‘Ouija: Origin of Evil’ may be a prequel, but it is first and foremost a tragic character piece. One in which a previously strong family dynamic is torn apart when malicious forces use Alice’s grief to manipulate her.
A common question that is asked of horror movies is why? Why don’t any of the leads think to go to the police? Why do they not stop messing around with dark forces before it is too late? Not only does Ouija: Origin of Evilhave an answer to such questions, it answers them in a way that serves to make its cast more sympathetic.
Directed and co-written by Mike Flanagan, Ouija: Origin of Evil — the prequel to the 2014 film Ouija — stars Elizabeth Reaser as Alice Zander, a fake psychic who enlists her daughters in order to convince people that she can communicate with the dead. Since the death of Alice’s husband, this has become how she earns money. The film opens with Alice performing a séance with her daughters and a client. They are able to pull off the illusion, but Alice declines the customer’s money because she wants to save him from a possibly fraudulent business venture. Alice justifies lying to clients as she believes that she’s providing a service that meets their emotional needs. But her refusal here conveys that there are limits she won’t cross when it comes to dealing with her customers.
This scene serves three importantfunctions. It establishes why the Zander family would choose to experiment with a Ouija board. Alice turns away her customer’s money, proving that she is invested in her job for more than monetary gain. Finally, it reinforces how easy it is for someone to believe that a medium can allow them to contact a deceased loved one, as many people yearn to reconnect with those they have lost.
By this point, the audience is familiar with the aspects of Alice’s character that will inform her actions for the rest of the film. She still mourns the loss of her husband. She honestly believes that her job helps people; she says as much while talking with Father Hogan (Henry Thomas), a priest at her daughters’ school. Alice is passionate about what she does and sees in herself as akin to a therapist. Because Alice is a widow, she’s in a similar position to the people who seek her help. This makes it easier for her to view her actions as helping others grieve, and not the actions of an emotional predator. She feels what they feel. Alice longs for the closure that she believes she gives others through her work.
When her younger daughter, Doris (Lulu Wilson) displays the ability to use a Ouija board for real and actually connect with spirits, it makes perfect sense that Alice jumps at the opportunity. In her eyes, she is finally able to do what she has been pretending to do all this time and make a real difference in the world. In doing so, Alice fails to see both the danger to Doris and other warning signs that suggest the spirits she speaks to aren’t who they claim to be.
When Doris first uses the Ouija board, it doesn’t appear to cause her any harm. During the course of the film, however, she displays signs that she is being possessed: she starts writing in Polish despite not speaking the language,she uses strange powers to fight back against two boys bullying her. Father Hogan notices that something is amiss, but Alice doesn’t. She is too focused on the great work she thinks her daughter is doing. Alice doesn’t even think to question the spirits beyond a basic test, as she is too wrapped up in what she thinks her daughter has to offer people. The fervor with which she encourages her daughter’s talents shines a light on Alice’s own grief. Through Doris’ gift, Alice has found a purpose for herself. She is still mourning her husband, and being able to heal the pain of others gives her something to strive for. It’s also possible that despite statements to the contrary, Alice felt guilt over lying to the people who sought her help. Now that she can genuinely contact the dead through her daughter, it would make sense for Alice to see this as a redemption of sorts — a way for her to make amends for her earlier lies.
Towards the end of the film, Alice’s older daughter, Paulina “Lina” (Annalise Basso), points out something rather alarming: the answers the ghosts have been giving are the same answers that Alice used to give clients when she pretended to commune with the dead. The ghosts have been manipulating Alice with her own con.
The film comes full circle, connecting back to the very first scene. Everything that was true of Alice’s customer in that scene is true of Alice at this point in the film. She desperately wants to believe that she is talking to the deceased, and whomever she is speaking to knows exactly what to say to get what they want from her. The difference is that these spirits don’t have Alice’s best interests in mind.
