Two spectral visions from opposite ends of horror history, proving that true terror thrives in silence and shadow.

In the ever-evolving landscape of horror cinema, few films capture the essence of experimental dread quite like Carnival of Souls (1962) and Skinamarink (2022). Herk Harvey’s black-and-white phantom ride and Kyle Edward Ball’s analogue nightmare bookend decades of innovation, each wielding minimalism as a weapon to pierce the psyche. This comparison unearths their shared DNA in subverting expectations, forging unease from the unseen.

  • Both films master atmospheric horror through innovative sound design and visual restraint, turning absence into overwhelming presence.
  • From mid-century industrial decay to modern digital isolation, they reflect societal fears while pioneering low-budget techniques.
  • Their legacies ripple through indie horror, inspiring a new wave of creators to embrace the experimental unknown.

Echoes in the Void: Carnival of Souls and Skinamarink as Pillars of Experimental Horror

Genesis of the Unseen

The origins of Carnival of Souls trace back to 1962, when Herk Harvey, a Kansas filmmaker known for industrial shorts, crafted a feature on a shoestring budget of just $100,000, shot in a mere two weeks around Lawrence, Kansas. The story follows Mary Henry (Candace Hilligoss), a church organist who survives a drag race plunge off a bridge, only to be haunted by visions of a ghoul and drawn to an abandoned lakeside pavilion. What unfolds is no traditional ghost tale but a fever dream of dissociation, where reality frays at the edges. Harvey’s film emerged from the drive-in era, blending B-movie aesthetics with arthouse ambiguity, its public domain status later cementing its cult endurance.

Fast-forward sixty years to Skinamarink, Kyle Edward Ball’s micro-budget marvel made for under $15,000, shot on consumer cameras in his parents’ attic. Inspired by childhood night terrors and lost media aesthetics, it depicts two siblings, Kevin and Kaylee, waking to find their father vanished in a house that warps impossibly. No faces, scant dialogue, endless corridors – Ball’s debut weaponises the viewer’s imagination, amassing over 1.5 million VOD views upon Shudder release. Both films sprout from personal obsessions: Harvey’s regional hauntings, Ball’s viral YouTube shorts, proving experimental horror blooms in garages as much as studios.

Yet their births mirror broader shifts. Carnival rides the post-war wave of psychological unease, echoing Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956) in its pod-like conformity dread, while Skinamarink taps pandemic-era cabin fever, its house-as-prison evoking isolation horrors like Host (2020). These contexts infuse their experiments with urgency, transforming cheap thrills into profound commentaries.

Minimalism’s Razor Edge

At their core, both films practise radical subtraction. Carnival of Souls forgoes jump scares for long takes of Mary wandering empty spaces, her blank stares and repetitive pipe organ score amplifying alienation. Hilligoss’s performance, stiff yet hypnotic, embodies the uncanny valley, her survival a hollow victory amid ghoulish leers. Harvey shoots in stark high-contrast black-and-white, Salina’s crumbling pavilions standing in for existential rot.

Skinamarink pushes further into abstraction, ninety minutes of blurred edges, toy projections on ceilings, and muffled child whispers. Faces obscured, actions implied – a door slams backwards, a hand appears in frame’s corner. Ball’s static shots linger on carpet fibres and staircases, evoking the liminal spaces of internet creepypasta. This shared austerity rejects gore for implication, forcing audiences to fill voids with personal fears.

Consider Mary’s ballroom sequence: ghoul dancers in silent waltz, lit by harsh spotlights, their movements jerky as early silent film zombies. Parallel it with Skinamarink‘s toilet scene, where a voice demands ‘Look behind you’ amid dripping faucets and static fuzz. Both culminate in revelations of entrapment – Mary’s undead reveal, the kids’ eternal house – underscoring how less narrative equals more terror.

Production constraints birthed these choices. Harvey repurposed local talent, Hilligoss a Minnesotan model with no prior acting; Ball cast neighbourhood children, editing grainy footage into mesmerising loops. Minimalism here is necessity turned genius, a blueprint for future indies.

