Psychological Horror is a subgenre of the Horror genre, which rather than focusing on quantifiable threats (though this is not a hard-and-fast rule), create fear through the use of abstract concepts and undefeatable forces. This often crosses through the adjacent ideas of Art Horror, Existentialism and Horror-of-Personality.
The inception of the genre is found in the German Expressionist movement, wherein most horror finds its genesis, though Psychological Horror specifically finds its development because the films of the time were being made to express the zeitgeist of fears that the German public felt during the period. The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari is exemplary here, as its horror is derived from a pervasive force of calamity which causes people across the town to die and go missing, hypnotic phenomena which appear to defy the laws of nature, and eventually, the plot spiraling into the confusing chaos of its unreliable narrator and obscure truth.
The classics of the genre come from, among others, the Russian-taught auteur Alfred Hitchcock. His films, due to extremely strict rules surrounding violence and sexuality in movies, relied far more heavily on implication, as well as horror of the mind. Among others, Psycho is a great example of this, as the most graphic visual to appear onscreen is a withered skeleton, but it creates dread in the viewer’s brain through the sheer tension it builds, and the nature of the characters appearing.
Parodical takes on these classics include the Hitchcock spoof High Anxiety, which takes some of the tropes associated with the genre and flips them on their head, introducing a lot of aspects such as dirty jokes and sexual humour to subvert the usual more psychological take Hitchcock has on his characters’ sexuality, as could have been seen in Psycho with its sexually confused and sadistic killer. Here, though, such themes are explored with encounters with flashers, or references to S&M sessions. This takes things that we see as intellectual or complex in true psychological horror movies and turns them into a joke.
The genre becomes deconstructed later on in David Lynch‘s body of work, another esteemed and distinguished auteur, during the 20th Century, starting in the 70s with the Black & White silent feature Eraserhead – which takes the usual storytelling horror of the psychological horror film, and abstracts it into a pure and primordial force in the form of the protagonist’s child. It is something fully unrecognizable to any audience member purely through its appearance and actions, but we are forced to give it its meaning and realise its true horror exclusively through the viewer’s mind.
Robert Neil Eggers is a New-Hampshire-Born director, who, despite having an extremely small body of work (2015-2019, with more films on the horizon), has created an extremely distinct Auteur style of direction, screenwriting and production which has elevated him to fame, success and award-winning status, though he isn’t without his detractors, as his unique style is divisive with some.
ACTORS
Given the point in his career, Eggers has not yet established an Auteur’s Entourage fully, as many of his contemporaries garner in their decade-spanning careers (think Tarantino with Sam L Jackson, or Nolan with Michael Cain), but he seems to be starting on it early. He clearly favours character actors who can play to quite bizarre tonal shifts, and especially the rugged leading men who tend to display complex or fractured minds.
This is especially clear with The Lighthouse (2019), wherein the two leading actors are Willem Dafoe and Robert Pattinson, both portraying foils to one-another, tired everymen who hide a hideous other half under their outward masculine bravo. Eggers seems to be fond of Dafoe, however, as he is set to be cast in the upcoming movie, The Northman (TBA).
VISUALS
Eggers is primarily a horror director, and as such, needs to make a horrifying visual atmosphere. He tends to grade his movies extremely desaturated, with The Witch (2015) being extremely greyish, and The Lighthouse (2019) being fully greyscale altogether. This is to suit the expected tone of his 19th Century American settings, as movies set in the past often suit a less colourful look.
He is meticulous with his framing and shots, being very in-depth on a level as granular as the aspect ratio, which was actually the first detail written on the notes for The Lighthouse (2019), along with its specific framerate and filmstock. This shows how perfectionist he can be with his visuals, and how well it pays off, with his extremely specific pre-planning leading to beautiful shots which play into his style.
His shots are each like paintings, making present the inspiration he takes from German Expressionism, where he composes the shots with minimal camera movement, like a stage, which the mood overtakes. Momentum is something Eggers fully foregoes in his cinematography, preferring instead to let the feeling that each scene creates drive it along.