Ouija: Origin of Evil subverts the conventions of the horror genre with a sympathetic main character with a relatable motivation. The spirits tempt Alice with her heart’s desire and this keeps her invested in doing what they want, even when it becomes increasingly clear that something is wrong. Alice makes mistakes, ignoring Doris’ needs in favor of her own being chief among them. This is successfully portrayed as tragic because Alice is shown to be an otherwise good mother. She is involved in both her daughters’ lives, to the extent that she has multiple scenes with Father Hogan to discuss Doris’ well-being. When Lina brings her doubts to Alice, she is frustrated by her mother’s inability to really listen to what she is saying because she is used to her mother being more willing to listen. It was Lina who suggested incorporating the Ouija board into her mother’s act. That her mother followed this advice serves as evidence that Alice is usually willing to take Lina’s ideas. In the film’s first scene, the whole family works together to pull off the séance, showing that they normally function well together as a unit. Influenced by The Changeling (1980), Flanagan wanted to create a period piece exploring the dangers of grief within a family, as he views “family as the safest place in the world.”
Because the film takes the time to examine Alice’s motivation, these are truly mistakes and not plot holes. Instead of undermining the film, they serve to contribute to its depth of character. Ouija: Origin of Evil may be a prequel, but it is first and foremost a tragic character piece. One in which a previously strong family dynamic is torn apart when malicious forces use Alice’s grief to manipulate her.
Margaret Evans is a writer from Godalming, a small town in south England. She currently writes for Starburst Magazine and Ink Magazine.
Punishment is the main objective of the demon Bathsheba in The Conjuring, and specifically she seeks to punish the mother figure of a family. The hauntings and road to possession begin when in 1971, Roger and Carolyn Perron move into an old farmhouse in Rhode Island with their five daughters. Slowly, they begin to experience paranormal disturbances.
In the film a young girl, Emily Rose, perishes following a protracted period of “attack” by demons while under the protective care of Father Moore, a Catholic priest. Female attorney Erin Bruner is chosen to defend Moore against charges of negligent homicide in Emily’s death. Through the two’s connection to the girl throughout the film, each undergoes what I’ve called here a “conversion experience,” as they learn more about the possibility that demons really do exist—demons that can be read to correspond to the challenges that women face in culture every day. Even before the advent of #YesAllWomen, a film like The Exorcism of Emily Rose shows us how to overcome skepticism and create a connected community of individuals committed to sharing troublesome experiences in the service of awareness and activism.
I am a horror fan and most times I root for the monster. There, I said it. I root for what should be the feared. The dreaded Other. With all the loaded symbolism that the horror genre represents (fear of sex, fear of the unknown, fear of death and decay, xenophobia etc), I find it cathartic and often liberating to root for the disruption of life as we know it. I love watching humans deal with chaotic change.
I do believe that Lynch and Frost meant to use BOB as “the evil that men do” and as a means to understand family violence and abuse, but they jump around the issue so much that it only reflects uncertainty. The show’s inability to hold evil men responsible for their actions is too reminiscent of our own society. As soon as we answer “Who Killed Laura Palmer?” the show does its best to rebury the ugly truth that we so struggled to uncover. After that it fully commits to understanding the mythos behind it. This is troubling to me.
Part of what makes the excellent 1961 film The Innocents different is the main character, the governess, Miss Giddens (played by Deborah Kerr), is thrust into a parental role suddenly. We see her at the beginning in an interview with the children’s uncle, a handsome playboy (played by Michael Redgrave, Vanessa’s father) who tells her he spends much of his time traveling and the rest in his home in London. When he offers her the job at his country estate, he takes her hand (a bold move for the Victorian era, when the film takes place) and asks if she is ready to take full responsibility for the children, because he doesn’t want to be disturbed during his adventures in London and abroad.
Micah’s patriarchal control through the first half of the film is omnipresent as he mocks, coerces and films his girlfriend’s descent into possession. The second half of the film deals with the demon taking control of the film. Micah and Katie are too weak to properly deal with the situation and they lose sight of their safety. The audience see what the demon wants them to see; it is in control of not only Katie’s mind and body, but also what the audience is exposed to, creating an unstable and terrifying experience.
