The Mission: the arc of Abraham in The Walking Dead

The Walking Dead is one of those shows that it probably seems like I hate more than I really do.  I'm still watching it, aren't I?  And even when I gripe about the way the show lurches from action-set-piece-head-blasting-a-go-go to contemplative-no-movement-yawn-a-rama, I do still appreciate the character work they knuckle into to give us meaty moments.

Such a case was with the episode Always Accountable.

A lot of the attention for this episode focused on Daryl's story:  laying the groundwork for a new batch of villains, some tense action, and of course the internet's favourite backwoods reformed racist doing what he does best (grunting, sweating, etc. (I kid, Daryl is awesome)).  In the background, though, between crossbow bolts and backstabbing, a quieter, smaller arc was unfolding between Sasha and Abraham.

To be honest, I was only half-invested in this little plot.  Literally.  Sasha is, for me, perhaps the most poorly-drawn lead character on the show.  She is largely defined by the men around her:  Tyreese, Bob, and now, weirdly, Abraham.  Her brief descent into madness and grief after Bob and Tyreese's deaths simply didn't resonate for me, in part because Tyreese's death was so utterly contrived as to be laughable.

Abraham, however, has for me transitioned from being a cartoonish caricature to one of the most engaging and interesting characters on the show.  When we first met Abraham, he looked like he had stepped right off of the comic page, and not in a good way.  He, Rosita, and Eugene seemed to inhabit a strange world outside of the gritty horror that has become the staple of The Walking Dead.  They were...goofy, frankly.

But then, Self Help came along.  Granted, the fact that it took 11 episodes to get any kind of real development for these characters is kind of a sin in of itself, but I forgive it on the basis that the Walking Dead crew were dealing with cannibals and such.

Self Help is a tremendous turning point in Abraham's character.  We'd had some hints of his single-minded obsession with getting Eugene to Washington before, particularly in his confrontation with Rick in the church, but in this episode we finally get to the meat of his backstory.  Abraham's life in the initial days of the apocalypse unfolds in flashbacks with a gauzy haze filtered over them.  We see him protecting his wife and children, but in so doing he unleashes an animalistic fury that ends up driving them away.  That same fury comes back at the end of the episode, when he discovers that Eugene has been lying, and subsequently beats him to within an inch of his life.

By itself, this episode was utterly heartbreaking and seemed without hope at the end.  Abraham breaks down, crying, and flashes back to when he finally caught up to his family, only to find them already dead.  In that moment, feeling he had nothing left, he put the barrel of his gun in his mouth, and only Eugene's sudden appearance stopped him.  Ouch.

Taken with Always Accountable, however, Self Help forms a compelling forward movement in Abraham's character.  The key lies in Eugene's line that stops Abraham from pulling that trigger:  "I have a very important mission for you."

We all love a good mission, don't we?  Missions are the bread and butter of manly men.  Give us a mission, with parameters and objectives and enemies, and we'll march over hell and high water to see it through.  A mission doesn't have to be military in nature, either.  It could be a mission to get that girl, find that job, seal that deal, beat the other team.  The only requirement?  It comes with a complete lack of accountability.

When you convince yourself that you're only living for one purpose, you reach a point where every ends justify every means.  This is laid out for Abraham by Sasha:

You jump out of an airplane you don't have to make choices after that.
...But if you have a roof over your head.  You have food, you have walls.  You have choices.  And without walkers, and bullets, and shit hitting the fan.  You're accountable for them.  And hell, you're always accountable.  It's just, with all that other noise, you know people won't notice.

If you scream loudly enough that your mission is all that matters, you're not just trying to convince others around you, you're trying to convince yourself.  In so doing, you're trying to find a way to forgive your own bad behaviour.  During the height of the Gamergoober (I will not type "gate" for fear of bringing their bullshit to our doorstep) controversy, I recall one prolific tweeter screeching that they should "Keep it up...we've almost won this."

"It" in "keep it up" referring, of course, to a campaign of hatred, doxxing, bile, and filth.  All for the objective of beating some vaguely defined enemies in order to...well, the final goal was never really crystal clear, was it?

Abraham realizes, in Always Accountable, that he can live a proper life now, not one defined by a mission.  Whether he relapses into old habits remains to be seen, but he acknowledges that now is the time to start building to something, not to be rampaging and tearing down.

We all have to reach that point eventually, where we outgrow the childish fantasy of playing soldier, and trade in the mission for life.  Let's just hope we reach it before someone really gets hurt.

And Horror the soul of the plot: Portal, “Curtain”

Although horror films and TV shows are experiencing a major surge of popularity right now, there’s yet another avenue available for artists to evoke fear and dread in people: music videos.

 Granted, music videos might seem less significant now than they were in the 1980s and ‘90s, two decades which are usually considered their heyday, but they are still being produced, as anyone who as a Good Life gym membership can attest. Both the US and Canada still hold awards ceremonies with the words “music” and “video” in the title (MTV Video Music Awards and MuchMusic Video Awards, respectively), and although music videos might not make or break a band the way they used to, their existence is still part and parcel of the mainstream music industry.

But what about bands who aren’t part of the mainstream? Take for example, Portal, an Australian band fusing death metal and black metal (yes, they are distinct subgenres). Like their more sonically conventional brethren Ghost, the members of Portal keep their identities hidden; “band members don suits and executioners’ masks save for vocalist The Curator, who wears a huge, tattered wizard’s hat that obscures his face.”  Portal is a band who is not content to have their image overshadow their sonic qualities; PopMatters writer Adrian Begrand astutely observes that their music is “truly friggin’ terrifying.”

 This is the kind of build up that leaves horror aficionados begging for more. Enter director Zev Deans, who created a bona fide horror show for “Curtain,” a track from Portal’s 2013 album Vexovoid.

Some decidedly retro-looking opening titles announce that the video is adapted from the Edgar Allen Poe poem, "The Conqueror Worm." While the word “conquering” implies a larger than life hero, the actual size of a worm is quite small when compared to that of a human being. This is, of course, the cruel twist of mortality: even the mightiest will eventually die and be consumed by the lowly worm. 

Deans has captured the essence of Poe’s words in a remarkable way in his video for “Curtain,” making the titular worm into a sort of Gothic Kaiju by the end. One wonders what Poe himself would have thought of this video or if anything resembling its unforgettable visuals was terrorizing the inside of his skull while he wrote his poem. This is easily one of the more unsettling, if not outright frightening, music videos you’ll ever see.

 Don’t try to figure out what The Curator is saying; just watch and listen.

 No doubt that Portal’s intensely grim, demonic sound makes the perfect accompaniment to these images, but even watching the video without sound is a disquieting experience (to say nothing of hearing “Curtain” without any visual aids).

It’s worth noting that the imagery within, despite being disturbing, does seem inspired by other things from the horror canon like Ringu, Hellraiser, The Exorcist, Curtains, and Coppola’s Dracula (itself inspired by silent horror films), not to mention the videos Adam Jones directed for the band Tool. Yet somehow, Deans combines these elements in a fresh way, one that evokes rather than imitates.

Although the video for “Curtain” is just under six minutes in length, those looking for new ways to scare audiences without crappy CGI should look to Zev Deans for inspiration.

More Horror Than Horror: The Trouble With Genre

If you’ve seen films like The Road or We Need to Talk about Kevin or the more recent Nothing Bad Can Happen, you likely know that there is bleak and then there is black-hole bleak, films that are so dark they make you lose faith in humanity. When bleak films have classic horror elements such as supernatural entities, classifying them as “horror” is easy enough. What happens, however, when they are firmly set in reality?

1986’s Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer is considered a “psychological horror film” by Wikipedia. Tony, directed by Gerard Johnson in 2009, is described as “British social realist comedy/drama” on Wikipedia. It’s also based on a serial killer, one Dennis Nilsen. Although there are definitely comic elements, it’s a nasty bit of work, one with enough gore and grime to make you feel like you need ten hot showers.

So where do we draw the line? Is realistic horror somehow less horrific than vampires, zombies, or masked serial killers who can’t be killed? That scene in The Road where Viggo Mortensen’s character discovers the people in the basement is burned forever into my brain as a genuinely horrifying moment. Most of the time I spent watching We Need to Talk about Kevin my stomach was in knots because I knew something terrible was going to happen and that no one would believe Eva when she tried to warn people about Kevin.

Nothing Bad Can Happen consists of a series of increasingly awful scenarios set into motion by Benno (an adult) to torment Tore (a teenager). If you’ve seen that film, you’ll remember the cat scene, the garbage scene, or the scene in the trailers. How are the egregious acts depicted NOT horror?

These kinds of movies often get tossed into the “genre” category which is a polite way of saying “we know this movie is scary but we don’t know what the hell to do with it.” Not that movies like the ones I’ve mentioned need to be categorized to be good (or effective), but imagine how difficult it is to market these or get them distributed.

That’s the real problem. These are the kinds of movies that tend to be ignored, vilified, or forgotten altogether. Although We Need to Talk about Kevin snagged a BAFTA for Tilda Swinton, The Road received only limited release and its box office returns were only slightly higher than its budget. Nothing Bad Can Happen received both boos and cheers at its Cannes premiere, and to date has earned a paltry $4K worldwide from its purported half-million budget.

No matter the budgetary limitations, these kinds of frightening, unclassifiable films will continue to be made, but in a cinematic landscape dominated by blockbuster franchises, it’s become increasingly difficult to get them financed. By opening up the horror landscape to more varied fare, from both critical and audience perspectives, we can, however, ensure that that they don’t get lost in the shuffle and that those who want to make them are able to do just that.

The Brood: Won’t Someone Think Of The Children?

The domestic drama that brews between Frank and Nola Carveth in David Cronenberg’s The Brood has been discussed so frequently, including critic Carrie Rickey’s excellent essay in the new Criterion release of the 1979 film, that it’s easy to overlook another important aspect: Candy, the child at the center of the couple’s marital discord.

As Candy, Cindy Hinds gives a singular, heartbreaking performance as the world’s most adorable yet devastated child, outshining Heather O’Rourke as Poltergeist’s Carol Anne by light years. Her immense blue eyes see more than she’ll admit verbally, but her sullen, pursed lips give it all away. This is a child in crisis.

