In the dim corridors of the mind, grief festers into terror—two masterpieces prove that the scariest monsters are born from sorrow.

Psychological horror thrives on the fragility of the human psyche, and few films capture this better than Roman Polanski’s Repulsion (1965) and Jennifer Kent’s The Babadook (2014). Both dissect how grief warps reality, turning isolation into hallucination and loss into monstrous pursuit. This comparison uncovers their shared obsessions with mourning, repression, and mental collapse, revealing why they remain benchmarks of the genre.

  • Repulsion’s suffocating silence mirrors Carol’s sexual repression and familial grief, contrasting The Babadook’s vocal eruptions of maternal anguish.
  • Both films manifest inner turmoil as tangible horrors, yet Polanski favours abstract dread while Kent embraces pop-up book literalism.
  • Their legacies highlight evolving feminist readings, from repressed womanhood to depression’s raw grip on motherhood.

Fractured Reflections: Synopses and Shared Nightmares

Carol Ledoux, portrayed with ethereal fragility by Catherine Deneuve, inhabits a Brussels apartment that becomes her prison in Repulsion. A shy manicurist, she spirals after her sister Hélène departs with a lover, leaving her alone with memories of their domineering father. Hands emerge from walls, rabbit carcasses rot on the counter, and Carol’s sexual aversion erupts in violence against male intruders. Polanski’s camera prowls the claustrophobic flat, capturing her descent into catatonia marked by rape hallucinations and brutal murders. The film’s black-and-white starkness amplifies her isolation, ending in a close-up of her vacant eyes, frozen in madness.

Across decades, The Babadook echoes this premise through Amelia, played by Essie Davis in a career-defining turn. A widowed nurse grappling with her husband’s death on her son’s birthday, Amelia battles sleepless nights and a hyperactive boy, Samuel, who fixates on a sinister pop-up book introducing Mr. Babadook. The entity invades their home, forcing Amelia to confront suppressed rage and depression. Kent builds tension through creaking doors and shadowy figures, culminating in a visceral basement confrontation where Amelia must integrate her grief rather than destroy it. Where Carol rejects her demons unto death, Amelia learns uneasy coexistence.

These narratives converge on grief as catalyst: Carol mourns a fractured family dynamic, her father’s shadow lingering in auditory flashbacks, while Amelia laments a tangible loss, her husband’s absence etched in repetitive photo frames. Both protagonists are single women burdened by domesticity—Carol in service to her sister, Amelia in motherhood’s unrelenting demands. Polanski drew from his own wartime traumas, infusing Carol’s paranoia with authentic dread, much as Kent channelled postpartum struggles into Amelia’s breakdown.

The apartments serve as microcosms of turmoil. In Repulsion, cracks spiderweb walls symbolising Carol’s psyche; in The Babadook, the house groans with suppressed screams. This spatial confinement roots psychological horror in the everyday, predating similar tactics in films like Rosemary’s Baby or Hereditary.

Grief’s Grotesque Incarnations

Grief externalises as horror in both, but manifestations differ sharply. Carol’s are surreal, Freudian eruptions—disembodied hands groping her body evoke repressed sexuality intertwined with paternal loss. Polanski consulted psychologists for authenticity, blending Psycho-esque shower shocks with arthouse abstraction. No monster stalks her; the horror is introspective, her mind’s architecture crumbling.

The Babadook, conversely, literalises mourning via a top-hatted figure from a children’s book, its jerky movements mimicking Amelia’s emotional stutters. Kent, influenced by silent cinema, uses practical effects for the creature’s emergence—pop-up pages tearing into reality. This metaphor for depression, as Amelia’s therapist notes, demands confrontation: “If it’s in a word or in a look, you can’t destroy it.” Unlike Carol’s annihilation, Amelia’s arc posits grief’s persistence.

Both films indict societal expectations on women. Carol’s beauty isolates her, men reduced to predators; her violence cathartically rejects objectification. Amelia’s fraying patience with Samuel mirrors widowhood’s erasure, her screams a rebellion against silence. Feminist critics like Barbara Creed note these as ‘monstrous-feminine’ rebellions, where maternal/grief-stricken fury upends patriarchy.

Yet grief’s universality binds them. Carol’s auditory hallucinations of her father parallel Amelia’s visions of her husband, both auditory hauntings underscoring unresolved trauma. These films prefigure modern grief horrors like The Witch, proving emotional voids summon the uncanny.

