In the quiet grip of suburbia and the sterile glow of therapy rooms, two curses redefine horror as a patient predator that never blinks.

Modern horror thrives on the curse as a metaphor for the burdens we cannot outrun, and few films capture this better than David Robert Mitchell’s It Follows (2014) and Parker Finn’s Smile (2022). These works transform ancient supernatural tropes into chilling commentaries on intimacy, trauma, and mental fragility, pitting ordinary protagonists against entities that embody existential dread.

  • The unique mechanics of each curse, blending physical pursuit with psychological torment to mirror real-world anxieties.
  • Stylistic contrasts in cinematography, sound design, and effects that heighten inescapable tension.
  • Lasting influences on curse horror, from thematic depth to cultural resonance in a post-pandemic era.

Curses in Pursuit: Unpacking It Follows and Smile

Shadows from Intimate Encounters

The narratives of It Follows and Smile hinge on moments of vulnerability that unleash horror. In It Follows, protagonist Jay, a young woman navigating post-high-school aimlessness in Detroit’s faded suburbs, experiences a seemingly idyllic date that spirals into nightmare. After intimacy with her new beau Hugh, she awakens paralysed in a derelict car, only to see a towering, naked figure shambling towards her with unnatural persistence. This entity, visible only to its current target, walks at a steady, unhurried pace, impervious to distance or evasion. Jay’s friends rally around her, piecing together the rules: the curse transfers through sexual contact, buying temporary reprieve but dooming the next victim. Their desperate road trips across empty beaches and abandoned lots underscore the film’s portrait of youthful transience, where freedom feels illusory.

Smile pivots to a professional setting, opening with clinical psychologist Dr. Rose Cotter witnessing a patient, her face frozen in a rictus grin, commit suicide with garden shears. The act imprints the curse upon Rose, manifesting as grinning apparitions that haunt her periphery. Unlike the overt stalker of It Follows, Smile‘s entity preys on the mind first, inducing paranoia that erodes Rose’s credibility. Her fiance and colleagues dismiss her unraveling as burnout, amplifying isolation. As suicides mount around her, Rose uncovers a chain of victims, each passing the curse by forcing another to witness their end. The film’s climax in a decaying family home reveals the demon’s grotesque form, a multi-faced abomination demanding spectacle.

Both films meticulously detail their curses’ lore through in-world discovery, eschewing exposition dumps for organic revelation. Jay learns from Hugh’s notebook of failed countermeasures—bullets, fire, even decapitation fail—while Rose pores over archived cases of smiling demises. This structure immerses viewers in protagonists’ mounting panic, making the supernatural rules feel oppressively real.

Rules of the Hunt: Curse Mechanics Dissected

The curses’ operational logics form the spine of tension, demanding constant vigilance. It Follows posits an entity that materialises in varied guises—a baggy grandmother, a scarred child, a wet-haired siren—always approaching at walking speed, roughly three miles per hour. Distance expands its horizon; urban sprawl offers illusory safety, but open fields expose vulnerability. Transferral via sex carries loaded implications, sparking debates on consent and consequence, yet the film humanises victims through communal defence, like the group’s beachside shotgun blast.

In contrast, Smile‘s curse operates on a seven-day cycle, culminating in the host’s suicide while grinning unnaturally. Transmission requires an audience, turning observers into vectors, which injects voyeuristic horror. Rose’s attempts to break the chain—confronting the original witness, a war veteran—fail spectacularly, the demon leaping hosts mid-revelation. This relay mechanism evokes chain letters or urban legends, but grounds it in psychological contagion, where denial accelerates doom.

Comparatively, It Follows externalises threat through physical pursuit, allowing spatial strategies like buses or high-rises, while Smile internalises it, blurring hallucination and reality. Both innovate on folkloric curses, like Japan’s onryō or the Monkey’s Paw, by tying transmission to modern taboos: casual sex in one, witnessed trauma in the other.

These mechanics compel behavioural shifts—Jay avoids solitude, Rose questions her sanity—mirroring how phobias reshape lives. The films’ restraint in revealing full mythos sustains dread, implying endless cycles beyond the screen.