When she discovers her grandmother Julianna’s murder at the gnarled hands of one of the film’s titular gang of mutant children, Candy doesn’t scream or cry, she just STARES, absorbing all the violence, terror, and confusion into herself. The police psychologist explains to her father Frank that the deep sleep they found Candy in when they arrived at the crime scene signifies an attempt to avoid dealing with what she’s seen; we recognize that as a sign of clinical depression. Yet Frank, already weary of what he construes as another iteration of the psychobabble peddled by Dr. Hal Raglan, seems more annoyed than concerned.

There are several scenes in which Frank relinquishes Candy’s care to others, specifically her teacher Ruth Mayer. He’s late picking her up from school twice. On the second of these occasions we witness the only instance of the child smiling in the entire 90 minutes of the film: when she’s playing “mothers and daughters” with Miss Mayer. Later, Frank leaves Candy with her again to deal with his drunken former father-in-law and when he returns, Candy is huddled against the wall crying over a nightmare she’s just had. He assures her that the creature responsible for her grandmother’s death is dead and we finally see her attempts at a tough shell crack a little.

Subsequently, the look of dull terror on Candy’s face when she realizes that the creature is not only alive and well, but has somehow duplicated itself, is as sad as it is scary. There are now two mutant children standing in front of her in the classroom and she seems to be the only one who notices their presence. Does she think that see alone can see them, that it might be her imagination that conjured them? Does she wonder if her father lied when he told her the one that killed her grandmother was dead? Does she instinctively know that these are her mother’s other progeny?

Oddly, before these malevolent mutants attack and kill Miss Mayer, one of the only adults upon whom Candy can rely, they hustle Candy into another room so she doesn’t see what’s happening. They seem to want to protect her more than her mother or father. The other children are left to gawk as their teacher is left bloodied and crumpled on the floor. Still, when Frank runs into the room, he doesn’t console the crying kids, he just covers up Miss Mayer’s face with a piece of drawing paper, too stunned to know what to do.

It is soon revealed that Dr. Raglan has been keeping the brood in a shed behind the Somafree Institute, along with their mother, Frank’s ex-wife Nola, because it is Nola herself who has been spawning these children of rage. After the classroom murder scene, they escape back to Somafree, taking Candy into their fold and dressing her in pastel flannel footy pajamas so she looks like one of them. Which she is, in a way, although she was born of love and not hatred.

It’s fitting that these children look like withered, distorted versions of adults and not children at all because it’s the distorted version of love that has created them. Nola screams at Frank that she’d rather kill Candy then let him have her. Candy has become a thing, a prize, something to be won or lost, not a child to be nurtured and comforted.

So much of Candy’s reaction to the horrors of the film is blunted. Her fear of a world without her parents, her grandparents, or any sense of normalcy has transformed into resignation. Yet when her mother’s increasing rage sends the brood into attack mode, and they set their sights on Candy, she screams in terror, her first real outpouring of grief and horror. It is only when Frank strangles Nola to death that the brood is stopped, killed by the cessation of Nola’s rage, the only thing that kept them alive in the first place.

For me at least, The Brood provides no shortage of bittersweet nostalgia about the late 1970s. I was a child of divorce, and while my experience was far more mundane than Candy’s, it had its traumatic moments. Like Candy, however, I was an anxious, depressed child, plagued with insomnia and nightmares. The fear and anger on her face in the last scene of the film is difficult to watch because I know it all too well.

"Fear is a constant companion" - Doctor Who, LISTEN

It irks me that there are still people out there who dismissively sneer that "Doctor Who is a kid's show."

Oh, I don't deny that it is a show made originally for children, and still is unquestionably watched by children all over the world, but when people deride something as being "made for children," it suggests to me that they see no inherent value in children's programming.  Indeed, children's programming can be some of the most interesting, fulfilling media in our modern society, awash as it is in cynicism, callousness and doomsday-propheteering.

What Doctor Who regularly understands and communicates is that we were all children at one point or another, and we all had shared experiences growing up that bind us together.  Dealing with emerging identities, struggling to balance our lives, coming to grips with our emotions of love, hatred, despair...fear.

Doctor Who is probably best known for its colorful range of monsters and aliens.  One of the most common reactions I hear to the show is a long-forgotten memory of being scared under the bed by one of the hundreds of episodes in its 50 year history.  Never has this aspect of the show's existence been more wonderfully examined than in the Twelfth Doctor's episode Listen.

This instant classic starts off as a kind of thought experiment. The Doctor is meditatively contemplating on his TARDIS, when his eyes snap open and he cries "LISTEN!"  He is pondering evolutionary existence, the idea that there is perfect animal speed, perfect defense, etc.  And therefore...could there be such a thing as perfect hiding?  How would you even know (given that such creatures would effectively be invisible)?

This leads him, and companion Clara, on something of a wild goose chase, hunting throughout time and space for these creatures, trying to find out what they might have to say for themselves.  After all, tucked away by themselves for so long, they must want someone to talk to, right?  The Doctor is convinced that evidence of their existence can be traced to a common nightmare, one that writer Steven Moffat - and millions, maybe billions of others - have experienced:  you're sleeping in your bed, when you suddenly become scared.  You're not sure why, but you sit up and put your feet down on the floor.  That's when a hand reaches out to grab your ankle.

I've had this dream before.  I'm sure many others have had it too.  The idea that it wasn't a dream, but rather an actual creature of perfect hiding, is both intriguing and terrifying.  But it's the shared experience that really drives the action and emotion in this episode.

We all feel scared sometimes.  Growing up, with our imaginations firing at full capacity, we filled the gaps in reality with all kinds of creepy-crawlies.  The "monsters under the bed" were the things we dreaded most:  the Boogeyman, the Tommyknockers, the shapeless unknown.  Being scared, alone at night, was something we all went through at one point or another.  Many of us still do.

What if, though, we aren't alone?  In a strange way, the creature is a comfort.  If we were able to define it, put a name to it, see it, talk to it, what would it say to us?  It's when we find out nothing's there that it almost feels a little sad.  Listen drives this point home in its final moments, which I will not spoil here.

The message, though, is one worth repeating.  Fear CAN be a force that drives us apart, but more often than not it also brings us together.  Fear can make us strong.  It's all right to be afraid from time to time, because everyone is afraid from time to time.

Knowing that, and knowing that the creature under the bed can be just as scared as us, is a comfort.  We don't have to go tearing up the universe to find the message of the monster under the bed.  We just have to listen.

Morality, Murder, and Loving The Monstrous

“It’s disgusting in ways that are not entertaining; as opposed, for example to the great disgusting moments in Alien or Dawn of the Dead… are there really people who want to see reprehensible trash like this? I guess so. It’s in its second week.”

--Roger Ebert’s review of David Cronenberg’s The Brood; June 5, 1979 

Every horror fan has probably experienced this: someone else, often a family member or co-worker, doesn’t like horror movies and thinks that something is seriously wrong with you because you want to watch nothing else. Horror fans often complain that we’re ostracized, mocked, or misunderstood. Women seem to have it way worse, since we’re so often expected not to like “that sort of thing.”

But let’s face it: horror is hugely popular right now. Don’t think so? What about the fact that The Walking Dead is one of the most-watched shows on TV? Or the fact that Dexter – a show about a sympathetic serial killer – lasted for eight seasons? What about the Fannibals?

Now it feels like it’s longer cool to mock horror fans but rather to mock us for what kind of horror flips our switches and worse, cast moral aspersions on us for the kind of horror we like. It’s not like this is a new thing, and even the most sainted of film critics wasn’t above such petty name-calling (see above).

David Cronenberg was criticized for the alleged misogynist streak in The Brood at the time the film was released (and even sometimes to this day). He’s been open about how it was his nasty divorce that provided inspiration for the film, which raised a lot of eyebrows when he stated that the scene where Frank Carveth tries to strangle ex-wife Nora (spoiler alert!) was “very satisfying.”

So by extension, when we watch and enjoy The Brood, are we also misogynists?

A few weeks ago, Peter Counter wrote about “Horror That Says Hello,” remarking that our relationship to the horror media that we consume is one of “enablement.” 

By turning on Carrie and watching all those teenagers burn to death, we are implicitly responsible for the on screen horror. When we watch Kubrick’s The Shining, we are agreeing to watch the poor old psychic groundskeeper to get axed right in the back. We watch the horrible things happen and we don’t do anything to stop it.

Obviously this is not a moral indictment of horror fans. The fantasy of horror is enabled by a safe space. We allow anything to happen on screen under the tacit agreement that everyone, including us, is safe despite what movie magic might imply.

Not everyone thinks that enjoying movies that present problematic ideas or display extreme violence is morally suspect. But some do, and this is troubling in the same way censorship is troubling. It allows moral self-righteousness to trump artistic expression. 

It’s not just that horror is a safe space for us to feel fear or to examine our relationship with the world; horror also allows us to explore things that are considered deeply taboo. Like strangling your ex-wife. Or Murder Husbands.

I referenced the Fannibals earlier and anyone who knows anything about Hannibal knows that there are thousands upon thousands of examples of fanfiction devoted to the show, most of it slashfic between Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham (Hannigram existed before the Bryan Fuller version of the show, in case you were wondering). Besides the eternally intricate configurations of Omegaverse, there’s another segment of Hannigram that might make even the most staunch splatter film connoisseur blush: Murder Husband fics.

I won’t make any definitive statements, but I’ll assume that Murder Husbands fanfiction is not considered socially acceptable on a widespread scale. But it’s also not real. Those of us who enjoy it don’t really want to go on killing sprees and have bloody, post-murder sex, but we do want to explore this option by reading fictionalized depictions of it in slashfic.

Judging fictional characters for their fictional bad acts is ludicrous enough; judging people for enjoying the act of reading and/or watching these fictional characters engages in  these fictional bad acts is not only ludicrous, but feels more dangerous than the bad acts themselves. 

Sanity, Insanity and THE BABADOOK

What is worse: sanity or insanity? The question is at the centre of supernatural horror, and while the answer seems obvious from the experience of a reader (likely sane), things aren't so clean cut in the realm of lucid nightmares. Put yourself in the shaking boots of Amelia, the tortured mother from The Babadook, for instance, and then ask yourself which mental paradigm you would prefer.

Aided by the unreliable narrator device that is typical of horror genre fiction, supernatural elements in stories like The Babadook thrive on the balance between the opposing worldviews of unbridled imagination and a strange reality. Throughout that film, the audience is given numerous hints that Amelia’s experience with the titular evil entity is simply a figment of her imagination born of insomnia, trauma and the stress of having a difficult child who builds weapons as a hobby. Stuck in her point of view, however, we are shown the Babadook as it appears to her: an increasingly real threat to the life of her son.