When Phoebe is taken over by the deadly sin lust in “Sin Francisco,” she sexually assaults her professor and has sex with a policeman on the job, while Piper dances on her bar during her high school reunion when she’s possessed by an evil spirit. And almost all the evil women in the show are sexualized: the succubus, shapeshifter Kaia, the Stillman sisters in “The Power of Three Blondes,” the seer Kyra, etc.
Jennifer’s Body is not a traditional female possession film. The genre is generally typified by mild mannered asexual women who begin to act in overt and sometimes pathologized sexual ways once they become possessed. Jennifer’s sexuality, on the other hand is firmly established at the beginning of the film, from her clothing, the way she interacts with both her best friend Needy and the males in her school, to where she casually mentions that she is “not even a back door virgin anymore.”
Jack is both a victim and perpetrator of domestic violence. Jack’s father was an abusive alcoholic who beat and berated him. When Jack drank he used to parrot his father’s words (“take your medicine” “you damn pup”). He is primarily verbally abusive. The last incident of drinking that pushed him to sober up was accidentally breaking Danny’s arm. Wendy, perhaps like Jack’s mother, lied for him but swore she would leave if he didn’t sober up.
To what extent does a woman, pregnant or otherwise, “own” her body? To what extent can or should a woman’s (pregnant) body be subject to social concerns? Physically and socially, where is the divide between the mother’s body and the baby’s body? By raising these questions, Rosemary’s Baby is not only concerned with the spiritual but, also, the social possession of the female body.
And now Anita is “needy” no more because she has tasted the power, lived to tell the tale and will use her new demon passenger to right the wrongs that she sees fit. Even though she’s possessed, you can sense that she will guide herself and the demon within and take control of it. Freedom is a beautiful thing, even if you have to be possessed to make it happen.
Mark’s doppelgänger reflects Anna’s fascination with Heinrich’s persona: narcissism, religion, imagination, and his sexual freedom. Anna’s doppelgänger, Helen, is a pure, calm, and collected woman. That’s precisely what Mark wants–the opposite of Anna.
In the film a young girl, Emily Rose, perishes following a protracted period of “attack” by demons while under the protective care of Father Moore, a Catholic priest. Female attorney Erin Bruner is chosen to defend Moore against charges of negligent homicide in Emily’s death. Through the two’s connection to the girl throughout the film, each undergoes what I’ve called here a “conversion experience,” as they learn more about the possibility that demons really do exist—demons that can be read to correspond to the challenges that women face in culture every day. Even before the advent of #YesAllWomen, a film like ‘The Exorcism of Emily Rose’ shows us how to overcome skepticism and create a connected community of individuals committed to sharing troublesome experiences in the service of awareness and activism.
Emily possessed
This guest post by Rebecca Willoughby appears as part of our theme week on Demon and Spirit Possession.
Elliot Rodger’s killing spree in Isla Vista, California in May of 2014, incited much controversy, as did the Twitter hashtag #YesAllWomen, which subsequently emerged as a forum for women to share experiences of sexism and misogyny in everyday life. Yet, attitudes of skepticism persisted: many Twitter users seemed resistant to the idea that ALL women, at one time or another, experienced circumstances and situations that made life difficult, if not downright annoying or even unbearable.
What’s frightening is that some of the most prevalent types of experiences women reported using the hashtag could be considered normal, everyday occurrences. But female Twitter users describe these moments as uncomfortable, and sometimes terrifying. Perhaps this is why it seems useful to examine the hashtag within the context of the horror film, particularly possession films, which tend to emphasize women’s bodies being acted upon by external forces. The use of the supernatural—specifically, the presence of demons— in Scott Derrickson’s The Exorcism of Emily Rose(2005) can be illustrative of the horror of #YesAllWomen’s sexist experiences, and the skepticism with which they are sometimes met. The film’s unique combination of courtroom drama and horror film emphasizes its investment in skepticism and seems to allow the film to ask: how can we, as viewers, ever really believe this might be “based on a true story”?
