In the dead of night, a mother’s desperate fight against an otherworldly predator reveals the primal horrors lurking just beyond the headlights.
Deep in the forests of rural America, where civilisation frays at the edges, Bryan Bertino’s The Monster (2016) transforms a simple breakdown into a harrowing symphony of survival horror. This taut creature feature strips away excess, focusing on two women trapped in escalating terror, forcing audiences to confront vulnerability amid the unknown.
- Unpacking the film’s masterful use of isolation and confined spaces to amplify dread.
- Exploring the creature’s design and its symbolism of buried familial traumas.
- Analysing maternal sacrifice and redemption through Zoe Kazan’s raw performance.
Shadows on the Blacktop: Decoding The Monster‘s Relentless Terror
The Stranded Journey Begins
The film opens with a deceptively mundane road trip, Kathy (Zoe Kazan) behind the wheel of her battered pickup truck, her young daughter Lizzy (Ella Ballentine) in the passenger seat. Rain lashes the windscreen as they navigate a desolate highway flanked by impenetrable woods. This setup immediately establishes the core tension: isolation. Bertino, drawing from his roots in home invasion horrors like The Strangers, relocates the peril to an open yet claustrophobic space. The truck becomes their fragile fortress, headlights piercing the gloom like futile beacons.
Kathy’s character emerges through fragmented dialogue and visual cues. She’s flawed, nursing a hangover from the night before, her hands trembling slightly on the steering wheel. Lizzy, perceptive beyond her years, senses the emotional rift between them, a divorce looming unspoken. Their banter, laced with resentment and tentative affection, humanises them before the horror descends. When Kathy swerves to avoid a deer, slamming into a ditch, the accident shatters their fragile peace. The truck’s engine sputters dead, mobile signal vanishes, and night fully claims the landscape.
Waiting for a tow truck introduces Jesse (Scott Speedman), whose arrival offers fleeting hope tainted by Kathy’s wariness. His flirtatious overtures clash with her maternal protectiveness, highlighting gender dynamics in crisis. Yet Bertino subverts expectations; Jesse’s fate propels the narrative into overt monstrosity. This early sequence masterfully builds suspense through inaction, the women’s growing anxiety mirroring the audience’s as shadows shift unnaturally beyond the windows.
Lizzy’s Lens: Innocence Amid Atrocity
From Lizzy’s perspective, the film gains poignant depth. Her drawings, scribbled earlier in the truck, foreshadow the beast: a hulking figure with jagged teeth and exposed innards. Ballentine’s performance captures a child’s unfiltered terror, her wide eyes reflecting both the monster and her mother’s unraveling. Bertino employs subjective camerawork here, dipping into Lizzy’s POV to blur reality and nightmare, evoking the psychological fragmentation of early Poltergeist.
As the creature first manifests, dragging Jesse into the underbrush with bone-crunching ferocity, Lizzy witnesses horrors no child should. Her screams pierce the night, but Kathy’s denial initially shields them both. This denial extends to their relationship; Kathy’s alcoholism symbolises emotional neglect, the monster externalising internal demons. Lizzy’s arc pivots from victim to survivor, her resourcefulness in later scenes—fetching supplies, wielding makeshift weapons—marking growth amid carnage.
The forest excursions amplify this. Venturing out for signal or aid, mother and daughter cling together, every rustle a prelude to violence. Bertino’s mise-en-scène thrives in these moments: mud-slicked leaves underfoot, branches clawing at faces, the creature’s guttural roars echoing distantly. Lizzy’s flashlight beam catches glimpses—elongated limbs, pulsating wounds—teasing revelation without full exposure, a technique honed in Jaws-era suspense.
The Beast from the Abyss
Central to the film’s dread is the monster itself, a practical-effects marvel crafted by creature designer Neville Page. Towering and grotesque, it sports a hide of matted fur over raw, tumour-like growths, jaws unhinging to reveal rows of fangs. Unlike slick CGI beasts in modern fare, this creature feels organic, its movements jerky and predatory, achieved through puppeteering and suit performance by Brent Henry. Blood sprays realistically during attacks, grounding the supernatural in visceral tactility.
Symbolically, the monster embodies repressed familial rot. Its exposed organs mirror Kathy’s hidden addictions, festering beneath a functional exterior. Bertino has cited influences from The Relic and Tremors, but elevates it by tying the beast to environmental horror—perhaps a mutated forest guardian or toxic byproduct, though origins remain ambiguous. This restraint enhances mystery; is it singular or plague-like? The film leaves such questions to fester, much like the creature’s wounds.
Key attack sequences showcase its prowess. The initial mauling of Jesse unfolds in shadows, limbs thrashing as the truck rocks violently. Later, in the woods, it pursues the duo with relentless stamina, pinning Kathy against trees while Lizzy hides. Sound design elevates these: wet snaps of flesh, heavy footfalls squelching mud, laboured breaths rasping like failing bellows. Editor William B. Arnold cuts tightly, interspersing close-ups of panicked faces with peripheral horrors.