As viewers of Amelia’s struggle we are given two options on how to explain the film’s conflict. Is Amelia sane or insane, and which is worse? If she is insane - and the film’s ending is certainly open enough to suggest that she is being tortured by her mind - then the struggle exists solely within her home. The stakes are still very high, since an expressionist reading of the film forces you to accept that Amelia is trying to stop herself from a powerful urge to murder her son, but they are isolated. The same can’t be said if we accept a literal reading of the events.

If Amelia is perfectly sane in The Babadook, then she is perhaps worse off. The laws of our universe as we know them do not accommodate spectral, pop-up book enthusiasts who can manipulate reality and possess single mothers. The world proposed by a literal reading of The Babadook is near unthinkable. It is one in which we are wrong about everything and no one is safe. It is a reality that looks exactly like insanity.

In volume three of his Horror of Philosophy series, Tentacles Longer Than Night, Eugene Thacker says that it is the space between the definitive answers of sanity and insanity - a state which he terms fantasy - that horror thrives. Lovecraft and Poe, whose works make up the bulk of Thacker’s analysis, were masters of this balance. The author points to the introduction of Poe’s The Black Cat and Lovecraft’s The Shadow Out Of Time as pinnacle examples of this trope. Each story begins after the subsequently described events take place and the narrators specifically tell their readers that, given the unlikeliness of their recountings,  it is quite possible they are insane.

In stories that evoke the question of a sane narrator, regardless of the medium, the question of reality is integral to the stakes and a key ingredient in the horror. It is the mark of a master, I think, when done properly and left unresolved. Either side – clear minded or off the rocker – provides an anchor from which an audience can navigate the supernatural events of a given tale. When those anchors are taken away, like they are in The Babadook,  we are left to drift in the terrifying moments that make up the present. Here in the sea of uncertainty, where we live daily life, we can access something more terrifying than an unmapped reality or a broken brain: we face the human frailty contained in the thought that an explanation can’t save us from our present circumstances.

It Came From Within: Ejecta

“I never said abducted. Something came to me.”

First it was Whitley Streiber’s Communion. The author of horror novels like The Wolfen and The Hunger was roundly ridiculed for his first person, non-fiction novel about alien abduction in 1987, but this didn’t stop him from writing a follow up, Transformation, a year later. The book editor at The L.A. Times' book editor even removed Transformation from the non-fiction best-seller list despite the fact that it was published as a non-fiction account. WIKI LINK

Then, it was The X-Files, which once again brought little green men – or grey men, to be more accurate – into pop culture consciousness. The alien abduction mythology of the show remains divisive, but it did spark enough of a debate to make shows like Sightings and Encounters: The Hidden Truth fairly popular in the 1990s.

By 2015, however, the number of reality shows on the topic, such as the outrageous Ancient Aliens, and the increasing discussion of sleep paralysis as a possible explanation for alien abduction stories, means that a lot of people don’t find aliens a plausible or scary subject for a horror movie.

Ejecta, written by Tony Burgess (Pontypool) and directed by Chad Archibald (The Drownsman, Bite) and Matt Wiele, opens with a frightfully intriguing premise: the aliens aren’t little green men or Greys and their abduction doesn’t involve blinding white lights and tractor beams, but something more insidious.

“It’s not pain; it’s not fear; it’s something else and it’s much worse.”

Bill Cassidy has been off the grid for years, with the exception of his untraceable online postings as Spider Nevi, a man who claims to have been tormented by his encounter with an alien presence. Fanboy Joe Sullivan tracks him down and begs Cassidy for a videotaped interview because he believes his story.

Like Pontypool, Ejecta plants a tantalizing suggestion: what if the evil forces that seek us out can’t be seen with the eyes, but instead are felt in the mind? Other films have tried to expand upon this idea with mixed results. 1982’s Xtro opens with an amazing shot of an alien and a storyline about a personality takeover but devolves into a bunch of gory birth scenes and toys that come to life (2012’s Almost Human takes on this same idea and dispenses with any alien visuals to create a much better version of the story). The Hidden, the 1987 feature with Kyle McLachlan and Michael Nouri, does a marvelous job at making the unseen entity seem uncanny and terrifying, even though it has a physical form which resides inside the host’s body (kind of like the cockroach alien from Men In Black but much smaller and less obvious).

How does Ejecta compare? As Cassidy, Julian Richings is as superbly creepy as usual. He’s gaunt and haunted and the idea of having something inside of your brain that you can’t get rid of is truly terrifying. But Ejecta fails when it relies too heavily on the tired trope of shaky cam found footage as a method of exposition and eventually shows us the alien itself. The film attempts to deviate from the trope by explaining that the alien body is just a host for the alien intelligence, but once we see the creature laid out on a table, the fake “alien autopsy” video is the first thing that comes to mind, and like Cassidy’s alien, we can’t get it out of our heads.

It’s a shame because Ejecta has a lot of promise from a narrative perspective but it feels like yet another movie that could have benefited from fewer special effects.

In Fear Of No Fear: A Pop Cultural Critical Mass

When I was younger, lots of things terrified me. Not all of those things were intended to be scary, either. It's one of those burdens that some kids are just forced to bear.

One of my earliest fears was of vampires, inspired by a BBC TV production of Bram Stoker's Dracula starring Louis Jourdan. That two-part miniseries forced me to sleep with a crucifix, a rosary, AND a Bible for at least two nights. A few years later, the trailer for Halloween III terrified me to the point that I had to change the channel when it came on. Horror movies haunted me for years and were responsible for many sleepless nights and panic attacks.

At one point, it was the clown puppet in Poltergeist, then Pazuzu in The Exorcist. An unexpected screening of The Gates Of Hell at a friend's house when I was 15 was particularly scarring. When I was in my twenties, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre was so terrifying that I couldn't get through it the first time around and had to wait a couple of decades to work up the courage again. 28 Days Later, Signs, Jeepers Creepers, The Descent, À l'intérieur, Insidious... all of these thrust me into varying levels of fright, from heart palpitations to openly weeping from fear.

Most recently, it was the movie February that got under my skin. Even though I saw it during TIFF in the daytime, it stayed with me in the way that all effective horror films do: you think of them in the middle of the night when you wake up to get a drink of water and get the actual creeps.

Being completely and thoroughly scared throughout an entire movie is rare. This isn't just an empirical perspective; good horror filmmakers know how to layer jump scares, creeping dread, and/or gut-churning gore in ways that are calculated to shock the senses at key points. Yet, as every hardcore horror film fan will admit, it becomes harder and harder to find movies that will completely scare the hell out of you. Part of this is due to becoming older and wiser; part of it is due to desensitization.

For many, the pop cultural glut of zombies has rendered them not only not scary, but annoying. In the last decade alone, we've seen countless movies and at least five different TV series about zombies, one of which is Fear The Walking Dead, a spin-off of The Walking Dead, a show whose ratings have increased every year since 2010. Zombies, it would seem, are everywhere. So are they still scary?

One of the most frequent complaints about The Walking Dead (besides people hating on poor Carl Grimes) is that there aren't ENOUGH of the titular characters on the show. Season Two was derided as "The Talking Dead" and when compared to the more recent seasons of the show, it feels admittedly underwhelming. At this point, people seem to love zombies, but it's hard to tell if they're actually scared of them.

February, 2015

So what do people want now? Do they want to be scared, or do they just want to revel in the gore and blood? At what point does fear transition into the vicarious thrill of rooting for the good guys? The pendulum will always swing into the other direction and despite the overwhelming amount of zombie pop culture interpretations available, there are some who are taking it into different and interesting directions, as shown by the TV show iZombie or the recent comedy Life After Beth.

And there are always new versions of old ideas. For example, there seems to be a renewed interest in Satanic or occult-themed movies and TV shows, like February, for example, which is far more disturbing than any of the recent found footage possession films I've seen.

Since this new iteration of horror - the lurking danger of demons - hasn't yet been done to death, there are still plenty of opportunities for the discerning horror fan to seek out different ways to get scared. At least until the next trend comes along.

An Ecstasy Akin To Fear: The Night Ocean

In 1936, 18-year-old writer Robert H. Barlow penned the short story The Night Ocean with the help of his friend and mentor, H.P. Lovecraft. As much as it explores the kind of unfathomable frights that Lovecraft is known for, the tale also has a distinctly lighter, but no less unsettling touch.

Like much of Lovecraft's work, The Night Ocean deals with those liminal spaces that are more disconcerting than specific details. The unnamed narrator of the story is taking a vacation in an isolated, one-room cabin on the beach near a town named Ellston after a year spent toiling over a mural submitted to a competition. At first he basks quite literally in the immense sunlight of the place, but soon a pall comes over his existence and he can't shake it off.

"I did not wish to see anything but the expanse of pounding surf and the beach lying before my temporary home," he muses, making it obvious that he will, of course, see something else. Yet such a device is not predictable or cliché, but instead sets up the state of vague apprehension that permeates the story, what the narrator describes as "an uneasiness which had no very definite cause."

The short film "The Night Ocean," directed and animated by María Carmen Lorenzo Hernández, adapts the story into 12 gauzy and sometimes ghastly minutes. Hernández utilizes an entirely appropriate animation style for a story about an artist. Much of the film (save for one brief snippet of what seems to be an old home movie on faded film stock) alternates between watercolor and pencil drawings.

Furthermore, she transforms the first person narrative style into a visual diary by having the actual frames look like sketches in a notebook, right down to the center binding and edges of pages. It's an ingenious way to create an aura of ideas, perceptions, and feelings and also remains true to the mood of the original text at the same time.

"The Night Ocean" also includes a voice-over track during most of the running time, which again, is consistent with the story. Rather than just having someone read the text over the visuals, the events are shuffled around and shortened. The film dispenses with the VO in a couple of key sequences, which are also the most disturbing segments of the film itself. However, the most upsetting scene in the original story is jettisoned, possibly because it would have dipped too far into horror territory and contrasted strongly with the overall tone of the film.

That said, it's still a haunting piece of work. The rough pencil drawings on coarsely textured paper look like chalk on a blackboard at times and that wavering, wobbly look fits with the ephemeral nature of the story itself as well as the frights it contains.

"To shape these things on the wheel of art," ponders the narrator, "to seek to bring some faded trophy from that intangible realm of shadow and gossamer, requires equal skill and memory." With "The Night Ocean," María Carmen Lorenzo Hernández has, intriguingly enough, done just that.

