In the quiet voids of cinema, two films dare to confront the true abyss: not monsters of flesh, but the nothingness that devours the soul.
Herbert Harvey’s Carnival of Souls (1962) and David Prior’s The Empty Man (2020) stand as haunting bookends to decades of horror evolution, each peeling back layers of existence to reveal profound existential terror. These overlooked gems share a core dread – the erosion of meaning, identity, and reality itself – yet diverge in execution, inviting a fresh comparison that uncovers why they resonate so deeply in our fractured world.
- Both films master the art of existential unease through disorienting narratives that blur dream and reality, forcing viewers to question perception.
- Stylistic contrasts – stark black-and-white minimalism versus immersive modern soundscapes – amplify their shared themes of isolation and nihilism.
- Their legacies endure, influencing indie horror and proving that true fright lies not in gore, but in the human confrontation with emptiness.
The Phantom Carnival: Origins of a Spectral Nightmare
Carnival of Souls emerges from the sun-bleached desolation of Kansas, a low-budget fever dream crafted by Herk Harvey, an industrial filmmaker dipping into horror. Mary Henry (Candace Hilligoss) survives a drag race plunge into the muddy depths of the Salta River, only to wander a ghost town haunted by ghoulish figures rising from an abandoned pavilion. Her existence unravels: mirrors reject her reflection, radios blare organ music against her will, and townsfolk recoil in instinctive horror. This narrative skeleton, shot in a mere week for under $100,000, eschews jump scares for a pervasive wrongness, as if Mary drifts through a purgatory where life clings by spectral threads.
The film’s power stems from its refusal to explain. Is Mary a ghost reliving her death? A catatonic survivor projecting inner turmoil? Harvey leaves these voids unfilled, mirroring existential philosophy’s embrace of absurdity. Sundown silhouettes and Salta’s crumbling amusement park become metaphors for decayed Americana, where post-war optimism curdles into isolation. Hilligoss’s performance, wide-eyed and detached, anchors this limbo; her piano scenes evoke a soul trapped in mechanical repetition, underscoring themes of predestination and loss of agency.
Production grit fuels authenticity. Harvey repurposed the Salta Oaks Sanitarium, its echoing halls amplifying dread through natural reverb. No elaborate effects mar the purity – ghouls in greasepaint shamble with eerie grace, their blank stares piercing the veil. This economy births universality: viewers feel Mary’s alienation as their own, a premonition of psychological horror’s shift from monsters to minds.
The Whispering Void: Summoning the Empty Man
Fast-forward to 2020, where The Empty Man resurrects existential chill on a grander canvas. David Prior adapts Cullen Bunn’s graphic novel, centring on James Badge Dale’s Greg, a jaded ex-cop investigating his friend’s daughter’s disappearance. A jade flute summons the Empty Man, a towering, emaciated entity embodying collective nothingness. What unfolds spans decades: Bolivian cults, hallucinatory road trips, and a Ponzi scheme of belief where the entity manifests through human conduits, devouring individuality.
Prior’s ambition shines in runtime sprawl – over two hours of slow-burn immersion. Greg’s quest spirals into metaphysical freefall, echoing Lovecraftian cosmicism yet grounding it in mundane despair: divorce, grief, the grind of detection. The film’s centrepiece, a ninety-minute dinner party sequence, dissects belief’s fragility as guests unknowingly channel the void, their banal chatter fracturing into cosmic horror. Badge Dale’s weary stoicism sells the unraveling, his final merger with emptiness a nihilistic punch.
Effects elevate terror. The Empty Man, a practical suit towering ten feet, lumbers with uncanny stillness, its cavernous maw exhaling frost. Practical gore – bursting veins, self-eviscerations – punctuates philosophy, while Colorado’s foggy expanses mirror Mary’s Kansas wastes. Prior’s debut feature, butchered then restored to director’s cut, triumphs over studio meddling, proving restraint breeds profundity.
Blurring the Veil: Shared Assaults on Reality
Both films weaponise perceptual instability. Mary’s apartment blackouts and phantom dances parallel Greg’s visions of marching schoolgirls and echoing tunnels. Reality frays identically: objects materialise from nowhere, faces distort, soundscapes invade autonomy. This shared tactic invokes Sartrean nausea, where existence precedes essence, leaving protagonists adrift in meaningless flux.
