Elevating the Dead: Evil Dead Rise and the Bloody Evolution of Demonic Horror

In the concrete jungle of a crumbling high-rise, the ancient evil of the Necronomicon claws its way into the heart of family terror, proving demonic possession can thrive far beyond the cabin woods.

 

Demonic horror has long captivated audiences with its primal fears of invasion, corruption, and the unholy fracturing of the human soul. From the candlelit exorcisms of the 1970s to the gritty urban nightmares of today, the genre has mutated, adapting to cultural anxieties while amplifying its visceral shocks. Evil Dead Rise, the 2023 entry in Sam Raimi’s iconic franchise, catapults the Deadites from isolated forests to the claustrophobic corridors of a Los Angeles apartment tower, marking a pivotal shift in how we confront otherworldly possession on screen.

 

  • Mapping the trajectory of demonic cinema from The Exorcist‘s sacred rituals to the profane chaos of the Evil Dead saga, highlighting key milestones in visual and thematic innovation.
  • Dissecting Evil Dead Rise‘s bold relocation to an urban setting, where family bonds become the battleground for Deadite savagery.
  • Spotlighting director Lee Cronin’s mastery of practical effects and sound design, alongside standout performances that redefine possession tropes.

 

Seeds of Possession: The Genre’s Infernal Origins

The roots of demonic horror stretch back to silent era curiosities and Gothic tales, but the modern archetype crystallised in the post-war period. Films like The Devil Rides Out (1968) introduced Hammer’s stylish occultism, blending Hammer’s lurid colours with ritualistic dread. Yet it was William Friedkin’s The Exorcist (1973) that unleashed the floodgates. Reagan McNeil’s bed-shaking convulsions, pea-soup vomits, and guttural blasphemies tapped into Vietnam-era disillusionment and shifting religious landscapes, grossing over $440 million and spawning a subgenre obsessed with medicalised faith crises.

Regan’s possession unfolds methodically: subtle poltergeist pranks escalate to crucifixes and 360-degree head spins, courtesy of practical effects wizard Dick Smith. The film’s power lay in its restraint, interspersing horror with quiet domesticity, making the eruption of evil feel intimately personal. Friedkin drew from William Peter Blatty’s novel, rooted in a real 1949 exorcism case, grounding supernatural terror in Catholic dogma and psychological realism.

By the late 1970s, imitators proliferated. Audrey Rose (1977) psychologised reincarnation hauntings, while The Omen (1976) inverted innocence with Damien’s Antichrist menace. These films codified tropes: levitation, inverted crosses, and priestly saviours. Sound design emerged as a weapon, with Jerry Goldsmith’s atonal choirs in The Omen burrowing into the psyche like infernal worms.

Class tensions simmered beneath, as possessions often afflicted affluent families, symbolising bourgeois decay. This socio-economic undercurrent persisted, evolving from suburban splits in The Exorcist to trailer-park torments in later entries.

Raimi’s Revolution: Cabin Fever and Splatter Saints

Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead (1981) shattered the genre’s solemnity, injecting gonzo energy into demonic tropes. Five college friends unearth the Necronomicon in a remote Tennessee cabin, summoning Deadites via taped incantations. Ash Williams, played with everyman charm by Bruce Campbell, becomes the unlikely hero amid tree-rape assaults and melting faces.

Raimi’s guerrilla aesthetic—shot on 16mm for $350,000—relied on handmade gore and dynamic Steadicam chases. The sequels amplified absurdity: Evil Dead II (1987) morphed into slapstick horror, with Ash’s chainsaw hand and boomstick bravado. Army of Darkness (1992) time-warped him to medieval farce. This trilogy redefined demons as comedic grotesques, their possession less spiritual affliction than body-horror comedy.

Themes of male camaraderie and survivalist machismo dominated, contrasting The Exorcist‘s feminine victimhood. Deadite transformations featured puppetry and stop-motion, with Ellen Sandweiss’s chainsaw decapitation in the original a landmark in female-led gore.

By the 2010s, Fede Álvarez’s Evil Dead (2013) reboot injected grimdark realism, ditching humour for torture-porn severity. Mia’s nail-through-foot crawl and blood rain set a brutal benchmark, proving the franchise’s adaptability.