SOUND
Robert Eggers is a two-time collaborator with soundtrack artist Mark Korven, and the two seem to be an inseperable pair from the work they have already put out. Korven has a great understanding of what the ‘sound’, or ‘tone’ of Eggers’ horrific New England fantasies, and manages to translate that into the score. The Witch (2015)’s score is permeated with a number of creepy strings, wavering harp plucks which not only reminisce of something hidden sneaking through shadows, but of a traditionally feminine sound and instrument undergoing a menacing corruption – as the film confronts in its writing.
The Lighthouse (2019)’s score, on the other hand, takes an even more cognitive approach, existing on a semi-diegetic plane wherein the sounds of Korven’s music weave in and out of the sounds of the lighthouse itself. This is because the movie uses many pipe and horn instruments, which was a conscious choice on the duo’s behalf, to avoid the traditional Post-Williams, Post-Zimmer, generic movie score sound, and it works. The use of sounds in this score is truly unique to the hypermasculine, working-class nautical theming, and it mixes in and out of the SFX of the movie, most of all an iconic and well-used Welsh foghorn which perforates the film’s timeline with its cacophonous blaring.
The mixing in Eggers’ movies is also unique, far more clear than many action directors’ mixes, but still muddied when it needs to be. He seems to understand what to silence for the focus on another point in the soundscape, and how that may affect a watcher. When the sound effects need to overtake the surrounding area, they do; when the dialogue must become the focal point, it does, and when the music should be in the forefront, it is.
INFLUENCES
Eggers seems to pull from a variety of sources when making his work, his auteur style, and special brand of horror standing proud with its roots. For example, his fixation on New-England settings, natural ‘deep’ magic, domestic horror and, in The Lighthouse (2019), semi-aquatic nightmarish gore creatures, the body of work of classic 20th century pulp Sci-Fi and Horror writer H.P. Lovecraft. Lovecraft was famous for pioneering the genre of ‘Cosmic Horror’ (also referred to as Eldritch Horror or Lovecraftian Horror), as well as a few notable stories, most notable of which being ‘The Call of Cthulhu’. This influence is very present through his body of work, and helps Eggers’ films display a brand of horror wholly unique from that of contemporary ‘Haunting’ stories (Annabelle, The Conjuring, etc), ‘Gore-Porn’ movies (SAW series and similar films) and ‘Thriller/Monster’ horrors. His work most commonly resembles the direction of fellow A24 director Ari Aster, though Eggers seems to skew more toward surrealism than Aster’s psychological horror.
Similarly in the vein of bygone classics that Robert Eggers pulls clear inspiration from is the Expressionist Cinema movement present in pre-Nazi Germany, which is responsible for the way we see horror today. This is something that Eggers is forthcoming about, apparently working on his own retelling of the Conrad Veidt classic ‘Nosferatu’ for a later point in his career. Worth noting is that ‘Nosferatu’ was actually Eggers’ first ever foray into directing, a younger Robert having directed his high school’s theatre production of the story in decades past. This influence pulls through in the painterly and stage-based vision Eggers has for cinematography, each shot being part still image, a moment for the eye to bask in, and a fixed frame inside of which the events of the scene can unfold.
Soviet Constructivism, in stark construct to the neighbouring German Expressionism across Europe, revels in the state of being art. There is no attempt made by Soviet art to convince the observer that it is a real landscape, or a real feeling embodied – rather, it tells you upon your first glance that what you are viewing is artwork or photography.
This company is still somewhat relevant in today’s climate, as after its complete post-nazification failure, it was absorbed into the multimedia companies of Fremantle, RTL Group and Bertelsmann. This is because it is based in the originally Nazi-built Babelsberg studio land, which has in quite recent history left its post-Soviet reconstruction.
The studio has essentially sold its history away to the world, rejecting its silent expressionist roots to become a mainstream Television network studio, though it does still often collaborate with Hollywood for films that harken back to UFA’s beginnings.
EXPRESSIONIST CINEMA
Der Golem – Wie er in die Welt kam <The Golem – How he Came to be>
This film is based in a Jewish ghetto in Medieval Prague, where the Holy Roman Emperor signs a decree that all Jews must leave the city under threat from knights. The Rabbi Loew builds a Golem from clay, and manifests the spirit of Astaroth to awaken the creature. This golem brings misfortune where it goes, but ultimately takes the favour of the Romans by saving their lives from a wandering spirit, and keeping the safety of the Jews in Prague.
