2 Too Obvious Horrors

 

Two Too Obvious Horrors

by Kristin Battestella

These recent women in horror films make for an unfortunately obvious duo playing into cliches and doing much too much. Pity.

Hold Your Breath – Sarah Paulson (American Horror Story) anchors this 2024 Hulu original set in 1930s Oklahoma during the Dust Bowl. Coughing and gasping dreams, our mother's prayers to not be evil, and already deceased children giveaway everything upfront along with flashbacks of dad leaving to work on the railroad and daughters locking their door. Dust lingers in streams of light shining between wood planks; the women wipe, sweep, and beat the sheets but dust is everywhere. On edge neighbors trying to escape monstrous storm clouds lead to wagon accidents and burying dead animals. Families must cling to the safety lines or be swept away in the howling winds. Bedtime stories of the previously tall, golden wheat fields don't alleviate the rattling house, creaking wood, and dirt dunes billowing against the door. Promises to join their father when he sends money become notches on the wall counting his absence while the cows quit and a self-proclaimed healing hands minister hides in the barn. Unfortunately, ridiculously loud modern crescendos interfere with the suspense – deflating the innate breathing, nosebleeds, and dirt in their mouths. There should be no music save for the banging shutters, and although they serve the plot, one wonders if all the other townsfolk are truly necessary. Even our deaf daughter is a contrivance rather than a fully developed character serving the masks, sleeping pills, unknown man, women alone, and mailbag warnings. Entertaining angels unaware Lot scripture reiterates the feminine dangers while the superfluous town gossips whisper about what violence goes on behind closed doors. Friendly knocks on the door from those colloquial ninnies are rebuffed as mom practices putting on her smile in the mirror amid congested interior barricades, fires, and sleepwalking. Pretty white dresses are ruined with blood and no one believes there was a man terrorizing them once you say he's a speck of dust that came in under the door. Viewers understand our unfit mother's selfish descent as the family cycle perpetuates with sewing needle mishaps, shooting at voices in the dust, and children in peril. However grieving visions playing at the mental versus horror metaphors become an overlong, predictable excuse when the crazed, everything's fine pretending was enough for a straight isolation thriller. Despite a fine setting, atmosphere, and performances; this is laid on thick and obvious from the opening scene. 

Immaculate – The similarities to The First Omen are indeed apparent, and the obvious title is obvious to everyone but novice Sydney Sweeney (Madame Web) in this 2024 seen it all before nunsploitation yarn. Although questions at customs and searching the suitcase establish the Italian dictionary, Bible, and stuffed animal nervousness about taking the forthcoming vows; the opening runaway nun caught for buried alive screams is unnecessary. I wish the lovely on location filming and scenery were bright enough to actually see and I'm not sure when this is supposed to take place? However the American accent is jarring – an out of place modernity amid the rapid intermixed Italian exposition, diegetic choir chants, and eerie courtyard processions. Suggestive bridal vows, handsome priests, kneeling before the men, and kissing the ring innuendo are laid on thick but the spooky atmosphere and rituals beneath the inner sanctum aren't scary because the audience knows more than our vomiting novitiate. Brief visual distortions and nightmares give way to a happy daylight montage with chores and kitchen quaint even as chickens are killed and old convent patients die. Giggling bathing gossip and questions about if she has been chaste lead to humorous crescendos as they whip the cover off the ultrasound machine. Apparently, she's so faithful the miraculous mom never questions why a convent for dying nuns needs an obstetrician on call. It's tough to support a protagonist that has wine, faints, and wakes up pregnant but isn't suspicious despite Madonna ceremonies, teeth falling out, and jealous drowning attempts. Askew funerary angles, hidden scripture, hair effigies, cross brandings, and a tortured nun getting her tongue cut out attempt medieval touches while mom-to-be in white roams the halls at night with a candle. Chicken ruses, bleeding emergencies, and prayers over said bloody sheets lead to chases and a rough shower scrubbing. The priest puts on black gloves and apologizes if she feels unsafe after being subjected to a rusty nail with 2,000 year old sinews yet it's all so on the nose thanks to egotistical experiments, fetus failures in jars, misused scripture, and secret lab equipment. Questions debating why God hasn't stopped them and Ave Maria choirs feel religion-lite as our woman in labor runs, fights, and climbs the cool catacombs. She damns her water for breaking after bludgeoning the mother superior with hefty a crucifix while Carol of the Bells plays. She strangles the eminence with a rosary when he's smoking and sets the genetics priest on fire, too, as you do. Despite being eighty-odd minutes with lengthy credits eating into the actual runtime, this feels both overlong yet lacking in resolution or consequences. Fortunately our wild, covered in blood mother bites off her umbilical cord and smashes her unseen demon baby with a rock – actions accented by nails on chalkboard screaming and humorous “thump” and “sloshing” closed captions. This is a comedy and I laughed out loud.