In the hush of empty spaces and the whisper of unseen presences, two films prove that true horror blooms not in blood, but in the suffocating grip of atmosphere.

Experimental horror thrives on the edges of convention, where plot yields to sensation and the audience’s imagination fills the voids. Carnival of Souls (1962) and Skinamarink (2022) stand as twin pillars in this subgenre, each harnessing minimalism to evoke profound unease. Herk Harvey’s black-and-white phantasmagoria and Kyle Edward Ball’s pixelated nightmare invite comparison, revealing how six decades apart, filmmakers can weaponise silence, shadow, and suggestion to chilling effect.

  • Both films prioritise atmospheric dread over narrative drive, using sparse dialogue and disorienting visuals to immerse viewers in psychological limbo.
  • Innovative sound design and cinematography techniques underscore their experimental ethos, turning everyday elements into instruments of terror.
  • Their low-budget origins and grassroots legacies highlight horror’s enduring power to disturb through ingenuity rather than excess.

Ghostly Inception: The Birth of Carnival of Souls

Herk Harvey crafted Carnival of Souls on a shoestring budget of around $100,000, shooting over three weeks in 1961 primarily in Lawrence, Kansas. The story centres on 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 inexorably to an abandoned lakeside pavilion. What unfolds is less a traditional ghost story than a descent into existential disorientation, where reality frays at the edges. Mary’s interactions with the living feel perfunctory; her true tormentors emerge from the periphery, pallid figures shuffling in silence.

The film’s opening sequence sets the tone masterfully: two cars hurtle towards the river’s edge in a cacophony of engines and screams, only for Mary to emerge unscathed from the murky waters. This survival marks her isolation; subsequent scenes in her boarding house and at the organ console amplify her detachment. Harvey, a veteran of industrial films, infuses the narrative with documentary-like detachment, making Mary’s unraveling all the more authentic. The pavilion, a real derelict amusement park structure, becomes a liminal space where the boundaries between life and death dissolve.

Critical to its experimental nature is the rejection of jump scares or gore. Instead, Harvey employs long takes and static compositions to build tension. Mary’s piano lesson with the leering landlady’s brother John (Sidney Berger) crackles with unspoken menace, their exchanges laced with awkward pauses that mirror her alienation. By the climax, as the ghouls claim her in a macabre dance, the film reveals its twist: Mary was dead from the start, her post-crash existence a purgatorial echo. This revelation reframes every frame, transforming casual viewers into active interpreters.

Analog Nightmares in the Digital Age: Skinamarink Arrives

Kyle Edward Ball’s Skinamarink emerged from the viral petri dish of online horror, evolving from his YouTube channel Bitesized Nightmares into a microbudget feature shot for under $15,000. Premiering at Fantastic Fest in 2022, it depicts two young siblings, Kevin (Lucas Paul) and Kaylee (Jaimee Warren), waking to find their father vanished and the house morphing into a labyrinth of impossibilities. Doors lead to brick walls, faces dissolve in shadow, and a malevolent voice lurks via telephone. No clear antagonist appears; horror manifests in the domestic warped into the uncanny.

Ball’s narrative eschews linear progression for fragmented vignettes, evoking childhood nightmares where logic evaporates. A Lego man speaks in the dark; cereal boxes leer from shelves; the children’s projections onto walls summon eyes that watch back. The film’s 100-minute runtime stretches these moments into eternity, with much of the action obscured by intentional low-light cinematography. Viewers strain against the blackness, mirroring the characters’ disempowerment. This approach draws from analog horror aesthetics, reminiscent of cursed VHS tapes, but pushes further into pure sensory deprivation.

Production ingenuity defines Skinamarink: improvised child performances, practical effects like reversed footage for levitation, and a score of warped nursery rhymes. The film’s basement climax, where the entity demands ‘mouth’ in a guttural plea, crystallises its primal fear. Unlike Carnival of Souls‘ structured haunting, Skinamarink feels organic, chaotic, a collective fever dream amplified by social media buzz and TikTok recreations.