High-Rise Hell: Plotting the Rise of Urban Deadites

Evil Dead Rise relocates the nightmare to the Mariner apartments, a decaying LA high-rise. Sisters Beth (Lily Sullivan) and Ellie (Alyssa Sutherland) anchor the family: Ellie, a single mother, wrangles kids Danny, Bridget, and Kassie amid domestic strife. Grandpa’s suicide reveals a flooded basement swallowing a Deadite violin case, unleashing the Necronomicon Mariner edition.

Ellie’s possession ignites savagery: she snaps her husband’s neck with piano wires, feasts on a neighbour’s flesh, and wields a blender as a skull-drill. Danny deciphers the book, binding the evil temporarily, but it spreads. Beth, arriving from LA proper, navigates stairwells slick with gore, confronting her sister’s Deadite incarnation in a laundry room melee.

Climactic carnage peaks in the parking garage: chainsaws rend possessed limbs, a young girl’s jaw unhinges for profane rants, and the building quakes as if possessed itself. Cronin’s script, penned solo, expands lore with multiple Necronomicons, hinting at global outbreaks.

Shot in New Zealand standing in for LA, the production battled COVID delays, emerging with a $17 million budget that ballooned practical kills. Gabriel Byrne’s grizzled patriarch adds gravitas, his basement plunge a nod to franchise fatalities.

From Woods to Concrete: Spatial Shifts in Demonic Dread

Traditionally, demonic films favour isolated spaces: cabins for Evil Dead, attics for The Exorcist. Evil Dead Rise weaponises verticality—the high-rise as layered purgatory. Elevators trap victims, vents spew possessed offspring, and balconies teeter on apocalyptic edges.

This urban pivot mirrors societal fears: post-9/11 claustrophobia, pandemic lockdowns. Hereditary (2018) and Midsommar (2019) similarly domesticised grief-demons, but Rise adds communal horror—neighbours as collateral Deadites.

Class commentary sharpens: the Mariners embody precarious precariat life, eviction looming as evil rises. Ellie’s transformation subverts maternal sanctity, her kids fighting back in a role reversal echoing The Omen‘s corrupted heirs.

Cinematographer Dave Garbett’s fish-eye lenses distort corridors, evoking Raimi’s swing-cam, while crane shots survey the tower’s infernal ascent.

Symphony of Screams: Audio Assaults Through the Ages

Sound has always amplified demonic invasion. The Exorcist‘s subliminal buzzes and Pazuzu voices, crafted by Robert Knudson, induced nausea. Evil Dead originals used pig squeals for guts, evolving to Joel Sonoda’s immersive mixes in Rise.

In Rise, Deadite shrieks warp into subsonics, vibrating bones; Ellie’s “Mommy’s gonna eat the baby” warbles with uncanny valley distortion. The Necronomicon’s recitations layer Gaelic chants over industrial grind, tying to Cronin’s Irish roots.

This auditory evolution tracks tech advances: from mono to Dolby Atmos, demons now surround, infiltrating every speaker channel.

Gore Galore: Practical Effects and the Splatter Legacy

Practical effects define demonic physicality. Rob Bottin’s work on The Thing (1982) influenced Deadite mutations, but Rise‘s effects team, led by Kyle Peeler, delivers jaw-dropping setpieces: a girl’s tongue-lashing decapitation, Ellie’s flesh-rending births.

Blender impalements use pneumatics for spurting realism, eschewing CGI for tangible terror. This harks to Tom Savini’s zombie guts in Dawn of the Dead (1978), prioritising craft over digital convenience.

The impact? Rise earned an 84% on Rotten Tomatoes, praised for “gleeful grisliness” amid superhero fatigue.

Influences ripple: The Conjuring universe leans CGI, but Rise revives prosthetics, inspiring indies like You’re Next (2011).

Mothers of Mayhem: Gender and Familial Fracture

Possession often genders female vulnerability: Regan, Mia, now Ellie. Rise flips agency—Beth wields the chainsaw, becoming Ash’s successor. This empowers amid #MeToo reckonings, demons as patriarchal corruptors.

