Patrick (2013): The Comatose Mind’s Chilling Telepathic Rampage

In the sterile hush of a private clinic, one boy’s unspoken rage unleashes hell on those who dare disturb his endless sleep.

Deep within the annals of Australian horror cinema, few remakes capture the eerie essence of isolation and supernatural vengeance quite like Patrick (2013). This taut psychological thriller resurrects a cult classic from the late 1970s, blending slow-burn tension with visceral shocks to deliver a fresh nightmare for modern audiences. Mark Hartley’s direction transforms a modest premise into a claustrophobic descent into madness, where the line between caregiver and prey blurs irreversibly.

  • The film’s roots in the 1978 original, faithfully reimagined with updated effects and heightened psychological depth.
  • A breakdown of its telekinetic set pieces and atmospheric sound design that amplify silent terror.
  • Its role in sparking renewed interest in Aussie horror remakes, influencing a wave of genre revivals.

From 1978 Cult Oddity to Modern Menace

The story of Patrick begins not in 2013, but three decades earlier, with Richard Franklin’s audacious 1978 film that dared to fuse telekinesis with medical horror amid Australia’s burgeoning exploitation cinema scene. Franklin’s version starred Susan Penhaligon as a nurse entangled in the psychic web of a comatose teenager, Patrick, whose mother had locked him away after he murdered her lover through sheer force of will. That original pulsed with the raw energy of 1970s grindhouse sensibilities, complete with lurid poster art promising brain-melting thrills and a score that evoked the era’s Euro-horror influences.

Fast forward to 2013, and Hartley resurrects this premise with surgical precision. The remake opens in a secluded clinic operated by the enigmatic Doctor Roget, a man whose experiments on the human mind border on the unethical. Enter Kathy Jacquard, a brilliant but disgraced nurse fleeing a scandalous past. She accepts a position caring for Patrick, a boy in a vegetative state for three years following the gruesome slaying of his mother and her lover. From the outset, Kathy senses something amiss: blood trickles from Patrick’s ear during a routine check, typewriters clatter with invisible hands, and a pervasive chill settles over the ward.

As Kathy bonds with her mute charge, aided by the awkward orderly Maurice and shadowed by the lecherous Doctor Roget, Patrick’s influence seeps into her life. Telepathic communications manifest as milk boiling over in her apartment or doors slamming shut during intimate moments with her boyfriend. The film’s narrative builds methodically, eschewing jump scares for a creeping dread rooted in the unknown. Kathy’s obsession grows; she uncovers Roget’s illicit tests using hallucinogens on Patrick, pushing the boy’s latent powers into overdrive. What follows is a symphony of retribution: levitating syringes impale flesh, possessed typewriters spew accusations, and a greenhouse shatters in a storm of psychic fury.

The climax unfolds in a torrent of revelations. Patrick’s mother was not the victim but the instigator of his torment, her lover’s advances sparking the boy’s explosive awakening. Now, with Kathy as his conduit, Patrick exacts vengeance on Roget and Maurice, culminating in a blood-soaked standoff where the nurse must choose between empathy and survival. Hartley closes the loop with a twist that echoes the original while carving its own path, leaving audiences questioning the ethics of medical isolation and the fragility of the human psyche.

Telekinesis on a Tether: Practical Magic Meets CGI Restraint

One of the remake’s triumphs lies in its effects work, a delicate balance between practical wizardry and subtle digital enhancement. Hartley, drawing from his documentary roots on horror history, opts for tangible horrors that ground the supernatural in gritty realism. The iconic milk scene, where Kathy’s glass levitates and erupts in her kitchen, utilises wires and practical squibs for an organic flow that predates overreliance on green screens. Patrick’s room, with its flickering lights and self-typing typewriter, employs pneumatics and remote controls to simulate poltergeist activity, evoking the handmade charm of 1980s slashers like The Faculty.

CGI enters sparingly, enhancing rather than dominating. Patrick’s telekinetic outbursts manifest as rippling distortions in the air, subtle enough to suggest psychic pressure waves without breaking immersion. The greenhouse finale, a whirlwind of flying glass and contorting bodies, blends miniature models with composited shards for a visceral payoff. Sound design amplifies these moments: low-frequency rumbles build tension before objects hurtle forth, accompanied by Patrick’s guttural, unspoken screams rendered through layered distortions.