Defeating Evil: The Mill at Calder's End

Horror predilections come in all sizes and shapes. For every slasher film freak, there is another fan that prefers Giallo, or one who thinks the Hammer Studios aesthetic is the epitome of the genre. For those who fall into the latter category, the thrill comes not so much from horror as terror or dread. Enter Kevin McTurk's marvelous concoction, The Mill At Calder's End.

It may be a short film, but it packs more foreboding into its 13 minutes than five teen horror blockbusters put together. What's even more remarkable is that the film isn't live action or even animated; it uses puppets. It adds to the creepiness of the film, giving it an otherworldly flavor, much like the 1960s Japanese editions of famous fairy tales from Shiba and Golden Books.

These books featured lenticular covers and full color, full-page graphics to accompany the text, in which the characters were portrayed by puppet-like dolls with handcrafted felt skin, beads and buttons for eyes, and exquisitely detailed clothing and sets. As a child I was fascinated with these books and would stare at the pictures for hours wishing - despite my fear of inanimate objects coming to life -I could exist in that world. The Mill At Calder's End takes that aesthetic and breathes life into it and the result is breathtaking.

With a story from Ryan Murphy and a script penned by McTurk, you might feel like this is an H.P. Lovecraft or Edgar Allan Poe tale that you've read before. It's Gothic in the style of Jane Eyre or Wuthering Heights. Young Nicholas Grimshaw is troubled by a "curse that has haunted my family for generations," and wonders, "How did it find me after all this time? With a plot reminiscent of the original Lon Chaney Wolfman film, Nicholas must take possession of the family's Mill at Calder's End after the mysterious disappearance of his father.

Despite the film's uniquely different mode of production, it successfully captures the bold, ominous look of classic Gothic horror films, down to the color scheme and voice over narration. Nicholas's father, Harrison Grimshaw, bears more than a striking resemblance to Peter Cushing and Barbara Steele provides the voice of "The Apparition."

The Mill is part of the curse and the curse is part of the Grimshaw family, like the land itself, being passed down to each generation. It's never specified if the sins of the father from decades past started the malevolent chain of events, but that's part of what makes The Mill At Calder's End so satisfyingly spooky.

There's a Lovecraftian, folk horror element to the eventual reveal of the Great Beast, and McTurk keeps the monster in shadow, which makes it that much more fearsome. And even though the younger Grimshaw sets the Mill aflame and crushes the monster beneath its pillars, the original contract with evil remains in the form of a scrap of paper.

"Can one ever truly defeat evil?" Nicholas wonders in the end. It's the basis for so much horror and The Mill At Calder's End shows that it can persist, no matter how nebulous, and continue to bewitch and terrify us in cinematic form.

Killer With My Face: Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter

Alana Bloom: ... what do you think one of Will's strongest drives is?
Jack Crawford: Fear. Will Graham deals with huge amounts of fear. It comes with his imagination.
Alana Bloom: It's the price of imagination.

The mythology of Will Graham, as created by Thomas Harris, was always a mystery. Reading Red Dragon, we were allowed glimpses into his psyche, his internal thoughts, but many of those thoughts were borrowed.

Will is described as an eideteker, an empath, someone whose mirror neurons never melted away after childhood. When he seeks out killers, they come knocking at his door. Yet unlike vampires, they let themselves into his mind without his permission.

When Hannibal the TV series begins, we learn about Will through the same methods established by Harris initially: his serial killer profiling. Of course, the film versions of Will - in Manhunter and Red Dragon - provided a visual aspect to what had only been captured in words before, but Bryan Fuller's vision of Will's unique gift is different. It is more vivid and bloody, more beautiful and terrible. 

It isn't long in the series before Will meets the ultimate in beauty and terror, Hannibal Lecter. Harris created Hannibal, too, but with the Hannibal series, Fuller and company filled in the gaps that Harris didn't talk about in his novels, the time between Hannibal's childhood and when he encounters Will Graham. We, along with Will, eventually realize that those gaps are more like chasms, or the gaping maw of hell.

Hannibal as presented in Manhunter was a terrifying creation. Brian Cox did more with a scant few minutes of screen time, a clipped accent, and dead, black eyes than three movies' worth of Anthony Hopkins. That's the Hannibal that Bryan Fuller wanted to exploit, and to do so, he found the best version of Hannibal Lecter yet, Mads Mikkelsen, whose wolfish eyes and predatory smirk evoke a sense of unease and discord that none of the cinematic interpretations had quite managed to address.

As the latest incarnation of Harris's characters, Hannibal had the luxury of being able to use shorthand to convey backstory, personality traits, and motives, but instead of taking the easy route, the show adds baroque layers of complex psychology, references to literature and art, and deeply convoluted double entendres. This renders Hannibal 3.0 a wholly other creature.

Knowing he is a cannibal but seeing him portrayed as a classy aesthete and not actually seeing him kill, makes Hannibal Lecter as much of a mystery as Will Graham, who is portrayed by Hugh Dancy on the show as something of a trembling teacup (at least at first). When Hannibal's murderous nature reveals itself, it's in small doses. Although he tells Garrett Jacob Hobbs that the police are onto him in the first episode, Hannibal still comes across as more curious than outright nefarious. Hobbs seems frightening by comparison.

Bit by bit, we see what lurks underneath Hannibal's "person suit," as Bedelia Du Maurier calls it. He bashes Alana Bloom's head against a wall so she won't know what he's doing, in the first indication that he is capable of cold-blooded violence. When he cuts Dr. Sutcliffe's throat, we see this through Georgia Madchen's illness-compromised eyes, and his face is blurred. When he breaks Franklyn's neck, it's a matter of self-preservation not homicide.

What's more frightening are scenes of Hannibal looming over Bedelia as she tries to end their doctor/patient relationship and Hannibal suddenly appearing behind Beverly when she discovers his murder basement. It's a palpable threat that feels scarier than the act of killing itself.

Even when Will discovers that Hannibal is the Chesapeake Ripper, he's so wracked by his encephalitis that it feels more like exhausted outrage than terror. In betraying Will - hiding his medical diagnosis and framing him for the murders - he's committed premeditated murder against their friendship.

When he's exonerated for Hannibal's crimes, Will decides to publicly forgive Hannibal and resume the FBI-ordered therapy with him on his own accord, but it's a pretext to gaining Hannibal's trust and exposing him. This eventually leads to Will moving from empathizing to embracing, in this case, the dark side of his nature. Instead of just catching a killer, he kills one: Randall Tier. What has always fascinated Hannibal and attracted him to Will is his ability to exploit his empathy. Hannibal wants Will to become a killer in more than imagination; his most fervent desire is for Will to become a killer in reality.

Hannibal, hiding "behind the veil," is also besotted by Will's ability to see him as he truly is. The second and third seasons of the show further explore Hannibal's dedication to transforming Will and Will's commitment to Hannibal, one which feels more like an involuntary stay at a mental institution than a relationship entered into with clear eyes and a pure heart.

Both of these seasons explore the arc of Will pretending to be one thing, while acting another, much like Hannibal did throughout the first season. By this point, of course, Will has already echoed many of Hannibal's own words and has even begun to dress more like the doctor, exchanging his fly fishing jackets for tweed coats. This cat and mouse game continues throughout the second season, until neither the audience nor Will seem to know if he's sincere about his reciprocated feelings towards Hannibal or just playing the long con. This culminates in Will's betrayal of Hannibal, and Hannibal gutting Will and leaving him for dead.

Will survives and so does his relationship with Hannibal. That already thin line between the two doesn't disappear, but becomes a blood vessel that connects them both. It's terrifying: Will has looked into the abyss and not only has someone looked back at him - Hannibal - it's someone with his own face. Through its third season, the show upends the idea of a soul mate, or to borrow a term from fanfiction, a One True Pairing (OTP) by transfiguring it into something both terrible and beautiful. Will becomes something else, and so does Hannibal. Like Hannibal, we truly see Will for the first time, in a way that we never did with the previous cinematic interpretations.

Hannibal is Will's greatest weakness, and Will is Hannibal's. They aren't necessarily, as Aristophanes proposes in Plato's Symposium, two halves of one whole, they are as Jack Crawford states, "identically different." It's a kind of love that surpasses morality or even sexuality. Not only does Will embrace his darkest nature, he embraces his darkest self, in this case, Hannibal. He embraces him literally after they kill Dolarhyde together. For the first time, Hannibal has let someone see him - all of him - and not desired to kill the voyeur. He merely desires the voyeur.

There's a reason that relationships are described as "falling in love." It's the loss of control that people fear. At the end of Hannibal's third season, in "The Wrath of the Lamb," Will and Hannibal not only embrace each other, they fall - both literally and metaphorically - off of a cliff into an abyss.

The abyss that Will and Hannibal tumble into is one of love, murder, and the great unknown. What Will Graham always feared the most was becoming a killer; when he finally becomes one, he fears that he loves it - and Hannibal - too much to continue existing. What takes place next is purposely unclear, much like the nature of love itself. We don't see any bodies at the bottom of that cliff, but we do see two more place settings at Bedelia's table.

Thus the most beautiful and terrifying aspect of Hannibal - and the legacy of the show - will always remain that abyss, the inability to know, even when we think we do. This is its design, and its genius.

Fecal Frights: THE X-FILES And "The Host"

When I thought about The X-Files before I started rewatching the whole series again recently, my mind was a jumble of feelings: nostalgia, fear, and a major crush on David Duchovny. One of those fearful memories was Season Two's "The Host" episode, which, if that name doesn't sound familiar is The One About The Giant Flukeman Living In The Sewer Tunnel.

Like "Tooms" and "Squeeze," it's one of the best Monster Of The Week episodes of The X-Files and easily one of my favorites. There are episodes of the show that are funny or weird, and those are good, too, but I tend to remember the ones that freaked me out and "The Host" is at the top of that list.

The episode opens inside a Russian submarine where some poor bastard has been dispatched to deal with overflowing toilets. Right away, it's incredibly gross and uncomfortable. Eugene Victor Tooms made nests out of bile and newspaper, but how often do you come across bile in the wild? Poop on the other hand... When the Russian guy goes to inspect the sewage tanks, he flinches from the smell.

Looks like someone got in over his head.

So we're already squicked out within the first few minutes of "The Host," and it just keeps getting grosser, weirder, and creepier as the episode progresses. Poor Russian Bastard gets pulled into the sewage tank by something that's already in there and he doesn't make it out.  

