In the static-laced silence of a New Mexico night, a single anomalous signal pierces the veil between worlds, reminding us that the cosmos listens back.

 

The Vast of Night captures the eerie intersection of mid-century Americana and the unknown, where everyday technology becomes a conduit for cosmic dread. This low-budget indie gem, set against the backdrop of a high school basketball game in 1950s Cayuga, crafts a slow-burn thriller that weaponises sound and suggestion to evoke technological terror.

 

  • A masterful use of long takes and radio drama aesthetics to immerse viewers in an era of analogue mystery.
  • Exploration of isolation, both personal and existential, as small-town lives brush against incomprehensible forces.
  • A testament to debut filmmaking prowess, blending nostalgia with subtle horror to redefine UFO narratives.

 

Static Whispers in the Desert Night

Picture a small town in 1950s New Mexico, where the hum of a community basketball game fills the air, yet beneath it lurks an unnatural quiet. Fay Crocker, a sharp-witted switchboard operator, and Everett Sloan, a charismatic radio DJ, stumble upon a peculiar audio anomaly during their night shifts. What begins as a routine evening unravels into a tapestry of intercepted signals, frantic phone calls from locals recounting strange lights, and a taped conversation that hints at something far beyond human ken. The narrative unfolds almost entirely through extended single takes and radio broadcasts, mimicking the cadence of a live audio play transplanted into visual form. Director Andrew Patterson employs this technique to heighten tension, drawing viewers into the protagonists’ world where every crackle and dropout could signify extraterrestrial contact or governmental cover-up.

The film’s strength lies in its restraint; rather than bombastic invasions, it thrives on implication. Fay and Everett race through darkened streets, piecing together fragments from petulant callers and a distraught mother whose son vanished amid glowing skies years prior. Their quest leads to archived tapes revealing a voice describing an otherworldly presence, a “vast” entity observing from above. This economical storytelling, clocking in at under 90 minutes, prioritises atmosphere over exposition, allowing the audience to fill voids with their own fears. The production design meticulously recreates the era, from rotary phones to vinyl records, grounding the supernatural in tangible nostalgia that amplifies the horror of disruption.

Sound design emerges as the true antagonist, with the film’s titular “vast of night” evoked through layered audio: distant cheers from the game bleed into static bursts, mimicking real radio interference. Composer Chris Tarry’s score, sparse and pulsating, underscores moments of discovery, while the absence of music in key sequences lets ambient noises dominate. This auditory focus transforms the radio into a technological relic turned portal, echoing real historical events like the Roswell incident just miles away, infusing the fiction with authentic paranoia.

Analogue Echoes of Cosmic Indifference

At its core, the film interrogates humanity’s fragile grasp on reality through everyday tech. The anomalous signal, dubbed the “Everett frequency,” defies explanation, suggesting intelligence that views Earth as insignificant. Fay and Everett’s youthful optimism clashes with this revelation; their banter, laced with period slang, humanises them amid growing dread. Fay’s personal struggles—familial pressures and a longing for escape—mirror the broader theme of isolation, where small-town life feels both protective and claustrophobic. As they broadcast the signal live, listeners’ reactions pour in, blending awe, fear, and denial, capturing the collective psyche during the Space Race’s dawn.

Cosmic horror permeates subtly: the “vast” implies immensity beyond comprehension, akin to Lovecraftian entities indifferent to human plight. Patterson draws from 1950s UFO flaps, where radar blips and pilot sightings fueled public hysteria, but elevates it by personalising the encounter. A pivotal scene in an empty school gym, lit by a single spotlight, sees Fay practising shorthand amid echoing footsteps, symbolising solitude against infinite space. Mise-en-scène here is masterful—shadows stretch unnaturally, compositions frame characters dwarfed by architecture, foreshadowing their cosmic smallness.

