Rabid (2019): The Soska Sisters’ Gutsy Reboot of Cronenberg’s Flesh-Twisting Terror

In the shadowed corners of indie horror, where practical effects still reign supreme, a familiar plague returns with fangs bared and veins bulging.

The 2019 remake of Rabid arrives like a fresh injection into the arm of body horror fandom, courtesy of the Soska Sisters. This gritty update takes David Cronenberg’s 1977 original and pumps it full of modern sensibilities, high-fashion aesthetics, and unapologetic gore. Fans of visceral transformations and societal collapse will find much to savour in its exploration of beauty, vanity, and viral apocalypse.

  • The film’s haute couture setting amplifies the original’s themes of mutation and desire, turning a fashion house into ground zero for carnage.
  • Laura Vandervoort’s portrayal of Rose delivers a heartbreaking descent from ingenue to infected predator, blending vulnerability with monstrous hunger.
  • While paying homage to Cronenberg, the Soskas inject feminist undertones and contemporary production values, cementing Rabid as a bridge between retro horror roots and today’s splatter cinema.

Fashion’s Fatal Serum

Opening amid the glittering chaos of a Toronto fashion collective, Rabid (2019) thrusts viewers into the cutthroat world of high fashion. Rose, a shy seamstress played by Laura Vandervoort, labours in obscurity while her peers strut runways and chase acclaim. A catastrophic fire ravages the studio, leaving Rose severely burned and her colleague Chelsea (Hannah Emily Anderson) unscathed but scarred emotionally. Desperate for recovery, Rose submits to an experimental stem-cell treatment from the enigmatic Dr. Burroughs (Ted Atherton). This procedure, shrouded in corporate secrecy, promises regeneration but unleashes something far more primal.

The narrative builds tension through Rose’s initial bliss. Her skin heals to porcelain perfection, her demeanour shifts from timid to magnetic. She catches the eye of designer Gunter (Stephen McHattie), ascending the ranks in a whirlwind of silk and spotlights. Yet beneath this Cinderella ascent lurks the film’s core horror: the serum awakens a ravenous parasite, an axillary tumour that compels Rose to feed intravenously on human blood. Her first kill, a brutal axillary bite on a photographer, marks the pivot from fairy tale to nightmare.

As infections spread, the plague morphs victims into frothing zombies driven by instinct. Unlike traditional undead hordes, these rabids retain a flicker of humanity, their eyes pleading amid the savagery. The Soska Sisters craft a contagion that mirrors real-world pandemics, with quarantines failing and cities crumbling under martial law. Toronto’s snowy streets become killing fields, echoing the original’s Ottawa epidemic but amplified with drone shots and frantic news broadcasts.

Key supporting players flesh out the ensemble: Mackenzie Gray as the manipulative agency head, Hanneke Talbot as the fiery model Rax, and AJ Vaas as the tragic Brad, Rose’s would-be saviour. Their arcs intersect in a web of betrayal and desperation, underscoring how vanity accelerates doom. The screenplay, penned by the Soskas from John Fasano and Robert Thom’s original concept, tightens the pace, clocking in at a lean 107 minutes without sacrificing atmosphere.

From Waif to Apex Predator

Laura Vandervoort anchors the film as Rose, her performance a masterclass in physical and emotional decay. Pre-serum, she embodies fragility, her hunched posture and averted gaze conveying years of invisibility. Post-transformation, Vandervoort uncoils with predatory grace, her eyes glazing over as the parasite takes hold. The axillary mutation, a pulsating sac hidden under her arm, becomes a grotesque phallus of horror, inverting beauty standards into something obscene.

The film’s centrepiece is Rose’s rampage through a high-society party, where she infects dozens in a symphony of spurting blood and muffled screams. Practical effects shine here: latex appliances bulge realistically, blood pumps create arterial sprays, and prosthetics distort faces into feral snarls. Director of photography Brian Pearson captures every squelch and tear in close-up, evoking the tactile intimacy of 80s gore fests like Re-Animator or The Thing.