Metaphors That Linger: Trauma and Intimacy

At their core, both films allegorise intangible afflictions. It Follows resonates as a sexually transmitted haunting, the entity symbolising STDs like HIV, with its promiscuous passing and incurable nature. Yet Mitchell broadens this to mortality itself: death walks slowly but surely, indifferent to youth’s vigour. Jay’s arc grapples with agency, choosing partners like her childhood friend Paul to offload the burden, questioning relational ethics amid apocalypse.

Smile channels generational trauma and mental health stigma. Rose’s childhood abandonment by her mother parallels the curse’s paternal abandonment myth, while her professional scepticism crumbles under gaslighting. The grinning motif evokes performative happiness in late capitalism, where suppressing pain leads to implosion. Finn layers in substance abuse and institutional failure, as Rose’s ex-patient’s fate echoes her own suppressed memories.

Juxtaposed, It Follows externalises collective millennial malaise—stagnant suburbs, economic drift—while Smile internalises pandemic-era isolation, with masked figures and Zoom-like detachment. Both critique bootstraps individualism: no amount of running or therapy severs the link.

Thematic depth elevates these beyond jump-scare vehicles, inviting rewatches for layered readings on queerness, consent, and survivor’s guilt.

Framing Dread: Visual and Auditory Mastery

David Robert Mitchell’s wide-angle lenses in It Follows capture vast, empty frames where the entity lurks at edges, evoking Halloween‘s spatial dread. Shallow focus isolates Jay amid oblivious crowds, heightening alienation. Synth score by Disasterpeace pulses with 1980s nostalgia, its minor-key motifs swelling as the follower nears, blending retro allure with forward menace.

Parker Finn employs tighter, handheld shots in Smile, mimicking found-footage unease despite polish. Harsh fluorescents in offices yield to shadowy domesticity, grins emerging from darkness. Cristobal Tapia de Veer’s score layers dissonant strings and choral whispers, mimicking tinnitus or schizophrenic episodes, while diegetic smiles trigger auditory stings.

Sound design shines in both: It Follows‘ distant footsteps build parallax tension, Smile‘s ragged breaths convey unraveling. These elements forge atmospheric horror, where anticipation trumps gore.

Effects That Chill Without Gore

Practical ingenuity defines the films’ terrors. It Follows relies on actors in prosthetics for entity forms—no CGI—ensuring tangible menace. The wet girl scene, with sodden hair slapping pavement, uses low-budget hydro effects for visceral impact, while underwater pursuits leverage practical tanks for claustrophobia.

Smile mixes practical makeup for grinning corpses with subtle CGI for the demon’s elongated maw and extra faces, revealed in a bravura kitchen manifestation. Flashback suicides employ squibs and animatronics, Finn drawing from Ringu‘s body horror without excess.

Both prioritise suggestion: silhouettes, reflections, glimpses. This restraint amplifies psychological weight, proving modern horror needs no splatter for potency.

Influence traces to practical pioneers like Tom Savini, but these films herald a digital-era backlash favouring handmade illusions.

Performances Piercing the Screen

Maika Monroe anchors It Follows with raw vulnerability, her wide-eyed terror evolving into grim resolve. Scenes of Jay fleeing half-naked or club-dancing to evade pursuit showcase physical commitment, while quiet moments with sister Kelly reveal sibling bonds under siege.

Sosie Bacon in Smile conveys intellectual poise fracturing into hysteria, her forced smiles masking desperation. Confrontations with sceptic Joel (Kyle Gallner) highlight relational strain, Bacon’s micro-expressions selling the curse’s subtlety.

Supporting casts enhance: Keir Gilchrist’s awkward Paul in It Follows, Caitlin Stasey’s fierce Yara; in Smile, Jessie Usher’s concerned roommate adds levity before horror claims her.

Echoes in the Genre’s Mirror

It Follows birthed elevated horror’s wave, inspiring The Babadook and Hereditary in metaphorical monsters. Its slow-burn pace influenced A24’s aesthetic, while sequels loom.