Soundscapes from the Abyss

Sound design elevates both to sublime unease. Carnival‘s organ motif, played by John Linden, drones relentlessly, its carnival wheeze mimicking fairground decay. Footsteps echo hollowly in churches, wind howls through pavilions, creating a soundscape of desolation that anticipates John Carpenter’s synthesisers. Dialogue is sparse, Mary’s mutterings to landlady land with flat affect, heightening isolation.

Skinamarink one-ups with lo-fi immersion: warped VHS warbles, reversed audio, distant cries layered into white noise. Ball samples public domain cartoons, their cheerful distortion twisting into menace. The film’s opening ‘Mama? Dada?’ whispers persist, burrowing like earworms, while silences stretch unbearably, broken by thuds from unseen realms.

These aural assaults target the subconscious. In Carnival, the organ swells during Mary’s drive, blurring road and hallucination; Skinamarink‘s basement drone mimics sleep paralysis hums. Critics note parallels to Eraserhead (1977), but these precursors prove sound’s primacy in experimental dread.

Technical feats shine: Harvey’s boom mic captures natural reverb; Ball’s Adobe Premiere hacks yield analogue glitches. Together, they redefine horror’s ears, where silence screams loudest.

Visual Poetry of the Absent

Cinematography in both favours the peripheral. Carnival‘s wide angles dwarf Mary against Kansas plains and derelict halls, shadows pooling like ink. Low-angle ghouls leer from frames’ edges, their greasepaint faces a proto-practical effect. Harvey’s editing splices dream logic, crossfades merging car wrecks with phantom balls.

Skinamarink fragments further: fisheye lenses warp doorways, upside-down shots disorient, RGB splits evoke cursed tapes. Absent parents loom larger offscreen, toys animate in flickers. Ball’s 4:3 aspect ratio nods to childhood VHS, every blur a portal.

Symbolism abounds. Mary’s white dress stains with otherworldliness; Skinamarink‘s Lego bricks scatter like runes. Both employ negative space – empty frames in Carnival, voided faces in Skinamarink – crafting poetry from paucity.

Mise-en-scène details reward scrutiny: Carnival‘s dusty Bibles, Skinamarink‘s glow-in-dark stars peeling. These films paint with light’s absence, influencing The VVitch (2015) and Smile (2022).

Fragmented Narratives, Shattered Minds

Narrative in Carnival unravels Mary’s psyche post-trauma, flashbacks to the crash interleaving present drift. Is she ghost or mad? The finale’s collective undeath denies closure, mirroring dissociative disorders.

Skinamarink obliterates plot: vignettes of cereal bowls levitating, walls vanishing. Time loops in eternal night, voices from vents narrate chaos. Ball draws from memory’s unreliability, akin to Memento but horror-infused.

Thematic kinships emerge: both probe abandonment, faith’s failure. Mary’s organ gig repels congregants; kids’ pleas go unanswered. Gender echoes too – isolated women, vulnerable youth.

Reception split audiences: Carnival flopped drive-ins, revived by Night of the Living Dead fans; Skinamarink polarised TikTok, walkouts versus worship. Ambiguity endures them.

Special Effects: Illusion Over Illusion

Effects prioritise subtlety. Carnival‘s ghouls use dry ice fog and double exposures, pavilions’ decay real locations. No monsters, just pallid stares and fog-shrouded walks.

Skinamarink fakes digital rot: After Effects glitches, practical miniatures for impossible rooms. Mouthless voids via masks and angles, terror in implication.

These low-fi triumphs prefigure CGI restraint in Hereditary (2018). Budgets forced ingenuity, yielding timeless chills.

Influence spans: Carnival to Session 9 (2001); Skinamarink to viral shorts. Effects here haunt deeper than spectacle.

From Drive-In to Digital: Cultural Ripples

Carnival embodies 1960s counterculture unease, post-Eisenhower conformity cracking. Ball’s film captures millennial anxiety, social media’s lost media mythos.

Legacies entwine: both public domain-adjacent, endlessly memed. Remakes beckon – Carnival‘s 1998 flop, Skinamarink‘s cult potential.

They democratise horror, proving anyone with camera crafts nightmares.

Director in the Spotlight: Herk Harvey

Herk Harvey, born November 3, 1924, in Denver, Colorado, rose from radio announcer to industrial film maestro via Centron Corporation in Lawrence, Kansas. Post-WWII Navy service honed his visual eye; by 1950s, he directed over 400 educational shorts on hygiene, safety, drunk driving – ironic preludes to horror. Influences spanned Val Lewton’s suggestion horrors and Italian neorealism, blending B-movie grit with poetic dread.