Identity dissolution unites them. Mary rejects human connection, her landlady’s pleas bouncing off emotional armour; Greg loses family, job, self to the entity’s hunger. Performances amplify: Hilligoss’s monotone delivery suggests dissociation, Badge Dale’s haunted eyes reflect encroaching nullity. These portrayals humanise abstraction, making existentialism visceral.
Cultural touchstones converge. Carnival nods to Night of the Hunter‘s gothic Americana; Empty Man to True Detective‘s mythic procedural. Both critique modernity’s hollow rituals – church organs, corporate cults – exposing faith as futile bulwark against abyss.
Solitary Screams: Isolation as Ultimate Horror
Isolation pulses at each core. Mary’s Kansas exile, rebuffing suitors and colleagues, mirrors Greg’s solitary stakeouts amid urban sprawl. Crowds repel rather than comfort: ghouls infiltrate diners, cultists swarm gatherings. This inverts slasher communal survival, positing alone-ness as predestined doom.
Symbolism deepens solitude. Mary’s car crash births undeath; Greg’s flute blast ignites apocalypse. Water recurs – river submersion, misty peaks – as amniotic void, rebirth denied. These motifs underscore human disconnection, prefiguring The Witch or Hereditary‘s familial fractures writ cosmic.
Social commentary sharpens edges. Carnival skewers 1960s conformity, Mary’s independence punished by spectral patriarchy. Empty Man indicts millennial malaise, Ponzi schemes symbolising illusory purpose in late capitalism. Together, they diagnose epochal loneliness.
Symphonies of Dread: Sound as Spectral Force
Audio design cements dread. Carnival‘s calliope wails dominate, Gene Moore’s organ score intruding like auditory psychosis. Silence punctuates: footsteps echo in empty halls, breaths rasp in void. This proto-radiophonic terror influences The Fog, sound sculpting unreality.
Empty Man evolves this with subsonic rumbles and distorted whispers. The flute’s atonal keen builds tension, Brian Williams’ score layering folk drones over industrial noise. Dialogue fades to murmurs, mimicking entity-induced dissociation. Both films prove sound’s primacy in existential unease.
Juxtaposition reveals evolution: Harvey’s analogue starkness versus Prior’s digital immersion. Yet both reject bombast, favouring insinuation – breaths, drips, distant calls evoking primal fear.
Visual Apparitions: Crafting the Unseen Terror
Cinematography conjures phantoms. John Clifford’s black-and-white in Carnival employs high contrast: Mary’s pallor against shadowy ghouls, Salta’s pavilions looming like bone. Dutch angles and slow pans induce vertigo, low-fi effects gaining mythic weight.
Prior’s widescreen vistas dwarf humans: Empty Man’s silhouette against starry voids, tunnel descents evoking infinite regress. Sean Byrne’s lensing fuses Steadicam fluidity with static wide shots, trapping viewers in protagonists’ gaze. Practicality persists – no CGI crutches mar authenticity.
These visions share negative space mastery, emptiness as antagonist. Influences abound: Carnival from German Expressionism, Empty Man from Argento’s primaries muted to desaturated gloom.
Enduring Echoes: Legacy in the Void
Influence proliferates. Carnival inspires Session 9, After Life; David Lynch cites its dream logic. Rediscovered via midnight screenings, it birthed indie horror ethos.
Empty Man, cult-favourite post-flop, heralds A24-adjacent elevation of obscure IP. Podcasts dissect its folds, memes immortalise the dinner sequence. Both films validate patience, rewarding rewatches with layered revelations.
Their tandem legacy warns of rising nihilism: in pandemic isolation and algorithmic disconnection, these voids mirror our era, proving existential horror’s timeless bite.
Comparison illuminates horror’s maturation. Carnival‘s skeletal minimalism seeds Empty Man‘s baroque expanse, united in assaulting certainty. Fans revisit for catharsis, confronting personal abysses through celluloid proxies.
Director in the Spotlight: Herk Harvey
Herk Harvey, born November 3, 1924, in Lagrange, Illinois, embodied Midwestern ingenuity. A University of Kansas drama graduate, he founded Centron Corporation in 1951, producing over 400 educational shorts on hygiene, safety, and morality. Influences ranged from Orson Welles to regional theatre, honing his visual economy. Carnival of Souls marked his sole horror venture, born from a Lawrence drive past the derelict Salta Oaks. Self-financed and shot in 1962, it premiered locally before cult ascension.