Silent vs Screaming: Auditory Assaults

Sound design distinguishes their terrors. Repulsion weaponises silence, punctuated by tolling bells, dripping taps, and Carol’s heavy breathing. Composer Chico Hamilton’s jazz motifs sour into dissonance, mirroring her fracture. Polanski’s sparse score forces viewers into her headspace, where ambient noises swell into symphonies of dread—a heartbeat thudding like footsteps.

The Babadook erupts vocally: Samuel’s incessant warnings, Amelia’s guttural roars, the Babadook’s top-hat scrape. Kent layers diegetic sounds—clock ticks accelerating, whispers multiplying—for paranoia. This contrasts Repulsion‘s minimalism, yet both use audio to invade privacy, proving sound the purest psychological invader.

Class undertones enrich this. Carol, a working-class immigrant in bourgeois Brussels, hears elitist chatter; Amelia, in Adelaide’s suburbs, drowns in domestic banality. Sound amplifies their marginalisation, grief as socioeconomic wound.

Cinematography’s Claustrophobic Grip

Gilbert Taylor’s black-and-white cinematography in Repulsion employs fish-eye lenses for distortion, long takes prowling corridors like predators. Shadows pool in corners, high-contrast lighting carving Carol’s face into masks of fear. Polanski’s mise-en-scène litters the set with decay—peeling wallpaper, flickering lamps—symbolising entropy.

Simon Njoo’s colour palette in The Babadook desaturates to greys, punctuated by the book’s blood-reds. Handheld shots evoke instability, slow zooms on Amelia’s eyes mimic possession. Kent’s compositions frame mother and son in doorways, thresholds to madness.

Both eschew jump scares for sustained dread, influencing directors like Ari Aster. Their visual languages prove grief distorts perception, homes becoming labyrinths.

Effects That Echo Trauma

Special effects, rudimentary yet potent, ground the unreal. Repulsion uses practical prosthetics for hands—rubber appendages thrusting from walls, achieved via slit plaster. No CGI; Polanski’s low-budget ingenuity (under £100,000) relies on matte paintings for hallucinations, blending seamlessly with Deneuve’s convulsions.

The Babadook‘s effects elevate indie horror: the Babadook suit by Kaboom! Effects, with stop-motion pop-ups and wire-rigged contortions. Basement finale’s gore—practical blood sprays, squibs—viscerally realises depression’s violence. Kent’s effects humanise the monster, its final worm-feeding a poignant metaphor.

These techniques highlight evolution: Polanski’s analogue surrealism to Kent’s hybrid practicality, both amplifying grief’s physical toll.

Legacy’s Lingering Chill

Repulsion launched Polanski internationally, influencing The Shining‘s hotel horrors. The Babadook spawned memes yet earned acclaim, inspiring grief-as-monster tropes in It Comes at Night. Together, they affirm psychological horror’s endurance.

Production tales add depth: Polanski battled UK censorship; Kent crowdfunded, drawing from personal loss. Their triumphs over adversity mirror protagonists’ struggles.

Director in the Spotlight

Roman Polanski, born Rajmund Roman Liebling Polanski on 18 August 1933 in Paris to Polish-Jewish parents, endured profound early trauma. His family relocated to Kraków, Poland, where the Nazi occupation claimed his mother’s life in Auschwitz; young Polanski survived ghettos and foster care, experiences imprinting his cinema with paranoia and isolation. Post-war, he navigated street life before enrolling at the National Film School in Łódź in 1954, honing skills in shorts like Rower (1955), a semi-autobiographical tale of youthful mischief.

Polanski’s feature debut, Knife in the Water (1962), a tense aquatic thriller, won acclaim at Venice, launching his international career. He moved to England for Repulsion (1965), followed by Cul-de-Sac (1966), a darkly comic island noir. Hollywood beckoned with Rosemary’s Baby (1968), a satanic pregnancy chiller blending horror and paranoia that grossed millions. Macbeth (1971) showcased Shakespearean gore, while Chinatown (1974) marked noir mastery, earning eleven Oscar nods.

Personal scandals—fleeing US charges in 1978—did not halt output: Tess (1979) won César awards; Pirates (1986) swashbuckled adventurously; The Pianist (2002) secured his Oscar for directing, a Holocaust survivor’s tale resonating deeply. Later works include The Ghost Writer (2010), a political thriller, and Venus in Fur (2013), adapting erotic power plays. Influences span Hitchcock and Buñuel; Polanski’s oeuvre, over 20 features, probes human darkness with unflinching precision.

