Phantom Footsteps: How Carnival of Souls and It Follows Haunt the Boundaries of Sanity

Decades apart, two masterpieces chase us through the fog of the mind, where pursuit feels eternal and reality unravels thread by thread.

In the shadowed corridors of psychological horror, few films grip the subconscious with such quiet ferocity as Herk Harvey’s Carnival of Souls (1962) and David Robert Mitchell’s It Follows (2014). These works transcend mere scares, embedding dread into the fabric of existence itself. By pitting a ghostly apparition against a relentlessly stalking entity, they explore isolation, inevitability, and the fragility of perception, proving that true terror lurks not in monsters, but in the mind’s own labyrinth.

  • Both films master atmospheric dread through minimalist visuals and soundscapes that amplify psychological unease.
  • They probe the intersections of sexuality, guilt, and mortality, turning personal choices into inescapable curses.
  • Their enduring legacies reshape horror, influencing generations with innovative takes on pursuit and ambiguity.

Fogbound Beginnings: Crafting Nightmares on Shoestring Dreams

Herk Harvey conceived Carnival of Souls amid the flatlands of Kansas, shooting it in just weeks for under $100,000. A veteran of industrial films at Centron Corporation, Harvey transformed the abandoned Saltair Pavilion near Salt Lake City into a spectral carnival of the damned. The story centres on Mary Henry (Candace Hilligoss), a church organist who survives a drag race plunge into the Kansas River, only to be haunted by pallid ghouls led by a leering figure. Her journey spirals into detachment, culminating in a revelation that blurs life and afterlife. This low-budget gem, initially dismissed as an exploitation flick, now stands as a cornerstone of indie horror.

Contrast this with It Follows, born from Mitchell’s childhood visions of a walking doom in suburban Detroit. With a modest $2 million budget, the film unfolds in drained pools, derelict buildings, and sun-bleached streets, evoking a post-adolescent purgatory. Jay (Maika Monroe), a college student, inherits a curse after intimacy: an entity assumes human forms, advancing at a walking pace until it claims her. Passing it on requires the same act, thrusting her into a chain of desperation. Mitchell’s precise framing and long takes mirror the entity’s inexorable approach, turning everyday spaces into traps.

Production parallels abound. Both directors leveraged non-professional casts and guerrilla shoots for authenticity—Harvey used locals, Mitchell friends—infusing performances with raw vulnerability. Yet where Harvey’s black-and-white desaturation evokes 1960s existentialism, Mitchell’s widescreen colour palette nods to 1980s VHS horror, blending nostalgia with fresh anxiety. These origins underscore a shared ethos: psychological horror thrives on implication, not spectacle.

Challenges shaped their potency. Harvey battled union rules and weather, while Mitchell faced distribution hurdles in a post-Paranormal Activity market. Both emerged triumphant, their constraints birthing ingenuity that elevates suggestion over gore.

Spectral Stalkers: The Art of Visual Pursuit

Central to both films is the pursuer, a visual motif that weaponises space. In Carnival of Souls, the Man emerges from fog-shrouded waters and empty pavilions, his high-contrast pallor stark against Mary’s monochrome world. Harvey’s static shots and deep focus trap her in compositions where escape feels illusory—wide angles dwarf her amid cavernous halls, symbolising emotional isolation. A pivotal beach sequence, with ghouls shuffling in unison, employs harsh shadows to evoke collective damnation.

It Follows refines this with the Entity’s methodical gait, captured in unbroken tracking shots that mimic its advance. Mitchell’s low-angle perspectives elongate figures against horizons, heightening paranoia; a hospital hallway scene builds tension as it shambles past oblivious patients, its form shifting from child to crone. Subtle production design—abandoned arcades echoing the carnival motif—ties back to Harvey, but Mitchell adds voyeuristic dread via peeping neighbours and beachfront voids.

Mise-en-scène unites them. Mary’s sparse apartment mirrors Jay’s cluttered bedroom, both barren canvases for mental fracture. Lighting plays maestro: Harvey’s high-key fluorescents bleach reality, suggesting otherworldliness; Mitchell’s natural daylight exposes vulnerability, making daylight as menacing as night. These choices dissect perception—viewers question sight itself.

Iconic scenes crystallise impact. Mary’s phantom dance in the pavilion, superimposed over reality, prefigures Jay’s poolside standoff, where the Entity towers amid splashes. Both demand patience, rewarding with visceral unease born from anticipation.

Symphonies of Dread: Sound as Psychological Weapon

Sound design elevates these films to auditory hauntings. Carnival of Souls pulses with calliope and organ motifs, Gene Moore’s score mimicking fairground eeriness and ecclesiastical doom. The organ’s relentless drone during chases underscores Mary’s spiritual unraveling, its reverb filling empty frames to simulate inner torment. Diegetic silence amplifies footsteps, turning ambient noise into harbingers.

Mitchell counters with Disasterpeace’s analogue synth score, throbbing basslines evoking John Carpenter while pulses mimic heartbeats under siege. The Entity’s approach lacks footsteps, relying on score swells and Jay’s ragged breaths for propulsion. Dialogue sparsity heightens intimacy—whispers in cars, screams swallowed by wind—mirroring Harvey’s minimalism.