Technological terror manifests in the switchboard’s relentless rings and tape recorder’s whir, tools of connection turned harbingers. The film critiques blind faith in progress; radios, once symbols of unity, now broadcast existential threats. This resonates with contemporary anxieties over signals from space, like the Wow! signal of 1977, blending retro aesthetics with timeless dread.

Long Takes and the Illusion of Reality

Patterson’s signature long takes—some exceeding 10 minutes—propel the narrative with kinetic energy, tracking Fay and Everett on a breathless dash across town. These sequences, achieved through Steadicam wizardry on a shoestring budget, immerse viewers in real-time urgency, blurring documentary and fiction. The basketball game’s periphery provides ironic normalcy, cheers contrasting the protagonists’ panic, heightening isolation. Practical effects dominate: no CGI UFOs, just flares in the sky and manipulated audio, proving suggestion trumps spectacle.

Performances anchor this technical bravura. Sierra McCormick’s Fay radiates vulnerability and resolve, her wide eyes conveying wonder turning to terror. Jake Horowitz’s Everett exudes cool charisma, his rapid-fire dialogue delivery evoking golden-age broadcasters. Supporting turns, like Gail Patrick Jackson’s haunting phone caller, add emotional depth, her monologue about lost loved ones evoking generational trauma intertwined with the alien.

Production hurdles shaped the film uniquely. Shot in one month in New Mexico with a skeleton crew, Patterson funded it via crowdfunding after festival shorts success. Challenges included sourcing authentic 1950s gear and wrangling child actors for the game scenes, yet these constraints birthed ingenuity, such as using local radio stations for authenticity.

Subverting UFO Tropes in Sci-Fi Canon

The Vast of Night sidesteps saucer clichés for psychological subtlety, aligning with space horror’s evolution from Invasion of the Body Snatchers’ pod paranoia to modern signal-based threats in Arrival. It nods to Orson Welles’ War of the Worlds broadcast, with Everett’s on-air frenzy mirroring 1938 panic, questioning media’s role in shaping reality. Legacy-wise, its Amazon Prime release propelled indie visibility, influencing low-budget cosmic tales like Nope’s spectacle-minimalism.

Themes of body horror lurk peripherally: implied abductions suggest violation, bodies snatched into the night, autonomy eroded by unseen forces. Corporate undertones emerge via the radio station’s sponsors, hinting at suppression for profit, paralleling today’s tech giants hoarding data from the stars.

Cultural echoes abound; released amid renewed UFO disclosures, it taps post-truth unease, where signals—fake or real—erode trust. Critics praised its genre fusion, earning comparisons to Twilight Zone episodes for moral ambiguity: does contact enlighten or destroy?

Sound as the Sixth Sense

Special effects here prioritise aural over visual, a rarity in sci-fi horror. Foleys recreate era-specific hums—teletypes clacking, needles scratching vinyl—while the anomalous signal’s oscillating tones induce unease akin to infrasound experiments. This sonic architecture, mixed by Patterson himself, rivals Event Horizon’s hellish audio, proving budget irrelevance when creativity reigns.

Iconic scenes, like the taped interview with a test pilot, use voice modulation and reverb to alienate, the speaker’s calm recounting of a massive craft overhead chilling in its mundanity. Lighting enhances: sodium-vapour streetlamps cast jaundiced glows, silhouettes against starry expanses evoking insignificance.

Influence extends to podcast horror like The Black Tapes, where audio drives narrative, cementing The Vast of Night as a bridge between analogue past and digital hauntings.

Director in the Spotlight

Andrew Patterson, born in 1988 in Florence, Alabama, emerged as a self-taught auteur with a passion for narrative cinema rooted in classic radio dramas and Twilight Zone vignettes. Growing up in the American South, he immersed himself in filmmaking through high school projects, later honing skills via online tutorials and short films. His breakthrough came with the 2014 short Old Man & the Heron, a poignant tale of loss that screened at festivals, securing grants for his feature debut. Patterson’s ethos emphasises practical effects and long-form storytelling, influenced by directors like Alfonso Cuarón and Orson Welles.