This restraint pays dividends, distinguishing Patrick from its flashier contemporaries. Where American remakes like The Fog (2005) drowned in spectacle, Hartley’s vision harks back to the economical terrors of The Innocents (1961), prioritising suggestion over excess. Collectors of horror memorabilia cherish the behind-the-scenes stills from this production, showcasing prop makers crafting blood-rigged syringes that still fetch premiums at genre auctions.

The film’s visual palette reinforces this intimacy. Cinematographer Carl Conforti bathes the clinic in sickly greens and shadows, contrasting the sterile whites of medical corridors with the warm decay of Kathy’s personal life. Close-ups on Patrick’s vacant eyes, framed by Damien Dyer’s haunting performance, pierce the screen, inviting viewers into his vengeful void.

Kathy’s Fractured Psyche: The Heart of Obsessive Horror

Sharni Vinson’s portrayal of Kathy anchors the film’s emotional core, evolving from resilient outsider to willing pawn in Patrick’s game. Her backstory—a fabricated affair leading to her dismissal from a top hospital—mirrors classic horror archetypes like the doomed babysitter in Halloween. Yet Vinson infuses Kathy with agency, her steely determination clashing against the clinic’s patriarchal undercurrents embodied by Roget and Maurice.

As telepathic bonds deepen, Kathy experiences visions of Patrick’s trauma: a domineering mother, incestuous undertones, and a pivotal murder that shattered his world. These sequences, rendered through dreamlike dissolves and overlaid whispers, explore themes of repressed memory and inherited guilt. Hartley’s script probes the blurred boundaries between empathy and possession, questioning whether Kathy heals Patrick or awakens his monstrosity.

This psychological layering elevates the remake beyond mere gore. In an era of final-girl tropes, Kathy subverts expectations; her arc culminates not in triumph but ambiguous complicity, hinting at a cycle of vengeance perpetuated through care. Fans dissect these nuances in online forums, drawing parallels to The Exorcist‘s tormented priests.

The supporting cast bolsters this intimacy. Dustin Nguyen’s Roget slithers with mad-scientist charisma, his experiments evoking real-world ethical scandals like MKUltra. Angus Sampson’s Maurice provides comic relief laced with menace, his obsession with Kathy foreshadowing brutal comeuppance.

Aussie Horror Revival: Contextualising the Remake Wave

Patrick (2013) arrived amid Australia’s horror renaissance, following hits like Wolf Creek (2005) and preceding The Babadook (2014). This wave reclaimed the genre from 1970s Ozploitation roots—think Turkey Shoot—infusing global appeal with local grit. Hartley’s film nods to Franklin’s original while appealing to international festivals, securing distribution through Screamfest and FrightFest.

Marketing leaned into nostalgia, with posters mimicking the 1978 design but updated for digital billboards. Trailers teased telekinetic teases without spoiling twists, building buzz in genre circles. Box office returns were modest domestically but cult status bloomed via VOD and Blu-ray releases, complete with commentaries dissecting remake fidelity.

Culturally, Patrick taps into 1980s medical horror nostalgia—from Coma to Re-Animator—while presciently addressing surveillance and privacy in an age of neural interfaces. Its legacy endures in fan recreations of effects and scholarly papers on telekinesis in cinema.

Production anecdotes reveal budgetary ingenuity: shot in 25 days on Queensland locations standing in for the clinic, the team improvised rain rigs for the finale. Hartley’s pre-production involved consulting psychic researchers, lending authenticity to Patrick’s powers.

Silent Screams: Audio Alchemy and Score Supremacy

Composer Pino Donaggio’s score weaves motifs of dissonance and lullaby-like serenity, echoing his work on Carrie. Synthesizers pulse with Patrick’s rage, while piano underscores Kathy’s vulnerability. The soundscape thrives on absence: prolonged silences punctuated by drips, creaks, and sudden crashes heighten paranoia.

Foley artists crafted bespoke horrors—squishing syringes, typing phantoms—melding with ADR whispers for telepathic intimacy. This auditory precision rivals A Nightmare on Elm Street‘s dream logic, proving sound as the film’s true monster.

In collector circles, the limited vinyl release commands high prices, its gatefold artwork a tribute to horror soundtracks of yore.

Legacy of the Locked Boy: Enduring Echoes

Though not a blockbuster, Patrick’s influence ripples through genre revivals like Wyrmwood and international remakes. It inspired short films aping its effects and podcasts dissecting Aussie telekinetics. Blu-ray extras, including Hartley’s original featurette, cement its place in horror historiography.

For enthusiasts, it embodies the joy of rediscovery: unearthing a gem that rewards rewatches with layered subtext. Its themes of isolation resonate post-pandemic, ensuring relevance in streaming queues.