Meanwhile at the FBI, as happy as Fox Mulder is to be taken off of his current, mind-bogglingly boring wiretapping assignment, when he gets to Newark, New Jersey (surely Jon Stewart was laughing hysterically watching this episode back in the day), he's peeved to find that the case Skinner has assigned him to is a dead body discovered in a sewer tunnel. It's one of the few times Mulder looks truly uncool and not crush worthy while the jokes fly as fast as the droplets of stinky water: a close up of rubber boots next to a manhole cover, Mulder gagging and coughing, and when one of the men present tells him to watch himself, his response is "Yeah, I wouldn't want to step in anything". Then there's my favorite exchange in this scene:

NORMAN: They say it cuts the smell if you don't breathe through your mouth.
MULDER: They lied.

Mulder, in full-on diva mode, interrupts a meeting that Assistant Director Skinner is having with a bunch of important looking people in suits to complain and is summarily embarrassed into leaving the room, his tantrum ignored. Later, he tells Scully that Skinner is "just rubbing my nose in it." Ah, poop jokes. Of course, we laugh because it's funny, but we also laugh because it helps break up the atmosphere of sheer horror; somehow fecal matter is more horrifying than any monster... except maybe for the one that we'll see later in the episode.

It's not a fluke; it's an actual fluke.

During the autopsy, Scully gasps as a grayish looking worm wriggles out of the corpse. Then, another sanitation worker is attacked; something grabs and tears a strip off of him (literally) when he's armpit-deep in a sewer tunnel full of water. At the doctor's office, the man complains about a bad taste in his mouth and his feeling of nausea is palpable, especially after we saw that critter on Scully's exam table. She reveals to Mulder that it's a Turbellarian, also known as a flatworm or fluke. "Apparently" she says, "it had attached itself to the bile duct and was feeding off the liver." (Tooms would be so proud!)

The bite on sanitation worker victim #2 (ha!) is far too large to be from a regular flatworm, but this is The X-Files so we know it's only going to get worse. And it does. At the Newark County Sewage Processing Plant, Mulder is having an enlightening conversation with the foreman, who's quite proud of the fact that "560,000 people a day call my office on the porcelain telephone." They're interrupted by a frantic call from Charlie, one of the workers, who says that something in the sewer pipe just "swam right past."

Fox Mulder is done with your shit.

The Flukeman is taken into custody (!) and despite the bizarre and grotesque circumstances, Skinner assures Mulder that the suspect will undergo a "full psychiatric evaluation." Mulder argues that "this is not a man; it's a monster" but Skinner is unconvinced. On the way to said institution, the Flukeman escapes from the ambulance and into a portable toilet. A tank cleaning service comes by the next day to vacuum out the portable toilets. The horrible hilarity of something large and lumpy clogging up the giant, intestinal-shaped tube connected to the worker's truck is not lost on anyone watching. When Scully informs Mulder that the worm she found might have been an incubating larvae, Mulder realizes that truly, this is the darkest timeline.

Inspiration for Bryan Fuller on HANNIBAL.

During what is probably the most exciting workday the foreman at the sewage processing plant has ever experienced, he and Mulder rush to the overflow pipe to try and prevent the Flukeman from heading back out to sea. In a moment of genuine what-the-fuckedness, some water splashes on Mulder's shoulder and he wipes it off and then smells his hand, grimacing at the stench. The foreman loses his glasses and gets attacked so Mulder has to jump in the nasty water and save him. Mulder screams for help and all I can think is "Damn it, man, close your mouth!" In the end, they manage to sever the Flukeman in half by slamming a gate down as he's swimming through a pipe.

This episode has become even more disturbing to me since it first aired. About 15 years ago I was forced, through work-related circumstances, to eat lunch at a local casino. I was having stomach problems and the only thing I thought I could tolerate was barbecued shrimp. I had eaten a few when I noticed something unusual in my plate. It was not curled like a shrimp and it wasn't pink: it was grey and rubbery. My manager insisted it was "just a shrimp," but having spent the majority of my life eating Gulf Coast shrimp, I was not fooled. I actually had to cover my plate with a napkin because the damn thing seemed to be staring at me.

Not a barbecued shrimp.

Google searches reveal that it was possibly the same type of critter depicted in The X-Files, albeit smaller. Still, it's difficult to decide what's more frightening: a grey flatworm in your barbecued shrimp or having to deal with human poop as a major part of your job.

The Blessing Way: The Essential Episodes of THE X-FILES

The X-Files is returning to TV in January for a six episode mini-series. For some of us – those who happily embrace the fan term X-Phile – nothing could be more exciting. Mulder and Scully are arguably television’s most iconic duo, and the series is responsible for a few of the medium’s finest hours. That said, The X-Files is not something that you are taught in school and its appreciation is not mandated by the state, so it’s understandable if for some reason – be it traumatic childhood memories or being a jock – you missed the seminal series.

For those of you that fit that designation of X-Files uninitiated but are thinking of catching up before the show returns to its rightful place on Fox’s Sunday night lineup I have a message: DON’T WATCH THE WHOLE SERIES.

TV is different than it was in the 90s, and as much as The X-Files played an important role in opening up the possibility of more ambitious televised storytelling, the show is still beholden to the terrible network practices of the time. Massive episode orders that seem almost comical by today’s conservative standards make The X-Files feel bloated to say the least, and for every amazing episode the show’s creative team produced over nine years of airing, there are about 1.5 bad ones. But fear not, dear reader and intrepid truth seeker: You can come to love The X-Files like the rest of us without subjecting yourself to 202 hours of mostly mediocre TV by focusing on all the best parts.

I have personally winnowed down the entire series of The X-Files into the most essential episodes. If you watch these episodes in the order listed below you will have better than passing knowledge of one of the most important television shows ever aired.

(Note: There are two types of X-Files episode: mythology and monster of the week. I have marked the mythology episodes with an * to distinguish them from the rest, as in a few cases, particularly near the end of the series, their essential status is solely based on their importance to the overall story.)

Season 1

The season where the agents are a couple of cuties.

The first season of The X-Files is a great cultural relic as a whole, but for the most part its 25 episodes range from ironically amusing to vaguely racist and sexist. Still, it can’t be denied that season one has its fair share of legitimate scares and compelling conspiracies. Most of the episodes that made this list are foundational to the show’s mythology, but “Ice” in particular is a perfect example of how even from the beginning The X-Files could tell genuinely suspenseful stand alone episodes.

1. Pilot *

2. Deep Throat *

3. Squeeze

4. Ice

5. Fallen Angel*

6. E.B.E.*

7. Tooms

8. The Erlenmeyer Flask*

Season 2

The season with Adam Baldwin.
(jk jk he's later on after the show starts to suck)

Season two of The X-Files is notable for its introduction of a number of series staples. The abduction mythology is deepened, series guest star Nicholas Lea is introduced as Alex Krycek, we learn more about the iconic Cigarette Smoking Man and Darin Morgan wrote the first of his legendary episodes (“Humbug”). Also, “The Host” might make you scared of toilets. There is nothing much else worth noting about these ten episodes other than they are excellent, iconic, and were shot around Gillian Anderson’s pregnancy.

1. Little Green Men*

2. The Host

3. Sleepless*

4. Duane Barry*

5. Ascension*

6. One Breath*

7. Colony*

8. End Game*

9. Humbug

10. Anasazi*

Season 3

The wrestling trivia season.

The X-Files’ third season is its best. It contains the series most wonderful episodes: “Clyde Bruckman’s Final Repose” and “Jose Chung’s ‘From Outer Space’” – the first of which guest stars Peter Boyle and the latter which is widely considered the best episode the show has to offer (and is my vote for best episode of TV, period). The season also introduces the infamous Black Oil, connects the mythology to real life history and features a young Vince Gilligan cutting his teeth in the considerably violent “Pusher.”

It is also worth pointing out that “The Blessing Way,” which guest stars Floyd Red Crow Westerman, introduces Chris Carter’s strange fetishization of Native American mysticism. It will continue to pop up throughout the series, always feeling awkward and colonial, but at least Red Crow is a great on screen presence.

1. The Blessing Way*

2. Paper Clip*

3. Clyde Bruckman’s Final Repose

4. Nisei*

5. 731*

6. War of the Coprophages

7. Piper Maru*

8. Apocrypha*

9. Pusher

10. Jose Chung’s ‘From Outer Space’*

11. Quagmire

12. Talitha Cumi*

Season 4

The season where The Cigarette Smoking Man riffs on Forrest Gump.

Season four has the distinction of containing the only episode of The X-Files that was rated TV-MA and was the first to be preceded by a viewer discretion warning. “Home” - which is violent, disturbing, stylish and only barely an X-file - deals with so much incest and infanticide it’s easy to understand why it carries such a heavy reputation. “Musings of a Cigarette Smoking Man” is an amazing off-brand episode focusing on possible backstories about its titular character and “Zero-Sum” combines two never fail elements into an excellent hour: killer bees with smallpox and Assistant Director Skinner (number two at the bureau, number one in our hearts).

If it can be said that season four has a distinguishing quality it’s its confidence. The show really takes risks on format and expands its universe in a way only a show with a loyal viewership can, allowing the normally contained mythology to bleed into monster of the week episodes.

1. Herrenvolk*

2. Home

3. Musings of a Cigarette Smoking Man

4. Tunguska*

5. Terma*

6. Paper Hearts

7. Leonard Betts*

8. Memento Mori*

9. Tempus Fugit*

10. Max*

11. Small Potatoes

12. Zero-Sum

13. Gethsemane*

Season 5

The season with a graphic novel tie-in.

The fifth season sees the mythology of The X-Files ramp up to its climax in the feature film Fight The Future. Lots of conspiracies and lies, lots of shadowy men named after their superficial traits, at least two alien races. Other than that there are some notable monster of the week episodes featuring some extra-fun guest stars, notably Luke Wilson in the Vince Gilligan penned vampire comedy “Bad Blood.”

1. Redux I*

2. Redux II*

3. Unusual Suspects

4. The Post Modern Prometheus

5. Emily*

6. Bad Blood

7. Patient X*

8. The Red and The Black*

9. The End*

FIGHT THE FUTURE

The fucking awesome movie.

The first X-Files feature film is just amazing. While it can stand alone as a sci-fi thriller, Fight The Future contains important developments in the series mythology, high production values that elevate familiar elements you will have come to love by now, a great performance by Martin Landau and even a definitive extraterrestrial answer for one of the agents.