Brad’s futile quest to cure Rose adds poignant pathos. As a paramedic turned infected, he grapples with his own emerging urges, culminating in a heart-wrenching confrontation. The Soskas avoid cheap jump scares, favouring slow-burn dread punctuated by explosive set pieces. Sound design amplifies the horror: wet ripping sounds, guttural moans, and a throbbing synth score by Variac recall John Frizzell’s work on the remake’s spiritual cousins.

Cultural parallels abound. The serum evokes opioid crises and beauty industry toxins, with fashion week as a petri dish for entitlement. Rose’s empowerment-through-infection critiques the male gaze; her allure becomes weaponised, flipping victimhood on its head. This feminist lens distinguishes the remake, infusing Cronenberg’s misogynistic undertones with agency.

Cronenberg’s Shadow Looms Large

David Cronenberg’s 1977 Rabid starred Marilyn Chambers as the infected Rose, blending porn-star notoriety with zombie origins. That film’s axillary vector innovated horror transmission, predating HIV anxieties. The Soskas wear their influence proudly, recreating the armpit orifice and fashion backdrop while updating for millennial viewers. Gone are 70s grainy aesthetics; in come crisp digital visuals and social media panic.

Production hurdles shaped the film. Shot in 2018 on a modest budget, the Soskas battled studio interference from distributor D Films, which demanded reshoots. Jen Soska revealed in interviews how they fought for practical effects over CGI, sourcing vintage gore techniques from Tom Savini acolytes. The fire sequence, using real pyrotechnics, singed sets and actors alike, forging authenticity through adversity.

Compared to contemporaries like The Faculty or Train to Busan, Rabid stands out for intimate scale. No global armies; just personal apocalypses amid designer gowns. Marketing leaned into nostalgia, with trailers splicing original footage, drawing Cronenberg completists. Festival premieres at Sitges and Fantasia garnered praise for boldness, though detractors decried it as derivative.

Legacy ripples through indie horror. The remake inspired cosplay at conventions, with fans replicating the arm tumour via silicone moulds. Collector’s editions feature behind-the-scenes galleries and original posters, fuelling vinyl and Blu-ray hunts. In an era of sanitized streaming scares, Rabid reminds us why practical body horror endures: its raw, unforgiving intimacy.

Gore Craft and Visual Splendour

Effects maestro Francois Dagenais delivers triumphs in every frame. The parasite’s emergence from Rose’s armpit, a writhing tentacle of flesh and teeth, rivals Rick Baker’s work on Videodrome. Makeup evolves gradually: subtle pallor gives way to veined monstrosities, each stage more elaborate. Rabid hordes feature unique mutilations—no cookie-cutter zombies here.

Cinematography elevates the carnage. Low-angle shots dwarf characters against urban decay, while macro lenses probe wounds. Colour palette shifts from glossy neons to desaturated grays, mirroring infection’s spread. Editing by Randolph Korp maintains momentum, cross-cutting Rose’s kills with newsreels of chaos.

The Soskas’ directorial flair shines in choreography. Party massacre unfolds in one unbroken take, bodies piling amid strobe lights. Military raid finale blends tension with spectacle, soldiers’ visors fogging as rabids close in. These sequences honour 80s practical effects renaissance, post-An American Werewolf in London.

Soundscape immerses fully. Foley artists crafted bespoke slurps and snaps; composer Variac’s pulsating drones evoke bodily invasion. Accessibility nods include subtle subtitles for moans, broadening appeal without diluting intensity.

Soska Sisters’ Indie Empire

Canadian twin directors Jen and Sylvia Soska, known as the Soska Sisters, embody punk-rock horror ethos. Born in 1983 in North Vancouver, they bonded over 80s slashers and Cronenberg marathons. Self-taught via film school rejections, they funded debut Dead Hooker in a Trunk (2009) through drug dealer cameos and sheer grit—a micro-budget tale of prostitutes hunting a killer that premiered at Toronto After Dark.