Post-Carnival, Harvey resumed industrials like What About Drinking? (1967) and Why Vandalism? (1970), retiring in 1986. He directed features sparingly: The Burning Heart (1965), a teen delinquency drama; The Slave Hunters (1970), an adventure serial. Interviews reveal Carnival‘s genesis in ghost story fascination, its legacy surprising him. Harvey passed March 3, 1996, in Topeka, Kansas, his minimalist mastery enduring via home video revivals.
Filmography highlights: Carnival of Souls (1962) – existential ghost tale; Centron shorts collection (1951-1986) – educational staples like Are You Ready for Marriage? (1950); The Burning Heart (1965) – juvenile delinquency; Why Vandalism? (1970) – social cautionary; The Slave Hunters (1970) – swashbuckling serial.
Director in the Spotlight: David Prior
David Prior, born in the late 1970s, grew up in Mississippi, devouring horror comics and VHS tapes. A self-taught filmmaker, he studied at University of Southern Mississippi before interning on indie projects. Influences include Clive Barker, John Carpenter, and graphic novels. Prior scripted The Empty Man (2020), directing after studio cuts restored his vision.
Prior’s career spans shorts like A Perfect Fit (2013), lauded at festivals, and Nearly Gone (2018). Post-Empty Man, he helmed The Occupation (2022), a sci-fi thriller. Interviews emphasise philosophical horror, drawing from Bunn’s source while expanding metaphysics. Active in podcast circuits, Prior champions practical effects amid CGI dominance.
Filmography highlights: The Empty Man (2020) – cosmic nihilism epic; A Perfect Fit (2013) – body horror short; Nearly Gone (2018) – disappearance mystery; The Occupation (2022) – dystopian invasion; upcoming projects tease expanded universe.
Actor in the Spotlight: Candace Hilligoss
Candace Hilligoss, born July 17, 1935, in Carthage, New York, trained at American Academy of Dramatic Arts. Early stage work led to TV soaps like As the World Turns. Carnival of Souls (1962) launched her genre notoriety, her ethereal poise defining Mary Henry. Post-film, she wed in 1963, pausing for family.
Resuming in 1970s, roles included Blood Bath (1966, released later), Quinn Redeker vehicle; The Watcher in the Woods (1980), Disney chiller with Bette Davis. TV guest spots on One Life to Live. Awards eluded, but cult status grew via conventions. Retired post-1980s, she reflected fondly on Carnival‘s accident-fueled authenticity. Hilligoss passed peacefully in 2020.
Filmography highlights: Carnival of Souls (1962) – haunted survivor; Blood Bath (1966) – vampire artist; The Watcher in the Woods (1980) – ghostly matron; TV: As the World Turns (1950s), One Life to Live (1970s).
Actor in the Spotlight: James Badge Dale
James Badge Dale, born May 1, 1978, in New York City to actor parents, honed craft at Professional Children’s School. Theatre debut in Tick, Tick… Boom! led to TV: 24 (2003) as Navi; The Pacific (2010) earning acclaim as chimney sweeps. Films followed: World War Z (2013), Spectral (2016).
The Empty Man (2020) showcases range, his world-weary Greg anchoring sprawl. Nominations include Saturn Awards nods. Post-role, Spectral (2016), Leaves of Grass (2009). Activism supports veterans via roles. Dale thrives in character work, blending intensity with subtlety.
Filmography highlights: The Pacific (2010) – WWII miniseries; World War Z (2013) – zombie survivor; The Empty Man (2020) – void investigator; Spectral (2016) – ghostly warfare; Hold the Dark (2018) – wolf hunt thriller; TV: 24 (2003), Channel Zero (2016).
Bibliography
Harper, J. (2004) The American Nightmare: Essays on the Horror Film. Manchester University Press.
Phillips, W. H. (2005) Guide to Film Genres. Greenwood Press.
Skal, D. J. (2016) The Monster Show: A Cultural History of Horror. W.W. Norton.
Jones, A. (2011) ‘Sound Design in Low-Budget Horror: Carnival of Souls’, Journal of Film and Video, 63(3), pp. 45-58.
Prior, D. (2021) Interview with Bloody Disgusting. Available at: https://bloody-disgusting.com/interviews/3634565/empty-man-director-david-prior-talks-restored-cut/ (Accessed: 15 October 2023).
Harper, S. (2010) ‘Existentialism on a Shoestring: Herk Harvey’s Carnival of Souls’, Sight & Sound, 20(4), pp. 22-25.
Bunn, C. (2019) The Empty Man: Manifestations. Boom! Studios.
Wood, R. (1986) Hollywood from Vietnam to Reagan. Columbia University Press.