Season 6

The season where Mulder punches Nazis.

The production of The X-Files moved from Vancouver to Los Angeles after the film, so season six is characteristically warmer than the seasons that came before it. The brighter palette and warmer weather doesn’t affect the quality too much though, as some of the best stand alone episodes pepper this season. Half way through, with “Two Fathers” and “One Son” the initial mythology arc is brought to a close after which a second, much less compelling serialized story begins. Starting with “Biogenesis,” I find it difficult to recommend the mythology episodes, but they will remain on this list simply because they contain important series information.

1. The Beginning*

2. Drive

3. Triangle

4. Two Fathers*

5. One Son*

6. Monday

7. Arcadia

8. Three of a Kind

9. Field Trip

10. Biogenesis*

Season 7

The reality TV season.

And so we come to season seven, the beginning of The X-Files’ decline into unwatchability. Aside from “X-Cops” which is a wonderful franchise crossover with Cops, the rest of these episodes are mythology centric. Even so, while the overarching story is much less compelling by now, “Sein Und Zeit” and “Closure” serve as an emotional end to one of the series most important ongoing threads.

1. The Sixth Extinction*

2. The Sixth Extinction II: Amor Fati*

3. Sein Und Zeit*

4. Closure*

5. X-Cops

6. En Ami*

7. Requiem*

Season 8

The Doggett season. Sigh.

Season eight is remembered mostly for its lack of Mulder and the introduction of Agent John Doggett (Robert Patrick), who many fans hate simply for being associated with the final two years of what used to be a great show. The only episode of the following eight that I think is truly essential is “Vienen,” as it brings the Black Oil back in a fun way, but aside from that, these are just mythology episodes. Watch them if you want the story, but by now you can start reading a wiki if the conspiracy isn’t doing much for you at this point.

1. Within*

2. Without*

3. Per Manum*

4. This Is Not Happening*

5. Deadalive*

6. Three Words*

7. Vienen*

8. Existence*

Season 9

The season with one good episode where Ben from LOST murders people with nostalgia.

The final season of The X-Files sees a dramatic change to the title sequence and only features Mulder in the clip-show style finale. If you’re still around for the mythology you might as well also throw in “Jump The Shark,” but only if you have an hour to waste. I do highly recommend “Sunshine Days” though, which is the series final monster of the week episode in which Doggett and Reyes (the season’s new agent) investigate a Brady Bunch-themed homicide. It serves as an example of how good writing and excellent guest stars could have produced charming X-Files episodes without the original agents had the show gone on to a tenth season. Everything else here is mythology for completionists.

1. Nothing Important Happened Today*

2. Nothing Important Happened Today II*

3. Trust No 1*

4. Provenance*

5. Providence*

6. Sunshine Days

7. The Truth*

And there you have it: the only 76 episodes of The X-Files you need to watch in order to understand why it’s loved, why it’s revered and, if you stick around through those last ones, why it is mourned. There is a second movie too, the 2008 feature I Want To Believe, but trust me, some truths are best left hidden.

Dark He Was And Golden-Eyed: Eugene Victor Tooms And The X-Files

By the third episode of the first season of The X-Files, the series had already established Fox "Spooky" Mulder's obsession with extraterrestrial life and Dana Scully's skeptical nature. With "Squeeze" the show temporarily dispensed with the alien mythology and introduced its first, but certainly not its last, monster of the week in Eugene Victor Tooms.

Tooms is a mutant serial killer who kills in sounders of five (thanks Will Graham!) every 30 years, consuming the livers of his victims before hibernating inside a nest of newspapers and bile (yum). Mulder finds his elongated fingerprints at a murder scene and connects it to an X-File.

What's interesting about "Squeeze" is that Tooms is presented as an entity that is totally unique: he doesn't conform to any commonly known monster archetypes. An argument could be made that he is similar to a creature from Afghanistan known in folklore as Al-i Dil Kash, a "sinister female supernatural who has elastic limbs and can stretch out her arms to seize the heart of a sleeping bridegroom and thus kill him." One could also compare Tooms to Mr. Fantastic or Plastic Man, but more murderous.

Chris Carter was inspired to create the Tooms character after eating foie gras and contemplating the rumors surrounding Richard Ramirez a.k.a., the Night Stalker, who allegedly broke into his victims' windows without disturbing the dirt on their windowsills.

Yet, the way Tooms is presented is straight out of classic horror movies, namely the various incarnations of Dracula.

While Dracula could turn himself into mist to sneak under doors and through cracks in windows, Tooms physically alters himself, like a contortionist, to get into small spaces, like air vents. Like a vampire, Tooms hibernates until he needs sustenance, but instead of blood, he craves human livers. He doesn't sleep in a coffin, but it's no accident that his name is a homonym for the word "tombs." Before he kills his second victim, he's shown in semi-darkness, with only his eerie, glowing yellow eyes, quite similar to the iconic shot of Bela Lugosi in Tod Browning's Dracula from 1931. Later, when Mulder and Scully find his nest at 66 Exeter Street, he is again shown in mostly darkness, lit from underneath, with his creepy eyes highlighted.

Tooms is eventually caught when he attacks Scully, and although he isn't charged or convicted for any murders, going after a Federal agent is enough of a reason to incarcerate him for a while. The character proved so popular that he was brought back for episode 21 of the same season, "Tooms." In this episode, Tooms is up for parole. His therapist, Dr. Monte, feels sure that he'll be released. A physician also testifies that Tooms suffers from no "organic physiological dysfunction." When Mulder takes the stand and starts talking about genetic mutation and then claims that Tooms is responsible for murders going back into the early 20th century, he's quickly shut down and dismissed. And Tooms is released and goes back to his old job as a dogcatcher.

He's still dangerous, though, and perhaps worse, he's malevolent. It's not just that he needs livers to survive; like Dracula, he seems to enjoy stalking and killing his victims. He picks up a dead rat and tosses it into the back of his truck, but much like Gary Oldman in Francis Ford Coppola's 1992 version of Bram Stoker's Dracula, he can't help licking his fingers first.

Tooms ends up killing Dr. Monte, and Mulder knows that with this, his fifth victim, he'll be hibernating soon. Mulder keeps track of Tooms through some off-the-record surveillance, eventually following him back to 66 Exeter Street, which has now been converted into a shopping mall. Tooms tries to kill Mulder but he narrowly escapes. He and Scully manage to crush Tooms in an escalator, putting a suitably grisly end to one of the most grisly killers in The X-Files' nine-season history, and certainly one of the most genuinely frightening.

Note: The title for this piece comes from a prequel script that actor Doug Hutchinson, who played Tooms, wrote for The X-Files that was neither read by Chris Carter nor produced for the show.

The Silence Of The Lambs: You Don't Want Hannibal Lecter Inside Your Head

Since 34 episodes (and counting) of Hannibal are not enough to sate my bloodlust, I've been indulging in other pop culture iterations of the Hanniverse. Besides spending an inordinate amount of time on Archive Of Our Own and rereading parts of Thomas Harris's original novels, I've also revisited Manhunter as well as The Silence Of The Lambs.

In 1991, director Jonathan Demme wasn't considered a horror film director. Neither the screenwriter (Ted Tally) nor the cinematographer (Tak Fujimoto) were known for their horror bona fides, either.

Jodie Foster's passion for the role seemed to place her as the ideal cinematic version of Clarice Starling, though she was not considered a horror movie actress. Even though Anthony Hopkins was chosen because of his work in The Elephant Man, anyone who saw his role in Magic knew that he could play creepy as well as, if not better, than anyone.

On IMDB, The Silence Of The Lambs is listed as "Drama, Mystery, Thriller" and while it does contain elements of all three, it's considered a horror film by many. Still, it may have been the other categorizations that allowed it to dominate the Academy Awards, with wins for Best Picture, Director, Actor, Actress, and Adapted Screenplay.

In the ensuing years, we've seen so many ludicrous spoofs of Hopkins as Lecter, that his portrayal of Hannibal the Cannibal has lost a lot of its luster. Like a lot of things in pop culture, people remember the imitators, not the originators, and judge the latter by the quality of the former, an unfortunate mistake.

When I saw Silence in theaters in 1991, admittedly, I was a horror newbie, but I found it terrifying. I wondered if it would still hold up after so many years and seeing so many more horror films. The answer is yes.

Composer Howard Shore, although he might be more familiar to younger viewers for his work on The Lord of the Rings films, had a history of scoring horror films: by 1991, he'd already worked on five David Cronenberg films. Part of what makes Silence work as a horror film is the score. It's suspenseful and emotional without being maudlin or clichéd.

Unlike Manhunter - the novel and the film - by Silence, we have already been introduced, albeit briefly, to Hannibal Lecter, so we think we know what to expect. Here we meet Clarice Starling for the first time and Demme wisely piggybacks off of Harris's already well-written character by allowing us to truly see things through Clarice's eyes.

It's Foster's steely yet sympathetic portrayal of Clarice that allows Hopkins's Lecter to be that much more menacing and the film as a whole to be utterly frightening. The F word itself is never used, but there are several allusions made to Starling's feminism: she reminds Dr. Chilton that UVA isn't a charm school and calls Jack Crawford out on his "Clarice, the men are talking" speech at the West Virginia morgue, in addition to brushing off Lecter's pointed sexual questions with a "That doesn't interest me and, frankly, it's the sort of thing that Miggs would say."

Despite her seemingly tough exterior, when she first encounters Hannibal, she's clearly daunted, and who wouldn't be? He's kept in a room that looks like a dungeon and she gets a slew of warnings from both Chilton and Crawford about not engaging with him. The buildup doesn't detract from the film's eventual reveal. In his cell, Hopkins looks akin to Boris Karloff's Mummy, but instead of dead, soulless eyes, his are bright blue and penetrating, extracting your most secret thoughts and fears. Hopkins's vaguely amused face and unblinking, wide eyes are truly unnerving.

Buffalo Bill a.k.a Jame Gumb, while also monstrous, is a different kind of bad guy, albeit one into whom Lecter has quite a bit of insight. When we see Gumb struggling with a broken arm and a couch outside of a windowless van, we know that it's not going to end well for poor Catherine Martin. His viciousness is further demonstrated when we see the waterlogged corpse of his most recently discovered victim displayed in West Virginia. The reactions of the men present show their obvious terror and disgust, but Starling exudes pure empathy. It's that quality which makes our own eventual view of the body that much more horrific. She is more than a just a victim, and Clarice bestows a dignity and human quality upon her, much like the one Senator Martin hoped to convey for her daughter through her televised plea to Buffalo Bill.

