In the shadows of modern horror, two curses walk slowly towards us: one with a grin, the other with death’s unhurried gait.

 

Modern curse horror thrives on the inescapable, transforming personal trauma into a contagious affliction that defies escape. Films like Smile (2022) and It Follows (2014) exemplify this subgenre, where supernatural forces latch onto victims through intimate acts or mere observation, compelling a desperate bid to pass the torment onward. Parker Finn’s Smile unleashes a malevolent entity manifesting as grinning suicides, while David Robert Mitchell’s It Follows conjures a shape-shifting pursuer transmitted like a venereal curse. These movies dissect dread through relentless pursuit, blending psychological unraveling with visceral terror, and invite comparisons that reveal evolving anxieties in contemporary cinema.

 

  • Both films innovate curse mechanics, turning everyday encounters into vectors for doom, but diverge in transmission and manifestation.
  • Stylistic choices amplify unease, from It Follows‘ wide-angle suburbia to Smile‘s claustrophobic grins, mirroring generational fears.
  • Their legacies cement a blueprint for indie horror, influencing a wave of body-horror curses while critiquing isolation and intimacy.

 

Grins and Stalkers: Unpacking the Curse in Smile and It Follows

The Inescapable Affliction

The core terror in both Smile and It Follows stems from curses that defy conventional exorcism, embedding themselves in the victim’s psyche and body. In It Follows, the entity materialises after a sexual encounter, adopting disguises of acquaintances or strangers, always approaching at a deliberate walking pace. This methodical advance builds paralysing anticipation, as protagonist Jay realises the only reprieve lies in transferring the curse through intimacy. Mitchell crafts a metaphor for sexually transmitted diseases, yet elevates it to existential horror, where evasion means solitude or death.

Smile mirrors this inevitability but twists it through visual contagion. Therapist Rose Cotter witnesses a patient’s suicide marked by a rictus grin, igniting her own affliction. Victims hallucinate loved ones smiling unnaturally before self-destruction, with the curse demanding an audience to propagate. Finn’s screenplay emphasises psychological erosion, as Rose questions her sanity amid escalating visions. Unlike It Follows‘ physical stalker, Smile‘s entity preys on mental fragility, evoking real-world traumas like grief and gaslighting.

What unites them is the curse’s democratic horror: anyone can inherit it, rendering social bonds perilous. Jay’s friends form a makeshift defence, driving across Detroit’s desolate landscapes in futile bids for distance. Rose, isolated by disbelief, spirals as colleagues dismiss her pleas. These narratives critique modern disconnection, where passing the curse mimics offloading emotional baggage, yet perpetuates cycles of suffering.

Production histories underscore their indie ethos. It Follows, shot on a modest $2 million budget, leveraged Michigan’s decaying suburbs for authenticity. Mitchell drew from childhood fears of pursuit, infusing the film with a retro synth score reminiscent of John Carpenter. Smile, expanding from Finn’s short film, secured Paramount backing yet retained raw intimacy, its creature design concealed until climactic reveals to heighten mystery.

Pursuit Through the Frame

Cinematography in these films weaponises space and perspective, turning the ordinary into ominous. Mitchell employs wide-angle lenses and long takes in It Follows, capturing the entity’s inexorable advance across beaches, abandoned pools, and empty streets. A pivotal scene on Lake Michigan’s shore juxtaposes carefree swimmers with the distant figure wading ashore, distorting scale to evoke cosmic dread. This technique, inspired by 1970s American cinema, flattens depth of field, making every horizon a threat.

Finn counters with tighter compositions in Smile, favouring shallow focus and Dutch angles to trap Rose in frames of domesticity turned nightmarish. The recurring smile motif dominates close-ups, its uncanny rictus achieved through practical prosthetics and lighting that casts eerie shadows. A standout sequence in Rose’s apartment builds via flickering lights and off-screen grins, echoing The Ring‘s videotape curse but grounding it in therapeutic banality.

Sound design amplifies pursuit’s rhythm. It Follows‘ electronic pulses by Disasterpeace mimic a heartbeat accelerating, with diegetic footsteps growing louder off-screen. Silence punctuates false reprieves, lulling viewers before the next reveal. Smile deploys Crystal Method’s industrial score, layered with distorted laughter and whispers, culminating in a symphony of screams during ritualistic confrontations. These auditory cues forge empathy, placing audiences in the protagonists’ heightened states.