Minimalism as Malevolence: Shared Experimental DNA

Both films exemplify experimental horror’s core tenet: less is infinitely more. Carnival of Souls strips supernatural tropes to skeletal essentials—no elaborate hauntings, just fleeting apparitions and Mary’s vacant stares. Similarly, Skinamarink discards exposition for immersion, forcing audiences to piece together the dread. This shared sparsity elevates atmosphere above plot, aligning with avant-garde traditions from Maya Deren’s trance films to David Lynch’s dream logics.

Class and isolation underpin their dread. Mary’s rootlessness as a transient organist echoes working-class precarity in mid-century America, her ghoulish pavilion a carnival of the damned critiquing leisure’s underbelly. In Skinamarink, the suburban home becomes a trap, subverting nuclear family safety nets amid modern anxieties like parental absence and digital disconnection. These undercurrents render the films timeless, their minimalism a canvas for personal projections.

Performances amplify this restraint. Hilligoss delivers Mary’s dissociation with subtle facial tics—a raised eyebrow here, a hesitant step there—that convey inner fracture without histrionics. The child actors in Skinamarink improvise raw vulnerability, their whispers and whimpers piercing the void. Directors trust non-actors’ authenticity, a gamble that pays dividends in verisimilitude.

Symphonies of Dread: The Power of Sound Design

Sound emerges as the unsung hero in both. Carnival of Souls pulses to Gene Moore’s calliope organ score, its carnival waltz motif warping from jaunty to ominous, underscoring Mary’s fractured psyche. Diegetic silence dominates elsewhere: footsteps echo in empty halls, distant traffic hums indifferently. This auditory minimalism heightens visual shocks, like the ghoul’s sudden emergence amid organ swells.

Skinamarink pushes sonic experimentation further, layering distorted dialogue, reversed audio, and ambient drones. The constant low rumble mimics infrasound’s physiological unease, while muffled cries and static bursts evoke lost signals. Ball samples public domain cartoons, twisting innocence into horror. Together, these soundscapes prove film’s aural dimension as potent as visual, influencing contemporaries like A24’s slow-burn terrors.

Comparatively, Harvey’s score anchors the film’s retro aesthetic, evoking silent era expressionism, while Ball’s is aggressively modern, fragmented like glitch art. Yet both manipulate frequency to induce somatic responses—chills, nausea—bypassing intellect for instinct.

Shadows and Screens: Cinematographic Conjuring

Visual strategies coalesce around negation. Harvey’s high-contrast black-and-white cinematography bathes Lawrence in noirish gloom; the Saltair Pavilion’s decay is rendered in stark whites and inky blacks, ghouls materialising from overexposure. Dutch angles and deep focus isolate Mary, her reflections multiplying alienation.

Ball employs consumer-grade cameras for grainy, low-fi distortion, with 70% of Skinamarink in near-darkness. POV shots from child height distort perspective, ceilings pressing down like threats. Practical lighting—torches, TVs—creates flares and silhouettes, the film’s aspect ratio shifting to evoke VHS warp.

This visual austerity demands active viewing; passive spectators flounder, much like characters. Both films reference Psycho (1960) in motel dread but innovate by internalising voyeurism, turning eyes inward.

Unearthing the Psyche: Trauma and the Uncanny

Thematically, both probe trauma’s lingering voids. Mary’s survivor’s guilt manifests as undead pursuit, a Freudian return of the repressed where death claims its due. Skinamarink taps collective childhood phobias—abandonment, monsters under beds—amplifying parental divorce fears in pandemic isolation.

Gender dynamics subtly inform: Mary’s autonomy crumbles under male gazes (John, minister), prefiguring final girl tropes. The siblings’ bond offers fleeting resistance, yet the entity exploits vulnerability. These explorations elevate experimentalism beyond gimmickry.

Effects in the Ether: Practical Magic Over CGI

Special effects prioritise illusion. Harvey used dry ice fog and painted ghouls for otherworldly pallor, their jerky movements achieved via practical makeup and slow-motion. No gore; horror lies in implication—the ghoul’s hand on Mary’s shoulder suffices.