In the film a young girl, Emily Rose, perishes following a protracted period of “attack” by demons while under the protective care of Father Moore, a Catholic priest. Female attorney Erin Bruner is chosen to defend Moore against charges of negligent homicide in Emily’s death. Through the two’s connection to the girl throughout the film, each undergoes what I’ve called here a “conversion experience,” as they learn more about the possibility that demons really do exist—demons that can be read to correspond to the challenges that women face in culture every day. Even before the advent of #YesAllWomen, a film like The Exorcism of Emily Rose shows us how to overcome skepticism and create a connected community of individuals committed to sharing troublesome experiences in the service of awareness and activism.
Skepticism in possession films, or films about [usually female] mental instability certainly isn’t unusual. One of the best examples may come from classical Hollywood, in the form of George Cukor’s 1944 classic, Gaslight, wherein the heroine is convinced by her con-artist husband that she is going crazy, when in fact he is manipulating her environment. Bitch Flicks guest writer Elizabeth Brooks usefully points out that possession films, specifically, often make a point of “gas lighting” female protagonists. While audience members may begin to share the heroine’s perceptions and doubts about her reality, often other characters in possession films are skeptical: the parish priest, the victim’s family, boyfriend, sister, you name it. Emily Rose and Erin Bruner exemplify an oppressive truth: that violence, misogyny, and sexism experienced by one woman—represented in the film as demonic attacks on Emily—initially divides these two women from any sort of communication concerning those issues. In fact, in the film the two never meet. By the end of the movie, however, Erin’s own trials have linked her physically and emotionally with Emily via several terrifying incidents.
Emily’s long walk
The first occurrence of otherworldly forces and their attack on Emily look a lot like a rape. Emily is alone in her dorm room at night, smells something burning, and goes to check it out. We see Emily alone at the end of the long hallway, and we’re startled along with her when a door slams at the end of the corridor; she latches it and returns to her room. She gets back into bed, and suddenly her blankets begin to slip off. Indentations appear in her mattress on either side of her body, and she is forced down onto her back. Her night-shirt is slowly lifted up toward her midriff. As she tries to force it back down, she grapples with an invisible assailant, but her hands are forced to her sides. Then, suddenly the weight is lifted, and she vaults out of bed and onto the floor, screaming. It reads like a rape to me, even if a spiritually-coded one. Weirdly, no one on screen involved with Emily’s case voices this opinion as a possibility. Instead, the lawyers, doctors, and other professionals involved in Emily’s case collectively move right from superstition and spiritual attacks to illegal drugs to epilepsy and psychosis.
The film vacillates between having viewers believe that Emily’s trials are the machinations of the spirit world, and entertaining the possibility that Emily may be psychotic and epileptic. This balance alone, along with the combination of horror film tropes with courtroom drama, makes the film unusual. Additionally, a wide range of female types populate the margins of this film, leaving viewers with perhaps an atypically rich tapestry of female experience. We see a female judge, and a madam fore-woman of the jury. We see Emily’s traditional, devout housewife mom, her encouraging and faithful sister, the female family doctor, and a female anthropologist expert witness. Professional women and homemakers; average citizens and hopeful youth, even with a reasonable range of representation of racial and ethnic backgrounds. In other words, the population of #YesAllWomen in a microcosm, all represented in a world with flaws Emily’s possession calls stark attention to.
Dr. Briggs, a medical expert witness for the prosecution, provides a glaring example. While under cross-examination, he asserts that he would have tranquilized Emily, force-fed her, and administered electro-shock treatment (against her will if necessary) to save her life. Certainly such a course of action would have completely deprived Emily of dominion over her own body—as the “demons” do. “Possession” in this film is not only a spiritual, but physical term: Emily’s welfare and control over her own treatment is repeatedly assaulted by the prosecution and the (usually male) representatives of the medical community. Though Emily aims to become an educated, professional woman herself, her choices are frequently disparaged, and anyone who supports them—her father and Father Moore specifically, are—forgive the pun—demonized.
