In the twisted corridors of the psyche, where faith clashes with grief, Saint Maud and The Babadook duel for supremacy—but only one emerges unscathed from the mind’s abyss.

Psychological horror thrives on the erosion of sanity, peeling back layers of the human condition to reveal raw, unrelenting dread. Rose Glass’s Saint Maud (2019) and Jennifer Kent’s The Babadook (2013) stand as modern masterpieces in this subgenre, each weaponising personal torment to devastating effect. This showdown pits religious ecstasy against maternal despair, ascetic denial against explosive confrontation, to determine which film delivers the more profound, lingering terror.

  • Unpacking the core narratives: how Saint Maud‘s spiritual delusion and The Babadook‘s monstrous manifestation of loss define their horrors.
  • Dissecting directorial visions, performances, and technical mastery that elevate one above the other.
  • Reaching a verdict on legacy, influence, and sheer emotional devastation—which film truly reigns?

The Holy Hysteria: Unravelling Saint Maud’s Narrative

Saint Maud follows Maud, a young nurse whose conversion to extreme Catholicism spirals into self-flagellating fanaticism. After caring for Amanda, a terminally ill dancer, Maud believes she can miraculously cure her charge through prayer and penance. As Amanda rejects her overtures, Maud’s grip on reality frays, culminating in visions of divine stigmata and a horrifying act of isolation. Morfydd Clark’s portrayal anchors the film, her wide eyes flickering between piety and madness.

The film’s power lies in its intimate scale. Shot on location in Scarborough, England, director Rose Glass crafts a suffocating atmosphere where damp coastal flats mirror Maud’s internal decay. Key scenes, like the nail-through-palm sequence, blend body horror with spiritual symbolism, drawing from Catholic iconography such as the Passion of Christ. Glass, in her feature debut, draws on her own Catholic upbringing to infuse authenticity, making Maud’s descent feel like a perverted Stations of the Cross.

Historically, Saint Maud echoes the works of Ingmar Bergman, particularly The Seventh Seal (1957), where faith grapples with mortality. Yet Glass updates this for a post-secular age, where personal salvation becomes a solitary, solipsistic battle. The film’s production faced challenges, including funding hurdles typical of A24’s indie slate, but its premiere at Toronto International Film Festival in 2019 marked it as a festival darling.

The Shadow in the Nursery: The Babadook’s Grieving Core

Jennifer Kent’s The Babadook centres on Amelia, a widow tormented by her son Samuel’s behavioural issues and the anniversary of her husband’s death. A pop-up book introduces the Babadook, a top-hatted specter that manifests as grief’s physical embodiment. As Amelia suppresses her sorrow, the creature invades their home, forcing a violent reckoning. Essie Davis delivers a tour de force, shifting from frayed exhaustion to feral rage.

Kent builds tension through domestic realism, transforming a modest Adelaide house into a claustrophobic trap. Iconic moments, like the Babadook’s jerky emergence from shadows, utilise practical effects by Odd Studio, evoking German Expressionism’s angular distortions. The film’s sound design, with creaking floors and guttural whispers, amplifies paranoia, while Adam Arkapaw’s cinematography employs harsh fluorescents to bleach out hope.

Rooted in Kent’s short film Monster (2005), The Babadook premiered at Venice Film Festival to acclaim, overcoming distributor hesitancy in the US. It taps into universal bereavement myths, akin to the Japanese onryō spirits or Freud’s mourning and melancholia, but grounds them in single motherhood’s isolation.

Faith’s Fanaticism Versus Grief’s Grasp: Thematic Throwdown

Both films dissect mental fracture, but Saint Maud fixates on religious delusion as a defence against loneliness. Maud’s arc—from nurse to martyr—critiques evangelical excess, portraying faith as a masochistic addiction. Glass weaves in gender dynamics, with Maud’s body as battleground, echoing medieval mystics like Julian of Norwich, whose visions blended pain and ecstasy.

Conversely, The Babadook confronts repressed grief head-on. The creature symbolises unprocessed loss, demanding acknowledgment rather than exorcism. Kent explores class and maternal guilt, with Amelia’s dead-end job underscoring societal neglect of widows. This makes the film a touchstone for postpartum depression discussions, predating similar themes in Relic (2020).

Where Saint Maud offers bleak nihilism—Maud’s “victory” a descent into insanity—The Babadook hints at tentative catharsis, with Amelia feeding the monster in the basement. This resolution, ambiguous yet hopeful, provides emotional release absent in Glass’s film, broadening its resonance.

Performances that Pierce the Soul

Morfydd Clark in Saint Maud mesmerises with physical commitment, contorting her frame in prayer and enduring prosthetics for wounds. Her dual role as young and old Maud adds layers, suggesting cyclical torment. Clark’s Welsh intensity brings authenticity, honed from theatre roots.

Essie Davis eclipses with raw vulnerability in The Babadook. Her scream—primal, shattered—lingers, while subtle tics convey accumulating breakdown. Davis, a ballet-trained veteran, embodies Amelia’s physical toll, her performance earning Australian Film Institute nods.

Noel Appleby and Hayley McElhinney support effectively, but leads dominate. Davis edges out for versatility, navigating hysteria without caricature.