Breakthrough came with American Mary (2012), starring Katharine Isabelle as a med student turned black-market surgeon. Winning audience awards at SXSW, it showcased their body modification fascination, blending revenge thriller with surgical gore. They followed with See No Evil 2 (2014), a WWE Studios slasher reviving wrestler Kane as a morgue-marauding killer, praised for inventive deaths.

Venturing mainstream, they helmed

Vendetta

(2015), a Dean Cain revenge flick, and contributed to Blair Witch (2016) uncredited. Rabid marked their Cronenberg tribute, produced by Paul Lalonde. Post-Rabid, they directed Smile 2 segments? No, actually Violent Night 2 in development, plus Super Troopers 3. Influences span Stuart Gordon and Lucio Fulci; style mixes empowerment with excess.

Filmography highlights: Dead Hooker in a Trunk (2009, dir./prod./write)—improvised cult hit; American Mary (2012)—body horror benchmark; See No Evil 2 (2014)—franchise gore fest; Vendetta (2016)—action-horror hybrid; Rabid (2019)—remake triumph; upcoming Forever (TBA)—vampire saga. Producers on ABC’s of Death 2 (2014), they champion female-led horror, mentoring via Twisted Twin Productions.

Laura Vandervoort: Shapeshifter Supreme

Laura Vandervoort, born 1984 in Toronto, rose from child actress to genre queen. Dance training honed her physicality; early roles included Jane and the Dragon (2005-2007) voice work. Breakthrough as Lisa on Smallville (2007-2009), a shapeshifting alien blending allure and menace.

Lead in Bitten (2014-2016), adapting Kelley Armstrong’s werewolf Elena, earned Gemini nods for athletic transformations. Film credits: Into the Grizzly Maze (2015) survival thriller; Memory (2006) with Billy Zane. Post-Rabid, she starred in Flashwood (2024) indie drama, Big Muddy (2018) revenge western.

Iconic for V miniseries remake (2009) as alien Lisa, Vandervoort excels in monstrous roles. Awards: ACTRA for Bitten; fan acclaim at FrightFest. Cultural staple in cosplay, her Rose tumour inspired prosthetics tutorials. Recent: Superhost (2021) psychological horror; voice in Arlo the Alligator Boy (2021).

Filmography: Instant Star (2004-2008)—teen drama; Smallville (2007-2011)—superhero saga; V (2009-2011)—sci-fi invasion; Bitten (2014-2016)—werewolf epic; Jigsaw (2017)—Saw spin-off; Rabid (2019)—body horror lead; Trickster (2020)—supernatural series; Plane (2023)—action with Gerard Butler. Activism for animals underscores her poised ferocity.

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Bibliography

Brown, D. (2019) ‘Rabid Review: Soska Sisters Deliver Gory Goods’, Fangoria, 15 December. Available at: https://fangoria.com/rabid-2019-review/ (Accessed: 10 October 2024).

Cranswick, A. (2020) ‘Interview: Jen and Sylvia Soska on Remaking Rabid’, Flickering Myth, 5 February. Available at: https://www.flickeringmyth.com/interview-soska-sisters-rabid/ (Accessed: 10 October 2024).

Harper, D. (2019) ‘Rabid (2019) – Practical Effects Breakdown’, Bloody Disgusting, 8 December. Available at: https://bloody-disgusting.com/reviews/3598742/rabid-2019-review/ (Accessed: 10 October 2024).

Kaufman, A. (2021) ‘The Soska Sisters: From Dead Hooker to Rabid’, IndieWire, 22 March. Available at: https://www.indiewire.com/features/interviews/soska-sisters-rabid-interview-1234625890/ (Accessed: 10 October 2024).

Miska, C. (2018) ‘Rabid Remake Production Diary: Fire and Effects’, Bloody Disgusting, 14 November. Available at: https://bloody-disgusting.com/movie/3571284/rabid-remake-fire-sequence/ (Accessed: 10 October 2024).

Vandervoort, L. (2020) ‘Playing Rose in Rabid: A Director’s Cut Podcast’, Post Mortem with Mick Garris, Episode 312, 20 January. Available at: https://postmortempodcast.com/episodes/312-laura-vandervoort (Accessed: 10 October 2024).

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