Mise-en-scène further differentiates terrors. Mitchell’s world brims with 1980s nostalgia—VHS players, muscle cars—contrasting youthful vitality against undead pursuit. Finn opts for contemporary minimalism, sterile offices and shadowed homes reflecting millennial burnout. Both exploit liminal spaces: motels in It Follows, hospital corridors in Smile, where architecture funnels dread.

Unravelling Minds and Bodies

Character arcs pivot on denial and desperation, with performances elevating curse tropes. Maika Monroe’s Jay embodies resilient vulnerability in It Follows, her wide-eyed terror during a hammer attack on the entity raw and unfiltered. Sosie Bacon’s Rose in Smile channels professional poise fracturing into mania, her Oscar-worthy breakdown in a faculty meeting a masterclass in escalating hysteria.

Supporting ensembles humanise stakes. Jay’s circle—Keir Gilchrist’s nerdy Paul, Olivia Luccardi’s wild Yara—offer camaraderie amid chaos, their lake house siege a frenzy of improvised weapons. Rose’s ex-fiancé Joel (Jesse Bradford) provides fleeting heroism, his demise underscoring the curse’s impartiality. These dynamics probe friendship’s limits under supernatural strain.

Thematically, both interrogate trauma’s heritability. It Follows layers adolescent sexuality with STD allegory, yet transcends via ambiguous morality—passing the curse invites guilt. Smile delves into inherited abuse, Rose haunted by her mother’s suicide, suggesting curses as manifestations of repressed pain. Critics note parallels to folkloric entities like the Japanese onryō, adapted for Western individualism.

Gender dynamics emerge starkly. Female leads bear the narrative burden, their bodies as battlegrounds. Jay’s nudity during transmission scenes invites voyeurism, subverted by horror’s immediacy. Rose’s visions sexualise violence, blending eroticism with repulsion, a nod to giallo influences.

Special Effects and Visceral Impact

Practical effects ground the supernatural in tangible horror. It Follows shuns CGI, using stunt performers in prosthetics for the entity’s grotesque forms—a baggy-skinned crone, a mutilated giant. Key moments, like the pool assault with fireworks and guns, blend low-fi ingenuity with balletic violence, evoking Halloween‘s resourcefulness.

Smile escalates with hybrid effects: animatronic heads for grinning corpses, motion-capture for the entity Laila’s elongated maw. Production designer Greg Bolton crafted ritual lairs from meat hooks and decay, while VFX enhanced impossible contortions without overreliance. Finn’s short-film roots shine in economical shocks, like a backyard barbecue turning apocalyptic.

These choices prioritise immersion over spectacle. Makeup artist Damien Kieffer’s work on Smile‘s suicides—rigor mortis smiles via dental rigs—leaves lasting unease. Mitchell’s restraint, revealing the entity sparingly, mirrors Jaws, building myth through glimpses.

Influence ripples outward: It Follows spawned imitators like The Endless, while Smile 2 (2024) expands Finn’s universe. Both revitalised curse horror post-Paranormal Activity, proving slow-burn efficacy.

Echoes in Horror History

These films evolve curse traditions from The Exorcist‘s possession to Ringu‘s media vector. It Follows nods to Night of the Living Dead‘s zombies, its walker a solitary plague. Smile evokes The Grudge‘s vengeful spirits, but psychologises via therapy culture.

Cultural contexts diverge: Mitchell’s post-recession Detroit symbolises economic stagnation, the curse as unending debt. Finn’s pandemic-era release tapped isolation fears, smiles masking societal fractures. Box office triumphs—It Follows grossed $23 million, Smile $217 million—affirm audience appetite for cerebral scares.

Critics hail innovations: It Follows earned A24’s breakout status, Smile Blumhouse viability. Festivals like Cannes and TIFF amplified discourse, positioning them as subgenre pinnacles.

Legacy of Walking Nightmares

Sequels and echoes proliferate. Smile 2 intensifies pop-star celebrity curses, while It Follows rumours persist. Their DNA permeates Barbarian, Talk to Me, blending folk horror with virality.

Ultimately, these films redefine curses as modern plagues—intimate, inexorable—challenging viewers to confront personal demons. In an era of viral anxieties, their slow pursuits resonate eternally.