Father Moore allows Emily to reject the traditional, patriarchal view that medical illness must be treated with drugs and doctors. Additionally, he chronicles her resistance to these oppressions in the form of a tape of the exorcism, which eventually finds its way to Erin. This archive serves as evidence of Emily’s experience that can be shared with a wider community, making it more difficult to refute. Like Twitter archives, Father Moore attempts to preserve and disseminate proof of Emily’s attacks, just as #YesAllWomen serves as proof of the multitude of challenges women face in everyday existence.
Erin’s talisman
To rebut the over-zealous doctor witness and his extreme stance on Emily’s treatment, Erin locates an anthropologist studying contemporary cases of demon possession in the third world. Erin believes this woman may “see possession for what it really is. Maybe we’ve taught ourselves not to see it. Maybe we should try to validate the alternative.” This alternative is learning to see Emily’s plight as what Dr. Sadhira Adani calls a “basic human experience,” which we might read as the situations and circumstances of #YesAllWomen.
Sadhira Adani believes Emily is “hypersensitive,” which we may see as a positive framing of Emily’s resistance or sensitivity to the flaws of patriarchal culture. In other words, Emily’s “problem” is NOT hysteria, psychosis, or epilepsy, but rather clear vision. Further, while it’s certainly a production decision not to use extensive special effects in the film, a lack of effects may also indicate that what happens to Emily is all the more “realistic.” Without what reviewer Liese Spencer calls “Linda Blair fright makeup” Emily’s plight is more relatable to the average audience member—especially female audience members who might more readily pick up on the alignment of Emily’s possession with a more universal women’s issue.
Two sequences from the film tie Erin to Emily through their experiences of fear. After learning that a man Erin previously helped to acquit has killed again, she rushes into a restaurant ladies’ room to compose herself. Visual parallels to Emily’s rape scene abound: the doors of the stalls echo the dormitory doors lining Emily’s hallway, and square mirrors mimic the hallway’s bulletin boards. As Erin splashes her face with water, we hear another door slam—a woman emerges from a stall to check her makeup.
At Erin’s home, the clocks stop, she smells something burning, lights go out when she tries to investigate, she breaks a glass, and finally the door to her apartment seems to open on its own. The significance of the open door should not be missed: like the unlatched door in Emily’s first attack—which this scene also closely mimics—it could mean an intruder has entered Erin’s apartment, intending her harm. She is alone, as Emily was.
Finally, as Erin recounts her experience of finding a locket to Father Moore, she describes a moment after these events which seems to push her to the realization that she and Emily may be more connected than Erin initially imagines.
We see Erin in flashback as she recounts the experience of finding the locket. She considers what it might mean if “demons really do exist.” But just then she finds the locket on the sidewalk, coincidentally inscribed with her own initials. At this moment, she does not feel alone. Instead, she says, it made her feel as if “no matter what mistakes I’d made in the past, at that moment, I was exactly where I was meant to be; like I was on the right path.” This is the purpose of female community, of which #YesAllWomen is a prime example. Erin’s conversion experience is underway after she’s been made to feel some of the same fears as Emily, to be made to feel lost, alone, and even under “attack,” and also after finding this talisman that acknowledges these feelings and knits her to something larger than herself.
Visiting Emily
However, Erin’s conversion is not so simple; her privilege and ambition run deep. Soon she is back to her power-hungry and results-oriented self, speaking in purely legal terms and seeming to ignore the communicative experience she’s just recalled. One last frightening experience seems to be what is needed to get Erin fully on board with the female community Emily signifies.
Erin awakes late at night, alone in her bedroom. We hear whispering, which quickly turns into a distant-sounding scream. When she gets out of bed to investigate, she finds that the tape of Emily’s exorcism is in her living room playing, having turned on by itself. She turns it off, mouthing Emily’s name. Emily’s story has now become her focus.