This film is significant because it represents the prevalence of Jewish culture and concepts from The Torah in a pre-Nazi world. It’s almost uncanny to see characters and ideas from Judaism represented with the same dignity as Christian ideals are in today’s film climate.
Das Grinsende Geischt <The Man Who Laughs>
This film is about a man, named Gwynplaine, afflicted with a Richtus grin as inherited punishment from his father, a known enemy of the second King James during 1680s England. Gwynplaine becomes a laughing stock, a freak of the circus because of his disfigured face. He falls in love with a blind girl he knew once when they were young, and hides his deformity from her despite her handicap. Gwynplaine’s true lineage is revealed, along with his right to claim estate currently occupied by the Duchess Josiana, who is aggressively lustful toward the laughing man in part because of his deformity. He evades her seduction, instead showing his true face to Dea, and then fleeing both Josiana and Queen Anne with Dea to sail away from England.
This film’s major significance is its influence on later film and media, especially the direct inspiration that Detective Comics took from the film in making the character of The Joker, who has since come full circle in becoming one of the most iconic antagonists in cinema and literature.
Expressionism was a movement that formed in post-wartime Germany in staunch rebellion to the growing authoritarian presence in the country. This art movement wished to break away from that dreary reality using abstract and modernist influences, along with a rejection of norms of colour theory and stroke composition to create an unnatural, fantastical feeling.
Alexej von Jawlensky – Blue Mouth
This piece above here encapsulates this with its harsh contrast of cold (green and blue) and warm (peach and red) shades, along with its childlike abstraction of human anatomy, creating a cartoonish and juvenile love for art in complete rebellion to the imposed professionalism of realist, neo-objectivist and anti-degenerate artists at the time. The significance of her blue lips, which the piece is titled for, may represent the cold and bluish skin of a corpse, significant to post-war art.
Kane smashing the contents of Susan Alexander’s room.
“The Greatest Film of All Time”
One marketing poster for the movie.
My favourite scene from Orson Welles’ 1941 Mystery/Drama classic ‘Citizen Kane’ is the scene in which Welles’ titular leading man, Charlie Kane, destroys the room which had once belonged to his ex-wife Susan Alexander in a fit of rage. I think it is brilliant because it embodies an extremely organic and human sense of escalation which, in a less skillfully made movie, would be reserved for scenes involving dialogue.
In here, however, Welles can pull it off on his own – as the scene starts from a small beginning, Kane packs a suitcase. Then, it spirals out of control along with Charles’ feelings, as he throws the cases across the room and then continues to tear down her bedding – moving on to smash nearly all the contents of the room. It’s a raw display of ape-like aggression that solidifies just how rotten Kane has become at his core.
From a technical perspective, the sequence is impressive because of the length that Welles goes to to create the imposing menace of this freakout – low angles were of course necessary, and they are frequently utilised, but the notable use is in the more extreme Worms’ Eye shots in which the camera is placed into openings in the floor. Shots like these are few and far between though, as the more common camera technique here is a long take – a way of forcing the audience to sit through this veritable tantrum with little to no respite, making it as uncomfortable as possible.
The choice of camera and lens for this movie also let it be shot fully in Deep Focus style, as opposed to the blurry Shallow Focus style employed by other directors (David Fincher, as an example) – Welles uses the Deep Focus heavily because it opens the viewer’s peripheral vision to include all of the present destruction. We see the entire fallout of Charles’ outburst.
The sound present in this scene is simultaneously rudimentary, emblematic of Welles’ background in theater and inexperience with film, but also quite effective. The lack of mixing makes the scene sort of accidentally funny in an amateurish way, but the sheer volume of all the clipping noise of the crashes does in some regards add a sheer intensity which could easily provoke fear in a cinema audience using more high-calibre speakers.
Overall, whilst many parts of this scene are notably showing of Welles’ amateur status, those same elements show the creativity and experimental nature that he brought to Hollywood which made the movie so beloved.
“The Good, The Bad and The Ugly” has its main theme, which is used as the leitmotif for all three of its protagonists. Different sections from the song are used for each character, utilizing different instrumentation to represent their characters’ central ideas and the like.
