (World War Z). This stressful scene employs the very same calving jack used by O’Brien’s father. The medieval-looking device cranks up the tension as it slowly wrenches the calf from its mother.
Isolation goes straight from gestating horror to birthing it. Orla eventually shows up to check on the calf, but after the baby takes a chunk out of Dan’s finger, it’s clear something must be done. Orla and Dan’s struggle to “humanely” put the newborn down, using a cattle gun, is without question unsettling to watch. The mother cow literally climbing the walls to protect her young adds to the chaos of the sad scene.
If the last two set pieces have somehow failed to jangle the nerves, the calf’s autopsy is sure to make the skin crawl. Despite her proximity to bad science, Orla only knows so much about the firm’s absolute endgame. What she finds inside the calf is where Isolation earns its reputation as “ The Thing set on a farm.” This calf was already pregnant with multiple fetuses. Six of them, to be exact. And each one has its skeleton on the outside. This horrifying discovery reveals John and his team wanted to “create more fertile calves.” They succeeded, but not quite as they had originally envisioned.
One of the six malformed fetuses has survived the odds and is now looking for a way off this farm. The carnivorous cow spawn in question, which resembles a skeletal larva, is well on its way to becoming the apex predator in a place with no competition to begin with. And the only resolution is to contain the threat by any means possible. O’Brien’s affection for John Carpenter’s ‘82 cult classic is apparent in the second and third acts, but the imitation is well done, not to mention a smidge more plausible despite the absurdity involved.
Isolation stokes natural fears of invasion and disease. The rapidly growing creature’s infectious bite only raises the stakes further and conveys the story’s sense of urgency. Apart from the hospital scene at the end, everything occurs on Dan’s farm. So the sensation of never being able to escape, regardless of the open air and vehicles readily available, is unmistakable. The audience grows increasingly claustrophobic as the script pulls the surviving characters into the pit of hell that is the monster’s makeshift lair. Adrian Johnston’s first horror score heightens these choice moments with dramatic strings and modified farm sounds.
Isolation ’s dreary setting matches its cast. The characters are not so much unlikable as they are wretched. Harris and Negga’s characters, Jamie and Mary, are on the run from their quarreling families, so their despondency stems from an unspoken culture clash. Meanwhile, Dan is partly to blame for the festering dilemma on his hands, but Lynch does a fantastic job of manifesting his character’s self-loathing and humanizing his mistake. Davis, whose hands-on approach to her role included sticking her whole arm inside a cow’s rear-end, is regretfully on screen for a short amount of time. However, it’s clear she shows great remorse for sleeping with the enemy. And while Iureș ticks off the “mad scientist” box of this genre outing, his John character makes the effort to right his wrongs, no matter how radical his methods are.
Lovers of accidental monsters, science gone awry, and suffocating environments are urged to watch this hidden gem. The 2000s was a busy time for British and Irish horror, which explains why O’Brien’s movie got lost in the crowd. Its obscurity is more disappointing than surprising, but there was no shortage of acclaim back then. Beautifully shot, grotesque and thoroughly disturbing, Isolation is aching to be rediscovered.
Horrors Elsewhere is a recurring column that spotlights a variety of movies from all around the globe, particularly those not from the United States. Fears may not be universal, but one thing is for sure — a scream is understood, always and everywhere.
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