Emily’s final vision of the Blessed Virgin (the ultimate female symbol of sacrifice) is recounted in a letter that Father Moore gives to Erin once he’s sure her conversion is complete. In it, Emily tells of a dream she has the day after her exorcism. In another flashback, an unseen force leads Emily through a mist. Viewers see Emily have an out-of-body experience. As she leaves her physical body behind, THIS Emily looks beautiful and healthy, not battered, twisted, and weak. Yet the Virgin gives her two avenues of action: she can relinquish her body and die, achieving peace; or stay in her body and suffer. It seems a simple choice, but the Virgin assures Emily that if she stays, her suffering will mean something; her story will help others.
It is for this reason that Father Moore has risked his freedom, for this reason that Erin jeopardizes her powerful position to help in sharing Emily’s experiences—but only after she’s had frightening experiences of her own. Their exposure to Emily’s case initiates a conversion experience by which they are both then unable to deny the pitfalls of women in patriarchy, even from their privileged positions.
In the final scenes of the film, Erin and Father Moore appear vulnerable and displaced, if satisfied. He says he cannot go back to his parish, and Erin has refused her law firm’s offer of partnership. Where will they go now? What will they do? They appear at Emily’s grave, as if on a pilgrimage, observing her epitaph, which reads “work out your own salvation with fear and trembling.”
Ostensibly the goal of any horror film is for the viewer to experience some fear and trembling; the combination of these goals with the framework of logic and justice found in the courtroom drama allows The Exorcism of Emily Rose to achieve a broader aim. We can read Emily’s “hypersensitivity” as vulnerability, a vulnerability that she must summon the courage to share in order to communicate a broader, societal concern that would otherwise remain in the shadows. Spiritual trials aside, Emily’s plight is indeed the plight of all women. Father Moore and Erin Bruner may be the first who achieve symbolic salvation through describing and disseminating Emily’s fear and trembling to others. The Exorcism of Emily Rose and #YesAllWomen illustrates that communication, supportive community, conversation, and awareness are often the first step to activism.
Rebecca Willoughbyholds a Ph.D. in English and Film Studies from Lehigh University. She writes most frequently on horror films and melodrama, and is currently a lecturer in Film/Media Studies at Bucknell University in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania.
Punishment is the main objective of the demon Bathsheba in ‘The Conjuring,’ and specifically she seeks to punish the mother figure of a family. The hauntings and road to possession begin when in 1971, Roger and Carolyn Perron move into an old farmhouse in Rhode Island with their five daughters. Slowly, they begin to experience paranormal disturbances.
This guest post by Caroline Madden appears as part of our theme week on Demon and Spirit Possession.
Punishment is the main objective of the demon Bathsheba in The Conjuring; specifically, she seeks to punish the mother figure of a family. The hauntings and road to possession begin when in 1971, Roger and Carolyn Perron move into an old farmhouse in Rhode Island with their five daughters. Slowly, they begin to experience paranormal disturbances.
Carolyn, the mother, is the most affected and punished by these disturbances. She is physically punished when she wakes up one morning to see bruises on her back. Other bodily harm occurs throughout the hauntings. The spirit goes so far as to pretend to be Carolyn’s daughter when playing a family game with her. She is then dragged to the cellar and attacked.
Carolyn is the only one who is constantly singled out by the demon. The father is not dealt with at all. While the daughters are also horrified and attacked by the spirit, punishing the daughters is just another way for the demon to get at Carolyn. Carolyn cares for her daughters, and it is devastating for her to see them attacked. This is quite a simplistic characterization, for Carolyn is written to merely serve the theme of the story rather than as a dynamic female character. Being a mother is her main characteristic, but she is established as warm and caring one, thus allowing the demon to prey and try to destroy her strong bond with her daughters.