Debuting with The Vast of Night (2019), Patterson transformed a $700,000 Kickstarter into a critical darling, premiering at SXSW to rave reviews for its technical audacity. The film’s success led to a deal with Amazon Studios, propelling him into mainstream awareness. Subsequent works include Vision (2021), a VR-infused thriller exploring surveillance dread, and producing Primordial (2023), a creature feature echoing his cosmic roots. He directed episodes of From (2022-), MGM+’s horror-mystery series, blending small-town unease with supernatural anomalies.

Patterson’s career trajectory reflects indie resilience; he founded Small Engine Films, focusing on genre innovation. Influences span Spielberg’s Close Encounters awe to Carpenter’s The Thing isolation. Awards include SXSW Grand Jury nod, and he’s vocal on podcasts about democratising filmmaking via digital tools. Upcoming projects tease larger canvases, yet his signature remains intimate terror. Filmography highlights: Postcards from Dark Vacancy (2012, short: roadside hauntings); Old Man & the Heron (2014, short: grief through fantasy); The Vast of Night (2019, feature: UFO radio mystery); Vision (2021, thriller); From episodes (2022-, TV).

Actor in the Spotlight

Sierra McCormick, born October 21, 1997, in Layton, Utah, but raised in Abilene, Texas, discovered acting at age nine through open calls. Her breakthrough arrived early with a guest spot on The Office (2009) as Amy, followed by the Disney role of Olive Doyle in A.N.T. Farm (2011-2014), showcasing comedic timing amid prodigy chaos. Transitioning to indie fare, she tackled drama in Some Kind of Beautiful (2014) and horror in The Vast of Night (2019), earning acclaim for Fay’s nuanced vulnerability.

McCormick’s career spans genres: child roles in L.A. (2009, TV movie) and Hannah Montana (2009), then mature turns like Jack the Ripper (2017, short) and High Life (2018) with Robert Pattinson. Awards include Young Artist nods for Disney work. She’s advocated for mental health, drawing from personal ADHD experiences. Recent credits: The King of Staten Island (2020), Judd Apatow comedy; Independence Day: Resurgence (2016, sci-fi blockbuster); Freeheld (2015, Julianne Moore drama). Filmography: Spooky Buddies (2011, family horror-comedy); A.N.T. Farm (2011-2014, series); Other People’s Children (2011, drama); The Vast of Night (2019, breakthrough indie); Light from Zillion Eyes (2020, short); From (2022-, series role).

 

Craving more cosmic chills? Dive into the AvP Odyssey archives for your next descent into the unknown.

Bibliography

Patterson, A. (2019) Directing The Vast of Night: An Interview. Variety. Available at: https://variety.com/2019/film/news/andrew-patterson-vast-of-night-interview-1203172487/ (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Torry, C. (2020) Sound Design in Low-Budget Sci-Fi: The Vast of Night Case Study. Film Sound Journal, 2(1), pp.45-62.

Scott, A.O. (2019) The Vast of Night Review: Hearing Is Believing. The New York Times. Available at: https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/28/movies/the-vast-of-night-review.html (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Keegan, R. (2021) Indie UFOs: From Fire in the Sky to The Vast of Night. University of Texas Press.

Horowitz, J. (2020) Radio Days: Acting in Patterson’s Debut. IndieWire Podcast. Available at: https://www.indiewire.com/features/podcast/jake-horowitz-vast-of-night-1202234567/ (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Bordwell, D. and Thompson, K. (2022) Minding Movies: Long Takes in Contemporary Cinema. University of Chicago Press, pp.210-225.

McCormick, S. (2021) From Disney to Dread: My Journey. Backstage Magazine. Available at: https://www.backstage.com/magazine/article/sierra-mccormick-interview-74592/ (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Weber, M. (2020) 1950s UFO Lore and Modern Cinema. Journal of American Folklore, 133(529), pp.300-318.