Sutherland’s Ellie embodies fractured motherhood, her domestic rage exploding supernaturally. Sullivan’s Beth, childless aunt, forges bonds in blood, queering family norms.

Compare to Rosemary’s Baby (1968): passive carriers versus active fighters. Rise evolves the trope, blending horror with empowerment.

Legacy Unleashed: Future Deadite Dominions

Evil Dead Rise grossed $147 million, greenlighting TV spin-offs and games. It bridges Raimi’s whimsy with Cronin’s grit, positioning demons for streaming eras.

The genre endures, adapting to AI anxieties and climate apocalypses. Yet Rise‘s raw physicality reminds: true horror bleeds real.

 

Director in the Spotlight

Lee Cronin, born in 1983 in Ballantrae, South Ayrshire, Scotland, but raised in Ireland, emerged as a visceral storyteller rooted in folk horror traditions. After studying film at the National Film and Television School, he debuted with short films like Ghost (2011), blending supernatural unease with rural isolation. His feature breakthrough, The Hole in the Ground (2019), premiered at Sundance, earning Séamus Davey-Fitzpatrick a breakout and Cronin praise for changeling myths reimagined through maternal paranoia. The film, budgeted at $2.5 million, explored Irish folklore’s dark underbelly, with a sinkhole-swallowed child catalysing psychological descent.

Cronin’s influences span Italian giallo—Argento’s saturated hues—and Carpenter’s siege aesthetics. Evil Dead Rise (2023) marked his Hollywood leap, handpicked by Raimi for its script’s ferocity. Produced under Ghost House Pictures, it navigated pandemic shoots, delivering franchise highs in gore volume.

His filmography includes TV work like Guillermo del Toro’s Cabinet of Curiosities episode “The Viewing” (2022), a splatter anthology entry with American Psycho‘s Justin Long. Upcoming: Nosferatu (2024) for Universal, reteaming with Bill Skarsgård in a gothic vampire epic. Cronin also directs Final Destination: Bloodlines (TBA), expanding death’s mechanics. Awards include BAFTA nominations; his style—practical FX, thunderous scores—positions him as horror’s next auteur.

Actor in the Spotlight

Alyssa Sutherland, born 15 September 1982 in Gold Coast, Queensland, Australia, transitioned from modelling to acting after stints with Chanel and Vogue. Discovered at 15, she honed screen presence in New Amsterdam (2008) and Blue Water High (2009). International fame hit with History’s Vikings (2013-2020), portraying Aslaug, Ragnar Lothbrok’s cunning queen across 44 episodes, earning Saturn Award nods for her regal ferocity.

Sutherland’s horror turn in Evil Dead Rise (2023) as Ellie showcases range: from harried mum to Deadite abomination, her piano-wire kill and profane monologues steal scenes. Earlier, The Commons (2021) displayed dramatic chops in eco-thrillers.

Filmography spans Day of the Dead (2008 remake), Motor City (2017) as a vengeful sister, The Risen (2012) zombie fare, and Jack Irish series. Stage work includes Melbourne Theatre Company productions. No major awards yet, but Vikings acclaim and Rise‘s buzz signal ascent. Upcoming: Devil’s Bride (TBA). Her poise in transformation scenes cements her as possession horror’s new scream queen.

 

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Bibliography

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Hughes, D. (2001) The Complete Xcert: The Making of The Evil Dead. Fab Press.

Jones, A. (2019) Possessed: The Rise and Fall of the Exorcist Craze. Applause Theatre & Cinema Books.

Kerekes, D. (2022) Sam Raimi: Master of the Macabre. Headpress.

Newman, K. (2023) ‘Evil Dead Rise: Cronin’s Chainsaw Symphony’, Fangoria, 15 May. Available at: https://fangoria.com/evil-dead-rise-review/ (Accessed: 10 October 2024).

Schow, D. (2018) Demonic Rites: A History of Possession Cinema. McFarland.

Smith, J. (2021) ‘From Cabin to Condo: Spatial Horror in Evil Dead’, Sight & Sound, vol. 31, no. 7, pp. 45-49.

Warren, J. (2015) Keep Watching the Skies!: American Science Fiction Movies of 1950. McFarland. [Adapted for horror parallels]