But why is the demon attempting to destroy this relationship between mother and child? Why is the demon trying to attack this loving family and destroy their content life? When Carolyn brings in paranormal investigators Lorraine and Ed Warren, with some research they discover that the demon is that of a woman named Bathsheba. They learn that in the 1850s, Bathsheba was married to a rich farmer named Sherman. Together they had a child, and when it was a week old the father caught Bathsheba sacrificing her baby to the devil. Bathsheba then hanged herself after proclaiming her love for Satan, cursing anyone who tried to take her land. Carolyn learns that Bathsheba specifically seeks out the punishment of mothers, all who have lived on this property before her, in order to have them sacrifice their children to the devil.
While female characters are often the ones singled out for possession, The Conjuring takes another interpretation by viewing possession through the lens of motherhood. We have often had possessed fathers who go on to wreak havoc on their family, such as The Amityville Horror (who the real-life Warrens also investigated) and The Shining. The mother character is often the one to protect her child against the man. (Most notably, Shelley Duvall as Wendy Torrance in The Shining.)
It is perhaps more believable and less horrifying when a father figure turns on their family, for it is more common or widely seen for fathers or stepfathers to be abusive to a family. While mother abuse does happen, it is thought to be quite rare. It is far more horrifying for a once loving mother to turn into an evil, abusive, and psychotic one. When we hear of heartbreaking stories of child abuse or murder at a mother’s hand we often exclaim, “How could a mother EVER do that?” whereas if we hear about a man committing abuse, it is merely shrugged upon and seen as something that always happens. In reality, women who hurt children are not worse than men who hurt children; both are equally awful.
Motherhood in society is more often debated upon and mothers are seen as the sole caretakers for a child. Mothers have to live up to often highly unrealistic standards. If they fail, they are criticized and condemned. Those who rise to those magic standards are seen as noble, for they are doing “the most important job a woman can do.” It is more “acceptable” for a father to walk out on a family or fail to rise to the occasion of fatherhood; you won’t hear much criticism or outcries. But if a mother does, she is deemed horrible and selfish. So in all, it is seen as more shocking and thrilling for a mother to turn against her children in violent and horrifying ways.
After being attacked by Bathsheba, Carolyn is eventually possessed by her. When she wakes up from a nap, she sees Bathsheba lying on top of her. Bathsheba then vomits in her mouth in order to get inside Carolyn and possess her to elicit her last final punishment. Bathsheba will use Carolyn to kill her children and sacrifice them to the devil, as she has so many times before with other mothers. The now possessed Carolyn behaves as normal, conspiring with her husband and the Warren’s to take the children back to the hotel where they will be safe. Then we see Carolyn take two of her daughters, Christine and April, back to the house. The girls are frightened and do not know what is wrong with their mother.
The Warrens and Carolyn’s husband rush back to the house where they find Carolyn trying to stab her daughter Christine with scissors. They eventually are able to tie the possessed Carolyn to a chair to perform an exorcism. Despite being tied up, Bathsheba continues to punish Carolyn with the most painful physical abuse thus far. Carolyn spits and vomits huge amounts of blood, nearly choking on it. When anyone tries to take her outside, Bathsheba makes Carolyn’s skin sizzle and mottle with severe burns. Bathsheba levitates the chair and quickly slams it down on the hard concrete basement floor. Her husband begs Carolyn to “be strong” and “fight” against the demon, but it is clear that it is beyond her power to try and stop this.
The possessed Carolyn eventually escapes and goes to try and kill her other daughter April, who is hiding under the floorboards. Lorraine Warren tries the final act to bring Carolyn back. Lorraine recounts a special memory with her daughters at a lovely day on the beach. Through the power of the special relationship between mother and child, Ed Warren is able to complete the exorcism and Carolyn is able to return to her normal self. For at her heart, Carolyn is a good and caring mother, and there can be nothing to sever that.