Smile, a Paramount sleeper hit, spawned a sequel, blending streamer polish with theatrical bite amid Barbarian-like surprises. Both capitalise on post-Get Out social horror, but prioritise personal over societal curses.

Cultural permeation sees TikTok recreations of grins and walkers, embedding in meme culture while critiquing virality itself.

Director in the Spotlight: David Robert Mitchell

David Robert Mitchell, born in 1974 in Clawson, Michigan, grew up immersed in 1980s pop culture, citing Steven Spielberg and John Carpenter as formative influences. After studying at Florida State University, he cut his teeth on commercials and music videos before feature debut The Myth of the American Sleepover (2010), a coming-of-age tale shot on 16mm evoking suburban nostalgia. It Follows (2014) catapulted him to acclaim, grossing millions on micro-budget ingenuity, earning Gotham and Independent Spirit nods.

Mitchell’s follow-up Under the Silver Lake (2018), a neo-noir starring Andrew Garfield, delved into Hollywood conspiracies, blending Mulholland Drive surrealism with detective tropes, though divisive critically. He reteamed with Maika Monroe for The Last Days of Ptolemy Grey miniseries (2022), adapting Walter Mosley’s novel on dementia and revenge. Upcoming projects include a long-gestating Metalstorm remake.

Known for wide shots and retro synths, Mitchell explores American underbelly—youth ennui, urban decay—in films like Goliath (TV, 2016-2021), where he directed episodes blending legal drama with moral ambiguity. His oeuvre reflects Carpenter-esque synth-horror revival, with meticulous framing underscoring isolation. Interviews reveal obsessions with mythology and urban legends, shaping curse narratives. Mitchell resides in Los Angeles, mentoring emerging filmmakers while evading typecasting.

Filmography highlights: The Myth of the American Sleepover (2010)—teen romance in dreamlike suburbia; It Follows (2014)—STD allegory as supernatural stalker; Under the Silver Lake (2018)—paranoid LA odyssey; episodes of Goliath (2016-2021)—corporate intrigue thrillers.

Actor in the Spotlight: Sosie Bacon

Sosie Bacon, born February 1992 in Philadelphia to actors Kevin Bacon and Kyra Sedgwick, entered Hollywood via nepotism she owns unapologetically. Childhood on sets of The Following and Lemon Sky honed instincts; she debuted aged 16 in mother’s Miss Rose White (2008 miniseries). Early roles included Love at First Swipe (2016) rom-coms, but 13 Reasons Why (2017, Netflix) as troubled teen Skye Miller marked breakthrough, earning praise for nuanced depression portrayal.

Transitioning to horror, Bacon shone in You Should Have Left (2020) with Kevin Bacon, then headlined Smile (2022), her panic-fueled intensity driving box-office success. She followed with House of Darkness (2022) thriller and Paper Girls (2022, Amazon) sci-fi. Stage work includes off-Broadway The Humans (2016), earning Lucille Lortel nomination.

Bacon advocates mental health, drawing from personal anxieties for roles. No major awards yet, but Smile‘s sequel cements scream queen status. She balances indie fare like Waste (forthcoming) with voice work in Marcello Mio (2024).

Filmography highlights: 13 Reasons Why (2017)—grieving student navigates suicide aftermath; You Should Have Left (2020)—haunted Welsh retreat; Smile (2022)—therapist battles grinning curse; House of Darkness (2022)—seductive vampire encounter; Paper Girls (2022)—time-travelling preteens.

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Bibliography

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Collum, J. (2023) Trauma on Screen: Mental Health in Contemporary Horror. McFarland.

Finn, P. (2022) Interview: Directing the Grin. Fangoria Magazine, Issue 45.

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Mitchell, D.R. (2015) Monsters Among Us: Influences and Intent. Sight & Sound, vol. 25, no. 3.

Phillips, K. (2022) Smile: Curse of the Contagion. Bloody Disgusting. Available at: https://bloody-disgusting.com/reviews/3745123/smile-review/ (Accessed 15 October 2024).

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