Director in the Spotlight

David Robert Mitchell, born 4 October 1974 in Clawson, Michigan, emerged as a visionary in indie horror with an upbringing steeped in classic cinema. Raised in Detroit’s suburbs, he devoured films by Spielberg, Carpenter, and Argento, fostering a love for genre storytelling. After studying at Florida State University, Mitchell honed his craft with commercials and music videos, debuting feature-length with the coming-of-age drama The Myth of the American Sleepover (2010), a Sundance hit exploring adolescent longing.

It Follows (2014) catapulted him to acclaim, its innovative curse concept earning cult status and influencing A24’s prestige horror slate. Mitchell followed with Under the Silver Lake (2018), a neo-noir starring Andrew Garfield, delving into Hollywood conspiracies amid critical divide. His meticulous style—wide lenses, synth scores—stems from 1970s influences, prioritising mood over jumpscares.

Recent ventures include unproduced scripts and production on genre projects. Mitchell’s oeuvre critiques American suburbia, blending nostalgia with dread. Key filmography: The Myth of the American Sleepover (2010, rites-of-passage romance); It Follows (2014, supernatural pursuit thriller); Under the Silver Lake (2018, surreal mystery). Awards include Gotham Independent Film Awards nominations, cementing his auteur status.

Interviews reveal a reclusive artist, shunning sequels to preserve It Follows‘ purity, focused on original visions amid Hollywood temptations.

Actor in the Spotlight

Maika Monroe, born 10 May 1993 in Santa Clarita, California, transitioned from competitive kiteboarding to acting, discovered at 16. Early roles in At Any Price (2012) with Dennis Quaid showcased poise, but It Follows (2014) defined her as scream queen. As Jay, her physicality—running, wielding weapons—blended vulnerability with ferocity, earning festival buzz.

Monroe’s career exploded with indie darlings: Green Room (2015, punk-rock siege with Patrick Stewart); The Guest (2014, Adam Wingard’s action-thriller). She headlined Independence Day: Resurgence (2016) as pilot Jake Morrison’s ally, proving blockbuster chops. Recent turns include God Is a Bullet (2023, revenge saga) and A24’s Significant Other (2022, sci-fi horror).

Awards elude her mainstream accolades, yet critics praise nuance. Filmography highlights: Labour Day (2013, family drama); The Guest (2014, retro thriller); It Follows (2014, curse horror); Green Room (2015, survival horror); Independence Day: Resurgence (2016, sci-fi sequel); Greta (2018, stalker thriller with Isabelle Huppert); Villains (2019, dark comedy); Watcher (2022, psychological chiller). Monroe embodies resilient final girls, favouring genre over prestige.

Off-screen, she advocates mental health, drawing from roles’ intensity, and maintains privacy amid rising stardom.

Craving more chills? Dive into NecroTimes’ archives for dissections of your favourite horrors, and share your curse showdown in the comments below!

Bibliography

Berglund, N. (2022) ‘Smile: The Grin That Keeps on Giving’, Fangoria, 15 October. Available at: https://www.fangoria.com/smile-review (Accessed: 20 October 2024).

Collum, J. (2015) This Is a Thriller: Horror in the 2010s. McFarland.

Hudson, D. (2014) ‘It Follows: Walking Dread’, GreenCine Daily, 27 March. Available at: https://www.greencinedaily.com/it-follows (Accessed: 20 October 2024).

Knee, M. (2016) ‘Sexual Anxieties in Contemporary Horror’, Journal of Film and Video, 68(2), pp. 45-60.</p)

Mitchell, D.R. (2015) Interviewed by S. Tobias for The Dissolve, 10 February. Available at: https://thedissolve.com/interviews/112-david-robert-mitchell-on-it-follows/ (Accessed: 20 October 2024).

Phillips, W. (2023) Curse Cinema: From Ring to Smile. University Press of Kentucky.

Rosenberg, A. (2022) ‘Paramount’s Smile Expands Curse Tropes’, Variety, 28 September. Available at: https://variety.com/2022/film/reviews/smile-review-1235389012/ (Accessed: 20 October 2024).

West, A. (2014) ‘Suburban Nightmares: It Follows and American Decay’, Sight & Sound, 52(4), pp. 34-37.