Cinematography’s Chilling Palette

Glass employs stark contrasts in Saint Maud: heavenly glows yield to hellish reds, James Bloom’s lens capturing Scarborough’s grey desolation. Close-ups invade Maud’s pores, heightening intimacy.

Arkapaw’s work in The Babadook favours monochrome dread, shadows swallowing rooms. Dutch angles and slow zooms mimic Samuel’s pop-up book, innovative for low-budget constraints.

The Babadook‘s visuals innovate more, influencing Hereditary (2018).

Soundscapes of Madness

Saint Maud‘s score by Marcus Alqueres and Lora Fox mixes choral hymns with industrial drones, punctuating ecstasy with dissonance. Diegetic prayer amplifies isolation.

Kent’s film uses silence masterfully, broken by Ben Wasser’s percussive stings and whispers. The Babadook’s rhyme—”If it’s in a word or in a look, you can’t get rid of the Babadook”—becomes auditory haunt.

The Babadook‘s sound etches deeper into memory.

Effects and Production Ingenuity

Saint Maud relies on practical gore—stigmata via silicone—for visceral impact. Budget limitations foster creativity, like improvised visions.

The Babadook‘s puppetry by Odd Studio crafts the titular monster’s uncanny valley menace, blending stop-motion with actors in suits. Kent’s guerrilla shoots in abandoned homes add grit.

Both excel, but The Babadook‘s creature design icons the genre.

Legacy and Cultural Echoes

Saint Maud influenced indies like She Dies Tomorrow (2020), cementing A24’s psych-horror brand. Its religious critique sparks discourse amid rising fundamentalism.

The Babadook exploded into meme culture—”Babadook is gay icon”—and therapy shorthand for grief. Remakes beckon, its influence spans Midsommar (2019) to TV’s The Haunting of Hill House.

Kent’s film reshaped perceptions, making monsters metaphors anew.

The Verdict: Grief Devours Faith

Both films terrify through psyche invasion, but The Babadook triumphs. Its universal grief theme, breakthrough creature, and cathartic arc outshine Saint Maud‘s narrower zealotry. Davis’s performance and Kent’s assured direction seal victory, leaving indelible scars.

Saint Maud impresses as debut brilliance, yet lacks the former’s reach. In psychological horror’s pantheon, the Babadook reigns.

Director in the Spotlight

Jennifer Kent, born in 1969 in Brisbane, Australia, emerged from acting and editing to become a horror auteur. Trained at the National Institute of Dramatic Art, she debuted acting in Waiting (1999). Her short Monster (2005), about a boy and his mother facing a spectral intruder, won awards and birthed The Babadook.

Kent assisted on Baz Luhrmann’s Red Curtain Trilogy, honing craft. The Babadook (2013) catapulted her, praised for grief exploration. She directed The Nightingale (2018), a brutal colonial revenge tale starring Aisling Franciosi, earning Venice Venice Film Festival prizes. Upcoming: Clash of the Titans remake and Babadook 2.

Influenced by Hitchcock and silent cinema, Kent champions female-led stories. Filmography: Door to Door (2002, short)—domestic abuse drama; Monster (2005, short)—grief precursor; The Babadook (2013)—breakout horror; The Nightingale (2018)—historical brutality; Ella and the Little Sorcerer (in development)—family fantasy.

Her meticulous prep, storyboarding every frame, underscores precision. Kent advocates indie cinema amid blockbusters.

Actor in the Spotlight

Essie Davis, born 23 December 1970 in Hobart, Tasmania, rose from ballet to screen stardom. Royal Academy of Dramatic Art graduate, she debuted in Darkness Falls (1998). Breakthrough: The Matrix Reloaded (2003) as Lady of the Galaxy.

Davis shone in Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003), earning British Independent Film Award. Theatre: A Streetcar Named Blanche DuBois (2009). Horror peak: The Babadook (2013), AACTA best actress.

Versatile: Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries (2012-2015) as Phryne Fisher; The Justice of Bunny King (2021). Voiced Arkham Knight’s Rita Farr. Awards: Logie, Helpmann.

Filmography: Absolute Truth (1996)—debut; Water Rats (1996-2001)—TV breakout; Hollyhock (1999); The Slab (2001); Swimming Upstream (2003); The Matrix Reloaded/Revolutions (2003); Girl with a Pearl Earring (2003); Code 46 (2003); The White Earth (2004, short); Marie Antoinette (2006); Noise (2007); Hey Hey It’s Esther Bluefeather (2008); Under the Mountain (2009); Accidents Happen (2009); Girl (2010, short); Legend of the Guardians (2010, voice); Charlotte Gray (wait, earlier); extensive: The Babadook (2013); The Turning (2013); Mystery Road (2013); Backtrack (2015); Fuel (2015, short); The Death and Life of Otto Bloom (2016); Lion (2016); Tempting Fate (2016, short); Black Wings Has My Angel (2017, short); The Justice of Bunny King (2021); True Spirit (2023); voicing in DC League of Super-Pets (2022). Davis embodies fierce femininity.

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Bibliography

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Bradshaw, P. (2019) Saint Maud review – a brilliantly bonkers religious horror. The Guardian. Available at: https://www.theguardian.com/film/2020/feb/19/saint-maud-review-rose-glass-morfydd-clark (Accessed: 15 October 2023).

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