The demon attempts to destroy (what is seen as from society) the most sacred bond, the bond between a mother and child. The demon wants to completely destroy all of those relationships, as she had destroyed that idea of motherhood when she killed her child for Satan. But in the end Bathsheba still slightly wins. Even if she was exorcised and Carolyn’s role as a caring mother won out in the end, her daughters still have scarring memories of their mother while she was possessed. Although only for one night, they still suffered from the hands of abuse. Those memories may linger on and alter the viewings of their mother. Bathsheba was still able to alter the mother and daughter relationship but not in the way that she had hoped.
The Conjuring is one of the unique horror films where possession is examined through the eyes of motherhood. We have seen possessed fathers wreaking havoc and terror on their families but not as many mothers. A violent and uncaring mother will always be scarier than a father. An abusive and evil father, we see those horrors more often in everyday life. The Conjuring plays on the already pre-existing attitudes we have to see violence inflicted by mothers on their children as to be of a most evil nature.
Caroline Madden is a recent graduate with a BFA in Acting from Shenandoah Conservatory. She writes about film at Geek Juice, Screenqueens, and her blog. You can usually find her watching movies or listening to Bruce Springsteen.
Halloween is upon us, so it’s time to contemplate the prolific theme of demon/spirit possession in film and on TV. Why is this such a prevalent theme? In many ways, possession explains evil as something separate from ourselves, something that infects us, which dichotomizes good and evil.
Our theme week for October 2014 will be Demon/Spirit Possession.
Halloween is upon us, so it’s time to contemplate the prolific theme of demon/spirit possession in film and on TV. Why is this such a prevalent theme? In many ways, possession explains evil as something separate from ourselves, something that infects us, which dichotomizes good and evil. An example of this is the separation between Angel and Angelus in both the shows Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel. In this case, vampirism is used as a metaphor for addiction; it is something that happens to Angel, taking away his subjectivity and rendering him choiceless. Another prime example is Bob from Twin Peaks, an evil spirit who possesses victims, compelling them to perform depraved acts of violence, sexual deviance, and destruction.
Does separating evil from the person who performs the act actually explain the “evil” itself, or does it simply make excuses for bad and, sometimes, inexplicably cruel behavior?
Another permutation of possession creates a binary between innocence and evil, which we see in films focusing on child possession (The Exorcist, The Children, and Village of the Damned). These types of films articulate discomfort surrounding the loss of innocence as well as a generalized fear of children, representing them as unknowable and even alien. The question sometimes arises, “Are they even possessed, or are children by nature this wicked and amoral?”
In possession themed media, we also see a binary between innocence and sexuality. This example occurs particularly when young women are the victims of possession. Such films allow forbidden sexual desires to be acted out on film giving the audience voyeuristic indulgence like in the case of Jennifer’s Body or Witchboard while iterating a cultural fear of female sexuality in young women. In these cases, female sexuality is seen as dangerous and uncontrollable, powerful, and without boundaries.
In any of these types of possession film, punishment is very often an underlying theme. The possessed person punishes those around them and is simultaneously punished as a consequence of the spirit or demon’s disregard for its host’s health, relationships, or life. It’s worthwhile to consider why these narratives single out certain people or groups for punishment.
Feel free to use the examples below to inspire your writing on this subject, or choose your own source material.
We’d like to avoid as much overlap as possible for this theme, so get your proposals in early if you know which film you’d like to write about. We accept both original pieces and cross-posts, and we respond to queries within a week.
Most of our pieces are between 1,000 and 2,000 words, and include links and images. Please send your piece as a Microsoft Word document to btchflcks[at]gmail[dot]com, including links to all images, and include a 2- to 3-sentence bio.
If you have written for us before, please indicate that in your proposal, and if not, send a writing sample if possible.
Please be familiar with our publication and look over recent and popular posts to get an idea of Bitch Flicks’ style and purpose. We encourage writers to use our search function to see if your topic has been written about before, and link when appropriate (hyperlinks to sources are welcome, as well).
The final due date for these submissions is Friday, October 24 by midnight.