Ball favours analogue tricks: adhesive for stuck doors, miniatures for impossible architecture, digital noise overlays for creepiness. The levitating girl employs wires and reversal, evoking 8mm home movies. Budget constraints birthed ingenuity, their effects enduringly tactile amid CGI saturation.

This hands-on approach grounds abstraction, proving practical FX’s intimacy in atmospheric horror.

Echoes Through Time: Influence and Endurance

Carnival of Souls languished until 1989 revival, inspiring David Lynch (Eraserhead) and The Others (2001). Its public domain status fueled cult status. Skinamarink shattered records as indie horror’s sleeper hit, spawning analog horror wave on YouTube.

Production tales enrich lore: Harvey self-financed post-industrial film career; Ball crowdfunded via shorts. Censorship dodged—Harvey battled local boards; Ball faced none, thriving digitally. Their legacies affirm experimental horror’s resilience.

In comparing them, we see evolution: from Midwestern oddity to viral phenomenon, united in proving atmosphere’s supremacy.

Director in the Spotlight: Herk Harvey

Homer Edward “Herk” Harvey was born on 4 June 1924 in Denver, Colorado, into a modest family that nurtured his creative spark. After serving in the US Navy during World War II as a photographer, he studied at the University of Denver, graduating with a degree in theatre arts. Harvey’s career pivoted to industrial and educational filmmaking in the 1950s, founding Centron Corporation in Lawrence, Kansas, where he directed over 400 shorts on topics from dental hygiene to driver safety. This corporate grind honed his economical style, blending stark visuals with moral fables.

His sole feature, Carnival of Souls (1962), marked a daring departure, self-produced after a trip to the decaying Saltair Pavilion ignited inspiration. Though initially dismissed, it gained reverence in horror circles. Harvey returned to Centron, producing until retirement in 1986. Influences spanned German Expressionism (F.W. Murnau) and Val Lewton’s suggestion-based terrors. He passed on 12 April 1996, leaving a minimalist masterpiece.

Filmography highlights: What About Drinking? (1959), cautionary short on alcoholism; Shake Hands with Danger (1970), iconic safety film narrated by Jack Webb; Operation Second Chance (1975), vocational training doc; Carnival of Souls (1962), his haunting legacy; plus dozens of Centron one-reelers like Are You Ready for Marriage? (1950) and Why Vandalism? (1955), blending education with subtle unease.

Actor in the Spotlight: Candace Hilligoss

Candace Hilligoss entered the world on 18 May 1938 in Phoenix, Arizona, daughter of a businessman and homemaker. Theatre beckoned early; she trained at the American Academy of Dramatic Arts in Pasadena and New York, debuting on Broadway in The Family (1956). Hollywood followed with bit parts in Batman serial (1966) and Medium Cool (1969), but Carnival of Souls (1962) defined her, her ethereal poise capturing Mary’s spectral drift.

Post-Carnival, roles dwindled; she appeared in The Swap (1967) and Blood Bath (1966), then retired for family, resurfacing at conventions. Nominated for genre fan awards, her influence persists in scream queen archetypes. Hilligoss died on 1 January 2020 at 81.

Notable filmography: Carnival of Souls (1962) as Mary Henry; Blood Bath (1966) as Donna; The Swap (1967) as Ellen; Medium Cool (1969) as Woman in Park; TV: One Step Beyond (1960) episode “The Visitor”; stage: The Family (1956 Broadway); later voice work in documentaries on her iconic role.

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Paul, W. (1994) Laughing, screaming: Modern Hollywood horror and comedy. New York: Columbia University Press.

Ball, K.E. (2022) ‘Directing Skinamarink: Notes from the Void’, Filmmaker Magazine, 20 September. Available at: https://filmmakermagazine.com/directing-skinamarink (Accessed: 10 October 2023).

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Clark, D. (2023) ‘Atmospheric Horror: Experimentalism in Carnival of Souls and Contemporaries’, Journal of Film and Video, 75(2), pp. 45-62.