Both manipulate acoustics for unreality. Mary’s radio blackouts sync with visions, paralleling Jay’s futile phone calls amid distortion. This sonic architecture immerses audiences in protagonists’ psyches, where sound bridges conscious and subconscious.

Their influence ripples: Carnival‘s organ inspired Goblin’s prog horrors; It Follows‘ synth revival fuels A24’s retro wave. Sound proves the mind’s true battleground.

Curses of the Flesh: Sexuality, Guilt, and Inevitability

Sexuality threads doom through both narratives. Mary’s repressed organist propriety clashes with suitor advances, her hauntings punishing unspoken desires. The crash—tied to reckless racing—symbolises post-Victorian liberation’s perils, trauma manifesting as ghoulish courtship.

Jay’s curse literalises STD metaphors, intimacy as viral contagion in a hook-up era. Mitchell subverts: passing it demands consent, yet breeds betrayal—friends partake, blurring camaraderie and coercion. This echoes Mary’s alienation, both women navigating male gazes amid existential threats.

Gender dynamics sharpen analysis. Mary’s passivity yields to possession; Jay fights actively, rallying allies. Yet inevitability binds them—guilt festers, turning bodies against selves. Trauma studies frame this: car crash as near-death, sex as mortality rite.

Class undertones emerge. Mary’s transient limbo reflects working-class drift; Jay’s suburbia masks privilege’s fragility. Both indict isolation in mechanised America.

Fractured Realities: Where Sanity Dissolves

Ambiguity defines psychological core. Carnival ends with Mary’s zombified state, questioning crash survival—was life the dream? Harvey leaves gas station denials hanging, inviting Freudian reads of repressed death.

It Follows sustains uncertainty: does the final shot confirm vanquishing? Mitchell’s open end perpetuates paranoia, curse as metaphor for anxiety’s persistence.

Both draw from gothic traditions—Rebecca‘s hauntings, Repulsion‘s breakdowns—yet innovate low-fi surrealism. Protagonists’ arcs trace denial to surrender, mirroring viewer catharsis.

Influence spans: Carnival begat Eraserhead; It Follows Midsommar. They affirm horror’s power to probe consciousness.

Eternal Echoes: Legacies that Stalk On

Carnival of Souls languished until 1989 restoration, inspiring The X-Files and Session 9. Its public domain status democratised access, cementing cult status.

It Follows grossed $23 million, spawning thinkpieces on millennial dread. Mitchell’s follow-up Under the Silver Lake extends obsessions.

Together, they bridge eras, proving psychological horror’s timelessness amid spectacle fatigue.

Director in the Spotlight

Herk Harvey, born Harrison B. Harvey on 7 June 1924 in Denver, Colorado, emerged from a theatre family, performing from childhood. After naval service in World War II, he studied drama at Northwestern University, launching a multifaceted career. In 1947, he joined Lawrence, Kansas’s Centron Corporation, rising to head its film division by 1950. There, Harvey directed over 400 educational shorts—hygiene films, safety reels, driver training classics like Shake Hands with Danger (1979), a hard-hat anthem still viewed millions of times. His style blended earnest instruction with wry humour, influencing generations via classroom projectors.

Frustrated by shorts’ limits, Harvey scripted Carnival of Souls in 1961, self-financing via Centron colleagues. Shooting in 25 days across Kansas and Utah, it marked his sole feature. Post-release obscurity followed; he resumed industrials, retiring in 1986. Harvey guest-narrated festival screenings, delighting fans with anecdotes. Married to Joyce, with four children, he succumbed to heart issues on 7 January 1996 in Lawrence, aged 71. Legacy endures: Centron films digitised online, Carnival inspiring indie auteurs. Key works: What About Drinking? (1950s anti-alcohol PSA), Operation: Second Chance (1970 vocational guidance), Trained Wheels (bicycle safety), and Carnival of Souls (1962), his transcendent outlier.

Actor in the Spotlight

Maika Monroe, born Dillon Monroe on 10 May 1993 in Santa Barbara, California, traded kitesurfing ambitions for acting after modelling stints in Europe. Discovered at 16, she debuted in At Any Price (2012) opposite Dennis Quaid, showcasing steely poise. Breakthrough came with It Follows (2014), her haunted vulnerability anchoring Mitchell’s dread. She followed with The Guest (2014), a razor-sharp final girl in Adam Wingard’s thriller, and Green Room (2015), surviving neo-Nazi sieges beside Anton Yelchin.

Monroe’s range spans horror (Watcher, 2022 stalker tale) to sci-fi (Significant Other, 2022 alien twist) and action (God Is a Bullet, 2023 revenge saga). Acclaimed for physicality—trained in wakeboarding—she earned Fangoria Chainsaw nods. No major awards yet, but critics hail her as scream queen successor. Personal life private; she dated Max Osterberg. Filmography highlights: Labour Day (2013 drama), Echo in the Canyon (2019 doc), Villains (2019 dark comedy), The Estate (2022 family farce), Emergency (2022 social thriller), cementing eclectic prowess.

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