Jennifer Kent and "The Babadook"

Pictured: Australian director Jennifer Kent.

Horror is just about the only genre of film I genuinely care about, in a broad sense. It’s a bit of a guilty pleasure. There are a handful of directors who I deeply enjoy the work of and massively respect, but when it comes to genre itself, horror is the only one I ever have true want for. There’s something inherently empowering in choosing to feel fear (or attempting to). Now, it’s not exactly a genre known for its feminist appeal, although if you try hard enough, you can surely extract some semblance of female heroism (in whatever form it ends up taking) from many films. But the point is, I’m a woman, and I love horror, and I especially love horror that gets to me on more than a pure visceral level.

Jennifer Kent’s The Babadook is different, and although I saw it years ago, it’s still easily one of my favorite films because the narrative is more complicated and different from what I’m used to seeing. Let’s begin with Kent herself: she’s an actor, writer, and director from Brisbane, Australia. While her career began with acting, after reportedly losing interest in the craft, she decided she’d rather do work behind the camera instead. The Babadook was her feature-length directorial debut; it’s majorly impressive, given the critical acclaim it received. Kent is also an advocate for female (horror) directors and has spoken on the importance of subversive horror.

I’ll quickly summarize the movie, since if you’ve seen it you’re already well aware of everything I’m talking about here, and if you haven’t seen it, I don’t want to spoil you too much and would rather you watch it. The main narrative within the movie is about (single) motherhood while struggling with grief and trauma, and the trials and tribulations that come along with all of it. The horrific element appears in the form of a monster that both mother and son have to contend with, but I’d argue that the monster itself isn’t exactly the focal point of the movie – not for me, at least. There’s so much focus on Amelia’s relationship with her son and herself that the takeaway message is more about facing one’s inner-demons than anything.

In an interview with The Dissolve, Kent touches upon Amelia’s personality: “She’s had these terrible things happen and people are trying to help her out, but she’s like, “I’m fine, I’m fine. I’ll do something for you.” And that’s a typically altruistic feminine trait, and I think it has massive negative repercussions. You get the suppression, and then underneath the nice girl is this monster that’s waiting to explode.” This touches upon the idea of gender roles that’s so ingrained in us, as women are viewed as the nurturers with a heavy emotional burden to bear, prioritizing others and forgoing self-care and forever internalizing our rage (hooks, Understanding Patriarchy, p. 19). Amelia suppress her emotions in favor of trying to come across as rational and unaffected until she inevitably hits her breaking point. This reminded me of what Audre Lorde said in Poetry is Not a Luxury: “I feel, therefore I can be free (p. 372).” Amelia doesn’t allow herself to properly process everything he’s going through, almost seeing is as a sign of weakness – and a reason she’s so susceptible to the monster.

A scene from the film; Amelia and her son, Sam, eat a meal together.

There are also specific, relatively minor things within the movie that have little bearing on the plot, but are important enough to talk about here. One is the way in which Amelia’s sexuality is portrayed – yes, even single mothers can have healthy sex lives, too. Or at least try to. Horror films (especially within the slasher subgenre) have a rather particular way of depicting female sexuality when it’s present – there’s the virgin, there’s the slut, and there’s the abject monstrosity of female sexuality (often through hypersexualization); there’s not much room for anything else. But here, whenever Amelia’s sexuality is referenced, it doesn’t feel gratuitous so much as it drives home a point regarding her loneliness after her husband’s death and her strained relationship with her son. The perspective here doesn’t have that ‘male gaze’ quality to it, even if it is voyeuristic – it’s not done so purely for the sake of the viewer’s pleasure (Mulvey, Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema, p. 835). It’s just one of many reasons why this movie is considered rather feminist, and you can read more of them here.

As said before, critics and many horror enthusiasts had nothing but praise for the film, from the cinematic technique to the plot to its subversion of tropes. Of course, plenty of people have said that The Babadook isn’t all that scary. But how many horror movies are genuinely scary, and who’s to determine what qualifies as scary? How many horror movies aren’t entrenched in patterns of predictability, using gore and shock value in order to hopefully catch the audience off-guard or provoke a reaction? I’ll admit that I was somehow hesitant to talk about this, as it’s become a meme over the past year, – not that there’s anything wrong with that necessarily, but it does feel like the movie’s significance is now often overlooked. But I personally think it’s a rather exceptional film overall, and one that I discussed in great detail with a friend of mine after we watched it. If you’re at all interested after reading this, I urge you to check it out. And if you’ve got any horror movie recommendations for me, feminist or otherwise, feel free to drop me a line.

Citations:

• hooks, bell. “Understanding Patriarchy.” 
• Lorde, Audre. “Poetry is Not a Luxury.” 
• Mulvey, Laura. “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.”