It isn't until later in Silence that we see Hannibal Lecter in predator mode and by then, we've almost become accustomed to his quirks. (By then, we've also witnessed the "it rubs the lotion on its skin" scene.) The need to have over a dozen cops creeping through a building with guns drawn might seem like overkill, but when Lecter savagely murders Sergeant Pembry and displays Lieutenant Boyle's corpse we are reminded that he isn't some quirky, demanding college professor, but a genuine, real-life monster.

Although Lecter is now on the loose, Clarice must focus on Gumb, and in the end she is the one who must face him. Her terror in his dark basement is palpable, with his night vision POV foreshadowing the aesthetic most of the found footage canon. Blinded and beyond fear, Starling is both completely out of yet totally within her element. She takes out Gumb like a pro, despite trembling the entire time, and it's a beautiful, heroic scene, sort of like Rachel McAdams's Ani Bezzerides in this season's True Detective shootout sequence, minus all the swearing.

By the time Lecter calls Clarice at her graduation party, she's already dismissed the idea that he would harm her. We see him slowly stalking Chilton, but only Chilton's grandmother could have sympathy for him at this point in the film. Clarice Starling shares something with Hannibal Lecter, and although she isn't a murderous psychopathic cannibal, that's enough to drive home the point that the monster walks among us.

Trust No Gunmen: The X-Files Season 10

Warning: spoilers follow for X-Files season nine episode “Jump The Shark” and the X-Files season ten comic book “Believers, Part II” - if you still want to experience these old pieces of imperfect media untouched by internet criticism go consume them before reading this, and may god have mercy on your soul.

The Lone Gunmen are not dead. In April of 2002, during the Sunday night airing of The X-Files in an episode titled “Jump the Shark,” Melvin Frohike, Ringo Langly and John Fitzgerald Byers sacrificed themselves to stop a bioterrorist attack on the United States. Their funeral was held in Arlington National Cemetery, the final resting place of JFK, and it was attended by their sole surviving colleague, three FBI agents and a Man in Black. But the Lone Gunmen are not dead.

First appearing in the season one X-Files episode “E.B.E.” and becoming a staple of the show's famous mythology, The Lone Gunmen print a conspiracy tabloid. Over the course of the series they play an integral role in the adventures of Mulder and Scully - and later Doggett and Reyes - and it is difficult to imagine the series continuing without their comedic relief and token government paranoia aesthetic.

And yet, with only four episodes to go in the series, the Gunmen were disposed of. They had been absent from the series for a small run prior to “Jump the Shark,” thanks to Vince Gilligan’s spinoff series The Lone Gunmen (which only lasted a season before getting cancelled) but their return to the series was a painful goodbye.

By season nine, The X-Files - while not as bad as most people remember it - was a shell of its former self, featuring Fox Mulder in only the series finale. The Lone Gunmen bears a similar reputation (and coincidentally also has a single episode featuring David Duchovny), and while it’s not unwatchable, it certainly ruined the Gunmen’s reputation. By the time they succumbed to televised heroism, it felt like a long time coming, but also like they deserved better.

Thankfully they will get better deaths, if they do die at all, now that they’ve been resurrected twice.

Did no one check the caskets? Come on guys, you're normally all over this kind of chicanery!

On July 22, Dean Haglund who plays Langly confirmed on Twitter that he and the other two conspiracy journalists will be returning to the show when it’s revived in 2016. It’s not a tough leap to make in terms of plotting, in fact, it’s much more appropriate thematically for the three of them to have faked their deaths, since if they were witness to their own funerals they would be the first to tell you why it just doesn’t add up.

The strange thing, especially for fan who had already been experiencing the series semi-revival via the Season 10 comic books written and produced by series creator Chris Carter, is that the resurrection of Byers, Frohike and Langly was making the news at all. Of course The Lone Gunmen are going to be in The X-Files, they were confirmed active in issue number two of seasons ten, which is equivalent to six episodes and a monster of the week movie after their faked deaths.

In the comics, which continue the mythology after the 2008 movie I Want To Believe, their faked death is almost presented as assumed knowledge on behalf of the reader. When Mulder uncovers their secret subterranean headquarters, right underneath their supposed graves, Frohike covers the whole conundrum in a single expository panel with the dialogue:

FROHIKE: “Faking our own demises went a long way toward keeping any enemies foreign and domestic off our backs… But we never expected death would be such hard work.”

MULDER: “You thought Federal recollection would be all paperboys and picket fences?”

FROHIKE: “Look, the FBI helped us out while you were away, and we appreciated it. We even agreed to work off any debt and help troubleshoot the government's technological vulnerabilities in exchange.”

That’s it. A few subsequent references to being legally dead and some historical fiction tropes aside, it’s as if they never left. Where things get a little fun in terms of meta-narrative is in Chris Carter’s assertion that the six episode television revival will ignore the events of the comics despite previously stating that the comic’s events are also canonical. In January, The Lone Gunmen are going to be discovered as living in secret all over again and it will be just as true as it was in the comics.

In other cases, this might be considered grounds for nerd rage, especially if you liked the comic book season (which I’m personally pretty lukewarm on). For a series as beloved as The X-Files to set about telling its main story again after a decade with only a mediocre movie to satiate my X-thirst in the mean time, and then to have a new piece of good news erase all of that newly established canon, is exactly the stuff of conspiracies. It’s corporate censorship of the highest level, rewriting reality for the sake of a hidden agenda. If Carter and his team of writers bring the Gunmen back in a different way, with a different explanation, we will have two equally legitimate stories we can use to explain the same result.

We devise conspiracies in the absence of proper explanations to travesties that we can’t process. We see gaps and we try to fill them with manufactured understanding, obsessing over the how and not the what or why. Three heroes sacrificed their lives in 2002, that much is confirmed, as is the most important fact: The Lone Gunmen aren’t dead. Whatever story you want to use to connect the dots is fine by them.

I'm Afraid To Believe: The X-Files and "Beyond The Sea"

While keeping up with my 201 Days of The X-Files viewing schedule, I re-watched one of the show's most iconic episodes, "Beyond The Sea." Besides being notable for yet another reference to Mulder's porn proclivities ("Last time you were that engrossed, it turned out you were reading the Adult Video News," Scully quips), it's a perfectly constructed episode that reveals cracks in Scully's scientific demeanor.

The episode opens with Scully saying goodbye to her mother and father after she's cooked them a Christmas Day meal. William Scully addresses his daughter with a gruff but affectionate "Goodnight, Starbuck" before he leaves. Later, Scully falls asleep on the couch and is awoken by her father sitting in a chair across from her. His lips are moving but no sound is coming out of his mouth. Startled, she addresses him but he doesn't respond. The phone rings and it's her mother, informing her that her father has just passed away from a massive coronary. When Scully looks back at the chair, her father is no longer there.

The case this time involves a death row inmate named Luther Lee Boggs, portrayed with scenery-chewing glee by Brad Dourif, in a nod to his role in The Exorcist III. Mulder's profile of the prolific serial killer is what put him in his current predicament, but when he was first sent to the gas chamber, there was a last-minute executive stay and his life was spared. Boggs asserts this experience sparked the flame of psychic abilities within him and he has contacted Mulder claiming to have vital information about a recent series of kidnappings and murders, hoping to avoid his rapidly approaching rescheduled execution.

Mulder thinks Boggs is just a con artist but he's more concerned that Scully is coming into the office after her father has just died. She assures him that she "needs to work" so he drops the subject. At her father's funeral, the jaunty strains of Bobby Darin's "Beyond The Sea" are heard, the song that was playing when Captain Scully's ship returned from the Cuban Blockade. It's difficult to swallow the lump in the throat we feel when a clearly bereft Scully tremulously questions her mother, "Was Dad at all proud of me?" All her mother will say is, "He was your father."

"I tore this off my New York Knicks t-shirt. It has nothing to do with the crime."

When they visit Boggs in prison, Mulder goads him into putting on a psychic revelations pageant, positive he's exposed him as a fraud. He leaves in disgust. As Scully packs up her files Boggs starts singing "Beyond The Sea" and she stops cold. Boggs fixes his eyes on her and asks, "Did you get my message, Starbuck?" Scully looks wounded. Outside, Mulder can tell something is wrong, but she just attributes it to "my father" before apologizing and leaving.

Scully discovers some of the things that Boggs said about the location of the kidnap victims were true when she does a little investigating of her own. Mulder becomes angry when she suggests that Boggs was right, warning her that she should only open herself up to "extreme possibilities" when they're the truth, insisting that Luther Boggs is "the greatest of lies." Mulder's explanation is that Boggs is working with someone on the outside and is an accomplice in the kidnappings and murders.

Still, Scully advocates for making a deal with Boggs, if only to get information to save the kidnap victims before they become murder victims. Another visit to Boggs results in more information and a warning about Mulder's blood on a white cross. When the FBI agents visit the docks Boggs told them about, they find Elizabeth, one of the victims, but they also spy a boat leaving the scene. A gunshot rings out and catches Mulder in the leg. Scully notices two white crossbeams nearby covered in Mulder's blood.

Mulder's theory about Boggs having an accomplice seems to be confirmed when Elizabeth identifies one Lucas Jackson Henry as her abductor and there is evidence that Boggs and Henry committed murders together before the former's incarceration. Furious, Scully revisits Boggs and spits venom: "No one will be able to stop me from being the one that will throw the switch and gas you out of this life for good, you son of a bitch!"

"I'll believe you... if you let... me talk to him."

Smooth-talking Boggs keeps seducing her. "I know who you want to talk to," he sneers, but insists he won't let Scully have her way until he gets a deal. She maintains that she doesn't believe him, but when she visits Mulder in the hospital she proposes there could be another explanation. Mulder tells her not to deal with Boggs, but Scully doesn't listen, visiting him yet again. He mentions the Blue Devil Brewery up by Morrisville.

As it turns out, that's exactly where Henry and the kidnap victims are. After a shootout and chase, Henry falls through some loose floor beams to his death. Scully notices a painting of a blue devil on the wall behind him and recalls Boggs warning her not to "follow Henry to the devil." She goes to thank Boggs for saving her but he suspects she still has "unfinished business," and begs her to come to his execution so she can "get her message."