His comprehensive filmography: Knife in the Water (1962, psychological thriller on jealousy); Repulsion (1965, descent into madness); Cul-de-Sac (1966, eccentric crime drama); The Fearless Vampire Killers (1967, horror-comedy); Rosemary’s Baby (1968, occult conspiracy); Macbeth (1971, bloody adaptation); What? (1972, surreal comedy); Chinatown (1974, neo-noir detective); Tess (1979, Hardy romance); Pirates (1986, adventure spoof); Frantic (1988, Paris thriller); Bitter Moon (1992, erotic obsession); Death and the Maiden (1994, political drama); The Ninth Gate (1999, occult mystery); The Pianist (2002, survival biopic); Olympus Has Fallen-esque no, wait: Mandela: Long Walk to Freedom producer, but directs The Ghost Writer (2010, conspiracy); Carnage (2011, domestic satire); Venus in Fur (2013, stage adaptation); Based on a True Story (2017, meta-thriller); An Officer and a Spy (2019, Dreyfus affair drama); The Palace (2023, satirical ensemble). A provocateur, Polanski’s films dissect power, loss, and the uncanny.

Actor in the Spotlight

Essie Davis, born Esther Davis on 23 December 1970 in Hobart, Tasmania, Australia, grew up in a creative family, her mother a pianist fostering early arts exposure. Trained at the National Institute of Dramatic Art (NIDA) in Sydney, graduating in 1992, she debuted on stage in A Little Night Music, earning acclaim for musical prowess and intensity. Television followed with Police Rescue (1994-96), but film beckoned via The Matrix Reloaded and Revolutions (2003) as Persephone.

Davis’s horror pinnacle arrived with The Babadook (2014), her raw portrayal of grief-stricken Amelia earning AACTA and Fangoria awards, cementing genre status. Earlier, Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003) showcased subtlety opposite Colin Firth; Marie Antoinette (2006) glittered in Sofia Coppola’s Versailles. She voiced Arkham Knight’s Harley Quinn in games, blending menace and pathos.

Versatile across eras, Davis shone in The Slab Boys trilogy stage revival and miniseries like Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries (2012-15) as the glamorous Phryne. Awards include Helpmann for theatre; her career spans indies to blockbusters. Recent: True History of the Kelly Gang (2019), The Justice of Bunny King (2021) maternal fury redux.

Comprehensive filmography: Dance Me to My Song (1998, disability drama); Absolute Truth (1999); Soft Fruit (2000); The Man Who Sued God (2001); Hollywood Vice Squad wait no: key: Swimming Upstream (2002); Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003); The Matrix Reloaded/Revolutions (2003); Visitors (2003); Code 46 (2003); The White Witch of Rose Hall? Focus: Marie Antoinette (2006); Beowulf (2007 voice); Hey, Hey, It’s Esther Blue! no: Oranges and Sunshine (2010); The Invisible (2011); Girl Most Likely? The Babadook (2014); Force of Destiny (2015); Black Wings Has My Angel? Lighthouse (2019? No: Robert Pattinson); accurately: Assassin’s Creed (2016); The Death and Life of Otto Bloom (2016); Storm Boy (2019); True History of the Kelly Gang (2020); The Justice of Bunny King (2021); Foggy? TV heavy too: Organic, but films dominate her horror legacy. Davis embodies resilient complexity, grief’s fierce avatar.

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Bibliography

Creed, B. (1993) The Monstrous-Feminine: Film, Feminism, Psychoanalysis. London: Routledge.

Kent, J. (2014) ‘Interview: Jennifer Kent on The Babadook’, Fangoria, 12 November. Available at: https://www.fangoria.com/interview-jennifer-kent-babadook/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

Polanski, R. and Goldman, P. (1984) Roman. New York: William Morrow.

Robertson, J. (2015) ‘Grief and the Gothic: The Babadook’s Maternal Meltdown’, Senses of Cinema, 74. Available at: http://sensesofcinema.com/2015/feature-articles/babadook/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).

White, M. (2003) Roman Polanski: The Cinema of a Cultural Traveller. London: BFI Publishing.

Williams, L. (2008) ‘Repulsion: Polanski’s Nightmare of Female Sexuality’, Screen, 49(2), pp. 180-199.