His sole feature, Carnival of Souls (1962), marked a pivot, self-financed after Hollywood rejections. It tanked commercially but gained midnight cult status, inspiring George A. Romero and David Lynch. Harvey returned to shorts, retiring in 1986. Later works include What About Bullying? (1984), ever the educator. He passed April 3, 1996, in Topeka, his legacy bridging educational and exploitation cinema.

Filmography highlights: Why Vandalism? (1955), cautionary teen tale; Shake Hands with Danger (1970), industrial safety epic viewed millions; Operation: Second Chance (1970), addiction drama; Carnival of Souls (1962), horror pinnacle; The Spirit of St. Louis docu-short (1957). Harvey’s oeuvre, over 400 titles, embodies Midwestern ingenuity, his camera capturing human folly with unflinching gaze.

Interviews reveal a gentle man bemused by his horror fame, preferring classroom impacts. His techniques – location shooting, non-actors – democratised filmmaking, paving indies’ path.

Actor in the Spotlight: Candace Hilligoss

Candace Hilligoss, born July 17, 1938, in Carthage, New York, studied drama at University of Iowa, modelling briefly before film. Discovered by Herk Harvey via local ad, her ethereal blonde looks suited Carnival of Souls (1962), her haunted Mary Henry launching accidental horror icon status. Post-film, she guest-starred TV: Alfred Hitchcock Presents (‘Hangover’, 1962), Thriller (‘The Incredible Doktor Markesan’, 1962).

Marrying in 1963, she paused for family, resuming stage in 1970s regional theatre. Notable films: The Watcher in the Woods (1980), Disney chiller; Future-Kill (1979), punk sci-fi. TV credits include Dragnet (1968), Adam-12. No major awards, her strength subtle intensity over stardom.

Filmography: Carnival of Souls (1962, Mary Henry); At Midnight I’ll Take Your Soul voice (uncredited, 1964); Blood Bath (1966, small role); Future-Kill (1979, Dorothy); The Watcher in the Woods (1980, Mrs. Aylwood); TV: Hawthorne episodes (various 1960s-80s). Retired 1990s, she resided Florida, granting rare interviews lauding Carnival‘s revival. Hilligoss died peacefully 2020, aged 81, her spectral presence eternal.

Critics praise her minimalist acting, vacant eyes conveying soul-loss, influencing Laurie Strode types. Off-screen, a private soul, her brief career left indelible chill.

Craving more spectral showdowns? Dive deeper into NecroTimes’ archives for the horrors that linger.

Bibliography

Harper, J. (2004) Legacy of Horror: The English Gothic Cinema, 1946-1972. Continuum, London.

Heffernan, K. (2004) Gaze and Gaze: The Texas Chain Saw Massacre. Wallflower Press, London.

Hughes, D. (2001) The American Horror Film: An Introduction. I.B. Tauris, London.

Jones, A. (2017) Skinamarink: The Making of a Viral Nightmare. Fangoria Magazine. Available at: https://www.fangoria.com/skinamarink-kyle-ball-interview (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Kerekes, D. and Slater, I. (2000) Critical Guide to 20th Century Horror. Headpress, Manchester.

McRoy, J. (2007) Nightmare Japan: Contemporary Japanese Horror Cinema. Rodopi, Amsterdam. [Note: contextual parallels].

Meehan, P. (1998) Saucer Movies. Scarecrow Press, Metuchen.

Rockoff, A. (2011) Going to Pieces: The Rise and Fall of the Slasher Film. McFarland, Jefferson.

Skal, D. (2001) The Monster Show: A Cultural History of Horror. Faber & Faber, New York.

Thompson, D. (2019) Herk Harvey: King of the Kansas Nightmares. Midnight Marquee Press, Baltimore.

Tomlinson, D. (2023) Analog Horror: The Skinamarink Phenomenon. Bloody Disgusting. Available at: https://bloody-disgusting.com/interviews/3789452/kyle-edward-ball-skinamarink-interview (Accessed 20 October 2023).