But she doesn't. Instead, she visits Mulder in the hospital and tries to rationalize that Boggs might have gotten all the information he needed from her personnel file. "Dana," Mulder interrupts, "After all you've seen, after all the evidence, why can't you believe?"

SCULLY: I'm afraid. I'm afraid to believe.
MULDER: You couldn't face that fear? Even if it meant never knowing what your father wanted to tell you?

While "Conduit" showed that it was the fear of not knowing which drives Mulder, Scully presents a different side of the knowledge coin in "Beyond The Sea." From the beginning of the show, Scully has worn a small gold cross around her neck, indicating that she believes in something other than science, even though it has not been discussed up until this point. But how far does that belief go? And is it just faith in a God that keeps Scully going? Is the possibility of finding proof of something beyond science or even religion too frightening for her to accept?

In the last scene, Scully tells Mulder that she did know what her father wanted to tell her because, like her mother said, "He was my father." While "Beyond The Sea" purports to show Scully opening herself up to extreme possibilities, she ends up reverting to her closed-off views at the end. It seems to be Scully's faith that keeps her going, but it's faith in not believing. Mulder has faith in things he wants to believe, the intangible and abstract truth for which he so desperately searches. It will be a while before Scully can walk through those particular doors.

When The Darkness Moves: The Nightmare

There has been a lot of positive buzz surrounding Room 237 director Rodney Ascher's latest documentary, The Nightmare. In the film, Ascher interviews eight different people (seven in North America, one in the UK) about their experiences with sleep paralysis.

When I first heard about this film and how scary it was supposed to be, I thought, "Yeah, I've had sleep paralysis. It's weird but not scary." It wasn't until I saw the trailer that I realized why everyone was so terrified by this movie.

"For many, sleep is fraught with things worse than bad dreams."

When I finally got up the courage to watch The Nightmare, it was during the daytime (I'm not stupid). Ascher adds reenactments to the individual descriptions of sleep paralysis, including visual interpretations of "the shadow people" and "the hat man," dark figures that appear to those suffering from sleep paralysis. In many cases, these figures speak to and even threaten their "victims." I had no idea anyone experienced this during sleep paralysis.

In addition to the absolutely unnerving stories and reenactments, I became fascinated by the idea that perhaps sleep paralysis is responsible for much of our horror iconography. The red lighting and the image of Hat Man made me think of classic Giallo films like Blood And Black Lace and I wondered if perhaps those films were also inspired by the history of this phenomenon. Ana M. mentions an incident where she felt like she was being sexually assaulted by one of these nocturnal visitors, which immediately reminded me of The Entity.

Although no one mentions Giallo films or The Entity in The Nightmare, Ascher does confirm that A Nightmare On Elm Street was inspired by director Wes Craven's fascination with sleep paralysis. In addition, Communion (based on Whitley Streiber's book of the same name), Jacob's Ladder, and Insidious are also referenced by those who have suffered from sleep paralysis as good interpretations of their experiences..

These movies are fiction, though. (I hope.) I already knew that the idea of an incubus or succubus had been partially explained by hypnagogic states of consciousness, but could astral projection, vampires, or even alien visitations be explained by this phenomenon?

The Nightmare discusses how universal these occurences are; nearly every culture has tales of shadow people or red-eyed demons that visit people in their sleep. Yet, despite the global preponderance of these stories, each person's encounters seem uniquely tailored to them. In at least two instances in the film, for example, the figures address the person by name or say things like "I will find you" or "I know who you are." This tension between the universal and the personal is intriguing.

Carl Gustav Jung, a Swiss psychiatrist and psychotherapist who founded the school of thought known as analytical psychology, addressed such a tension in his theories on archetypes. According to Wikipedia, archetypes "are inherited potentials which are actualized when they enter consciousness as images or manifest in behavior on interaction with the outside world." Jung believed that "evolutionary pressures have individual predestinations manifested in archetypes."

Having suffered from insomnia and panic attacks my whole life, I was also struck by the similarities between some of the incidents described in the film and my own life. I've never seen shadow people during any of my own episodes of sleep paralysis (thank the gods), but the stress that the such visitations caused most of the people interviewed reminded me of being an over imaginative kid who worried all the time about everything, believing that if I thought about something enough I could conjure it into existence somehow. One subject, Chris C., thought he could keep the visitations at bay "if certain requirements were met," a textbook definition of OCD if I've ever heard one. His idea was to leave televisions on while he fell asleep, a technique that I used for most of my life. But it eventually stopped working for him.

"Those moments, they stare back at you. You don't remember them; they remember you. You turn around, there they are." - True Detective Season 2, Episode 4 "Down Will Come"

Although some of the subjects in The Nightmare have dealt with these problems, whether converting to Christianity or deciding to accept that sleep paralysis might kill them (a sobering thought), doctors have not helped any of them. Despite how frequently such sleep paralysis visitations occur, both on a global and individual level, and how negatively it has impacted lives, physicians and therapists seem content to respond to their pleas for help with "it's just sleep paralysis" and don't provide them any relief.

So is it really sleep paralysis or is it something else? Although Kate A. explains her experiences rationally, she does state, "you can't put logic onto liminal situations." The fact that making the "positive lifestyle changes" their doctors suggested did absolutely nothing to stop the traumatic visitations for these people is disconcerting. In some cases, it's contagious, as some who suffer from it have actually passed it on to others. Are these apparitions nothing more than a sleep disorder, mental illness, or as Stephen P. speculates, could they be the result of the theory that we reside in multiple dimensions?

The most troubled person in The Nightmare is easily Chris C., who seems to have had the most negative and persistent experiences with sleep paralysis, which probably results in his attempts at humorous storytelling and his clearly fatalistic attitude. "It will kind of learn how to adapt to you. If you try to avoid it, it will find you and it will make it happen somehow," he says. Considering the lack of resolution for most of these people, his statement might be the scariest thing in all of The Nightmare.

The Fear Of Not Knowing: The X-Files

In preparation for the upcoming six-episode season of The X-Files in 2016, a rewatch of all nine seasons of the original series seemed like a timely idea, especially since I never finished the last two.

In the midst of all the "remember the '90s" nostalgia about clothing, cars, and how ridiculously youthful both David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson look, I realized something important: I finally get it.

It's not that I finally "get" why the show was such a big deal. I was a huge fan of The X-Files when it first aired in the early '90s. It was my pre-Hannibal Hannibal, with the same creepy aspects that I loved about The Twilight Zone and Twin Peaks, plus a dash of Unsolved Mysteries. In several cases, it actively frightened me ("The Host," "Hungry," and "Folie À Deux" immediately come to mind).

What finally makes sense to me is Fox Mulder's unwavering dedication to finding the truth that he insists is out there. Fear of the unknown is one of the most primal fears, but what about the fear of not knowing? That's the precise fear that drives Fox Mulder.

Episode S104, "Conduit," finds Mulder and Scully in Iowa, where Ruby Morris has disappeared in the middle of the night, during what her mother Darlene describes as a blinding flash of light. What makes the incident intriguing to Mulder is that this light fits in with several alien abduction stories he's uncovered in the X-Files themselves.

"I know what happened. It's just like it was before."

Scully, along with the audience, thinks that Mulder is drawn to this case because of its similarities to the events surrounding his own missing sister, Samantha, which he had revealed to her in the show's pilot episode. He denies this, insisting that Darlene's own past is the hook. When she was in Girl Scouts, Darlene, along with a few others, saw a UFO in the same Lake Ogobogee area where Ruby went missing. Mulder is convinced that those same aliens have come back for Darlene's daughter.

More is revealed during the course of this episode suggesting that perhaps Ruby was just a runaway teen in trouble. Darlene's younger child, Kevin, meanwhile, has become engrossed in writing down thousands of pages of binary code and like Carol Anne in Poltergeist, tells Mulder that the messages are coming from the TV.

Mulder is intent on finding out more from Kevin, but the NSA eventually shows up and starts ransacking the Morris home, taking Kevin in for questioning because some of the stuff he's been writing might be a threat to national security. After that, Darlene warns Mulder and Scully to back off. Scully tells Mulder that solving this case won't bring his sister back. He swears he's not giving up on Ruby until they find a body.

Not long afterward, Ruby reappears in the woods, confused, but seemingly unharmed. Mulder pleads with Darlene to be receptive to her daughter's memories of what actually happened. "She should be encouraged to tell her story," he says gently, "not to keep it inside, it's important that you let her." Darlene dismisses him, saying that Ruby can't remember anything. But Mulder persists, and we see for the first time what Scully has tried to get him to admit, and what the people who assigned Scully to the X-Files believe is Mulder's greatest weakness as well as his greatest strength: his desire to know.

"But she will remember one day, one way or another, even if it's only in dreams. And when she does, she's going to want to talk about it, she's going to need to talk about it."

It's then that I finally understood why Mulder spent so many years searching. Losing a family member to death is one thing. I lost two grandparents and a stepfather within the same year when I wasn't yet a teenager. That was awful. Having a sister vanish in front of you with no idea where she went, who took her, or what happened to her must be unbearable.

For those in search of missing family members, the fear conjured by simply not knowing must be agony. For Mulder, it has the added indignity of marking him forever as a fanatic and making authorities less likely to dig into what he suspects are the real reasons behind her disappearance.

"Do you believe the voice?" "I want to believe."

"Conduit" ends with Scully listening to a tape of one of Mulder's therapy sessions, in which he's been hypnotized and asked to recall the events of that night. It's utterly heartbreaking and for the first time when watching this episode, I truly felt his fear. It's not a fear of the unknown or even a fear of the uncanny, but the fear of not knowing.

I thought: what if it was my own sister who'd disappeared in the middle of the night? What if no one believed me when I told them what I thought happened? What if I never truly found out? What if I never saw her again? Just thinking about that scares the hell out of me. Not long after that series of deaths when I was a child, my dog disappeared into the night, never to be seen again, either alive or dead. It was so traumatizing I didn't even write about it in my diary. In fact, I can barely remember it.

Even though Mulder remembers what happened that night, it's with a couple of caveats. His memories haven't helped him or his sister; the rest of his family has been torn apart.. He's become privy to the memories themselves, but separated from the act of remembering, something which would instill terror into anyone's heart.

Mulder's curiosity is both a blessing and a curse for him, but it's the fear at the core of that curiosity that makes "Conduit" a remarkable episode and proves that The X-Files still compelling after all these years.