Childhood memories are funny things. For some people they are clear, crystalised moments, which they come back to; others have blocked most of them out while they try to sift through the trauma. There is no definite pattern for how we remember things or why we remember them either, but they are part of us, a thing we carry through the rest of our lives. Sometimes the weight is painful, sometimes it is comforting like a weighed blanket holding firm through the dark night.
For me, childhood memories are a series of impressions, sometimes images, sometimes emotions that resurface when familiar situations cross my path. They aren’t always good, but they are part of me, and in the last couple of years I have come to terms with a lot of the bad through writing horror. This realisation took me by the throat after I attended an online talk with Suzan Palumbo—I believe it was on Flights of Foundry a couple of years ago, my memory fails me on the rest. But the discussion there stayed with me.
Enter Longlegs. I avoided the trailers and the marketing and everything else, not consciously, but simply because when watching films, I prefer to have as little information as possible before going in. This has become an unconscious habit; no trailers, no peeking, no reviews if there is a film that catches my interest by virtue of its title, blurb, or themes. This has made my movie experiences as of late a lot more enjoyable because the trailers have not built any preconceived notions as to what to expect. I can sit down and enjoy the ride, and Longlegs was A Ride.
Agent Lee Harker, played by Maika Monroe, is set to investigate a series of killings by a man who calls himself Longlegs, whose ability to murder appears to be supernatural (and Nicholas Cage is incredible as Longlegs, truly everything I wanted to see on screen). Sounds like Silence of the Lambs but with a supernatural twist, and as an avid horror fan, I was there back row and centre (front row is too close to the screen for my taste!). Now, this is the last viewing of the evening on the first day, and the cinema is small, packed, and suddenly as the final act of the film arrives, the projector fails. We were all ushered out and given free tickets for our trouble.
Admittedly, a very unexpected interruption to a film, but even without the final end and the revelations, I was hooked on Longlegs. It was less of an interest in who Longlegs was and more of how his presence, goals, and “abilities” affected the story and guided Lee on her journey. There have been countless videos analysing all the details and lore of the film, pointing out all the neat details put in by the filmmakers; a personal favourite of mine is the dialogue leaning in some parts into “Lynchean territory,”1 and this uncanniness was really affective to the experience.
Satanic panic, religious horror, family trauma, the director’s own intentions when making the film are all important building blocks—Oz Perkins is the son of Anthony Perkins, who played Norman Bates in Hitchcock’s Psycho—but the film bewitched me not because of any of these. I felt it more akin to a fairy tale gone dark, a monster lurking in the dark closer to Guillermo del Toro’s unforgettable Pale Man from Pan’s Labyrinth. Even though it would undoubtedly be categorized as a religious horror, Longlegs worships Satan: all the symbolism relates to Revelation, prayers, and so on. So, why did it not sink in with me in this manner?
Maybe because of my expectations for religious horror; First Omen is my “to-go” as a religious horror film, in which religion is the key horror element, but this was not the case with Longlegs. The horror evoked was closer to Silence of the Lambs, Zodiac, and True Detective. All three deal with killers on the loose evading justice, a game of cat and mouse, heightened sense of danger, and rich cinematography that builds an atmosphere that transports you into the setting. There is a fine line between the religious and the serial killer aspects, but ultimately the question is: is there something supernatural or not? The answer seems to be a solid yes, but it is up to personal interpretation as to how much those elements encroach on the plot. Longlegs speaks more about a general darkness; Satan is simply a name it wears, but it’s much more primal.
Hannibal, from the TV series, is not supernatural, but there certainly is something eerily inhuman in the way he manages to conduct his murders, his escapes, and in general, himself. Longlegs echoes this throughout the film: how does he get away with his murders? The audience wants to find a logical explanation until there is confirmation as to his satanic associations, but even then, this is muddy. Longlegs, unlike Hannibal, does hold some sort of magic or has the devil’s luck, literally. Like watching an old photograph exposed to the elements, it is there but it also isn’t. The link is there but maybe, just maybe it isn’t supernatural entirely or maybe it is more supernatural than we think.
On my first watch, the supernatural elements seemed to be the main driving factor: satanic panic, the devil being present, was real in the film—but to what extent? Then, after revising the movie a second time, my mind was made up: it is supernatural, but rather than satanic, to me it felt like a blanket of supernaturality sprinkled over the narrative. A light dusting of fresh snow that is visible but not permanent. The audience can tread past it without paying attention or they can stop and feel the cold, damp snow seep into them.
“It’s like a long dream. And so dark. A world of dark. Like a nowhere between here and there.” Spoken by the single survivor of Longlegs, Carrie Anne, the delivery of these lines resonated within me. The horror in the liminal spaces, the horror that transcends our understanding, the horror that lingers within each of us and is manifested or interpreted according to our individual values and experiences. There is an ephemerality that I felt in Longlegs that fell into this category; whether Longlegs is human or an emissary of the devil or something else entirely is irrelevant. The part that matters is the eeriness he brings out when watching him and the results of his actions. Ambiguity is key. That is the horror that I love, and all my favourite films evoke that in me. It’s not just fear, it is more, it reaches out into the parts of me that have no name and scream to be felt.
Lee’s journey in Longlegs, a little lost, a little dream, felt familiar. Watching Lee Harker struggling with who she is, what she remembers, what she wants, and the inevitable pull of Longlegs in her life was entrancing. I was not afraid for her; I was not afraid of Longlegs; I was on a journey that unsettled and took me out of my own head. Sometimes, it all feels like you are trudging along, chasing something or someone, while you watch for the shadows of memories lurking around. Those memories which are ready to take the shape of the dark and loom over your shoulder, but these evoke fear that stings with loneliness, with displacement and longing.
Horror is catharsis for me. I do not watch horror films to be scared; seeing monsters on the screen, whether human or cosmic or from folklore feels like a respite from everything happening around me. I want horror to inspire stories within. In Longlegs, it is the potential for it being cosmic horror that elevates the narrative for me. There are no direct answers, no certainty as to what will come next, but the end isn’t vague enough to be frustrating. Agent Harker confronting her mother during the final act does bring the story to a clear ending, but there are enough questions that (I don’t believe require a sequel or prequel) allow the film to linger. The room for interpretation, for different questions to be formulated, for analysis and discussion.
Catharsis in Longlegs comes at the end: Harker has confronted her mother, has seemingly broken the cycle. However, the devil or whatever horror is still out there, undefeated and lingering and waiting in the shadows. I find that comforting, and hope that perhaps some of those eerie things will wander into my thoughts and leave an imprint of themselves behind. The excitement and terror of there being something more out there is soothing; I felt more like myself by the end of the film, as if like Carrie Anne and I had been in a long sleep and woke up with the lights turned back on. Perhaps that is an aspect of horror to consider: the horror that takes you through a terrifying ordeal and allows us to reclaim ourselves through that experience.
1 https://youtu.be/LYR7LWcXj0o?si=t2cg7WaFpALZOFr3
© 2024 Tania Chen