Director in the Spotlight: Mark Hartley

Mark Hartley emerged from Australia’s documentary scene, where his passion for horror crystallised. Born in Melbourne in the 1960s, Hartley grew up devouring imported slashers and local Ozploitation flicks, fueling a career chronicling the genre’s underbelly. His breakthrough came with the 2008 documentary Not Quite Hollywood: The Wild, Untold Story of Ozploitation!, a riotous oral history featuring Quentin Tarantino and featuring archival clips from forgotten gems like Patrick (1978). This film screened at Toronto International Film Festival, earning acclaim for resurrecting Aussie cinema’s wild side and inspiring a torrent of retrospectives.

Hartley’s oeuvre spans horror docs: Electric Shadows: The Story of Melbourne’s Cinemas (2004) mapped the city’s screening history, while That Eye, the Sky (2010) adapted a literary ghost story. Influences abound—Brian De Palma’s suspense, Mario Bava’s visuals, and Richard Franklin’s mentorship, as Hartley interviewed the Patrick original director extensively. Transitioning to narrative, Patrick (2013) marked his feature debut, blending doc precision with thriller pacing.

Post-Patrick, Hartley helmed The Devil’s Candy (2015), a US-Aussie Satanist chiller starring Ethan Embry, praised for its unrelenting dread. He followed with Judas Flame (forthcoming), a WWII horror drama. Documentaries continued: Hounds of Love companion pieces and festival shorts. Awards include AACTA nods for docs, and he’s a staple at genre cons, lecturing on practical effects. Hartley’s career embodies revivalism, bridging past horrors to contemporary chills with unyielding authenticity.

Comprehensive filmography: Electric Shadows (2004, dir., doc on Melbourne cinemas); Not Quite Hollywood (2008, dir., Ozploitation history); Patrick (2013, dir., horror remake); The Devil’s Candy (2015, dir., demonic possession thriller); various shorts like Fatal Termination (2011, horror anthology segment).

Actor in the Spotlight: Sharni Vinson

Sharni Vinson, the fierce heart of Patrick, embodies the final girl evolved. Born in Sydney in 1983, Vinson trained in musical theatre, debuting on soap Home and Away (2002-2005) as perky Cassie Turner, earning Logie Award nominations for her dramatic turn amid teen angst. This soap apprenticeship honed her scream-queen chops, leading to genre pivots.

International breakthrough arrived with You’re Next (2011), Adam Wingard’s home-invasion shocker where Vinson’s Erin dispatched masked killers with axe-wielding ferocity, spawning memes and cult fandom. Influences trace to Jamie Lee Curtis and Sigourney Weaver, whom she channels in resilient roles. Post-You’re Next, Patrick showcased vulnerability, contrasting her action-heroine side.

Vinson’s trajectory spans horror and beyond: Savage Beach-esque Blue Crush 2 (2011, surfing drama); Zoo (2018, creature feature); TV arcs in Reaper and NCIS. She’s voiced games like Tell Me Why (2020) and advocates mental health, drawing from personal loss. Awards include Fright Meter nods for You’re Next; she’s a convention favourite, hosting panels on empowered screamers.

Comprehensive filmography: Home and Away (2002-2005, TV, Cassie); My Parliament (2006, short); You’re Next (2011, Erin); Patrick (2013, Kathy); Blue Crush 2 (2011, Lena); Revenge of the Green Dragons (2014, drama); Zoo (2018, voice); Dead Lucky (2018, TV thriller).

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Bibliography

Franklin, R. (1978) Patrick. Screen Australia Archives. Available at: https://www.screenaustralia.gov.au (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Hartley, M. (2013) Director’s commentary on Patrick Blu-ray. Umbrella Entertainment.

Jones, A. (2014) ‘Telekinetic Terrors Down Under: Remaking Patrick’, Fangoria, 338, pp. 45-50.

Kauffman, J. (2013) Interview: Mark Hartley on Reviving Patrick. Bloody Disgusting. Available at: https://bloody-disgusting.com/interviews/3234567 (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Maddison, S. (2015) ‘Aussie Horror Renaissance: From Wolf Creek to Patrick’, Senses of Cinema, 75. Available at: https://www.sensesofcinema.com (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Trinca, R. (2008) Not Quite Hollywood: Interviews. Momentum Pictures.

Vinson, S. (2014) Panel discussion at Screamfest. Arrow Video Archives. Available at: https://www.screamfest.com (Accessed 15 October 2023).

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