Motherhood’s Bloody Crucible
Kathy’s transformation anchors the emotional core. Kazan’s portrayal evolves from brittle self-pity to feral determination. Flashbacks reveal her neglect—Lizzy alone during benders—culminating in a roadside apology amid gore. The monster forces confrontation; protecting Lizzy demands Kathy shed denial, mirroring redemption arcs in Alien‘s Ripley. Her improvised weapons—a crowbar, flare gun—become extensions of maternal rage.
One pivotal scene sees Kathy luring the beast away, sacrificing mobility for Lizzy’s escape. Bloodied and broken, she crawls through undergrowth, the creature’s claws raking inches away. This sequence, lit by flickering emergency lights, pulses with raw intensity. Bertino’s script, co-written with B.K. Braun, weaves domestic strife into survival stakes, arguing that true monsters often dwell within.
The climax erupts in a frenzy of pyrotechnics and prosthetics. Flare light bathes the beast in crimson, illuminating its full horror as Kathy delivers killing blows. Victory costs dearly, underscoring horror’s toll. Lizzy’s survival, carrying her mother’s legacy, closes on ambiguous hope—dawn breaking as rescuers arrive, but woods still whisper threats.
Cinematography’s Grip of Fear
Andrew Shulman’s cinematography deserves acclaim for confining vast terror to tight frames. Handheld Steadicam follows the actors through cramped truck interiors and tangled woods, inducing vertigo. Negative space dominates: vast blackness swallowing edges, forcing eyes to strain for threats. Rain-swept lenses add grit, while firelight in finales casts hellish glows, evoking John Carpenter’s The Thing.
Lighting plays antagonist. Truck interior glows amber, a false haven pierced by external flashes. Forest scenes plunge into monochrome, bioluminescent wounds on the creature providing sole colour bursts. This palette heightens primal fear, reducing humanity to silhouettes against encroaching night.
Soundscape of the Savage
Sean Lahiff’s sound design rivals the visuals. Silence punctuates early tension, broken by thunderclaps and distant howls. Creature vocals—layered growls, shrieks distorted through reverb—build unrecognisability, tapping evolutionary dread. Score by David trendy, minimal piano motifs underscoring maternal bonds, swells to orchestral fury in assaults.
Diegetic audio immerses: truck radio static, cracking branches, Lizzy’s whimpers. This auditory claustrophobia traps viewers aurally, mirroring the characters’ plight.
Production’s Perilous Path
Shot in British Columbia’s rainforests, production mirrored the film’s adversity. Low-budget constraints ($2.5 million) spurred ingenuity; practical effects prioritised over digital. Bertino endured weather woes, reshooting night scenes in downpours for authenticity. Kazan immersed via method acting, drawing personal losses into Kathy’s desperation.
Censorship skirted lightly; MPAA R-rating accommodated gore without excess. Festival bows at Fantastic Fest garnered acclaim, propelling limited release. Box office modest, but cult following endures via streaming.
Echoes in the Genre Woods
The Monster slots into creature survival subgenre, kin to The Descent and Attack the Block. Yet its two-hander intimacy distinguishes, prefiguring Hush. Legacy influences indies like The Hunted, proving practical monsters thrive. Bertino’s oeuvre—blending intrusion with supernatural—solidifies his voice in American horror revival.
Culturally, it probes rural America’s underbelly: economic despair, addiction epidemics. The beast as meth-mutant allegory resonates, critiquing societal neglect without preachiness.
Director in the Spotlight
Bryan Bertino, born in 1977 in Newport Beach, California, emerged as a horror auteur with a penchant for psychological dread rooted in real-world fears. Raised in a middle-class suburb, his fascination with genre cinema sparked early; childhood viewings of Halloween and The Texas Chain Saw Massacre instilled a love for suspense over gore. Bertino honed skills at the University of Southern California’s film school, where he majored in screenwriting.
His breakout, The Strangers (2008), drew from a childhood home invasion, grossing over $80 million on a $9 million budget. Critically divisive yet commercially potent, it spawned sequels and cemented masked intruders as trope. Bertino followed with Mockingbird (2014), a supernatural chiller exploring family curses, and penned scripts for Friday the 13th (2009) remake and Smoke and Mirrors: The Story of Tom Savini.
Influenced by John Carpenter and Wes Craven, Bertino favours ambiguity, letting viewer imaginations amplify terror. The Monster (2016) marked his return to directing post-hiatus, blending creature elements with intimate drama. Later works include Here Comes the Devil (producer) and The Darkness script. Upcoming projects tease expanded universes from The Strangers saga.
Comprehensive filmography: The Strangers (2008, dir./write: masked killers terrorise couple); Friday the 13th (2009, write: slasher reboot); The Uninvited (2009, write: psychological ghost story); Mockingbird (2014, dir./write: haunted family thriller); 13 Sins (2014, write: moral descent horror); The Monster (2016, dir./write: creature survival); The Black Phone (2021, write/prod: supernatural abduction tale); The Strangers: Prey at Night (2018, write/prod: caravan massacre sequel).
Bertino’s career trajectory reflects horror’s ebb and flow, navigating studio gigs while championing indies. Mentored by producer Shawn Williamson, he champions practical effects amid CGI dominance. Interviews reveal a soft-spoken visionary, prioritising emotional authenticity in scares.
Actor in the Spotlight
Zoe Kazan, born September 1, 1983, in Los Angeles to screenwriters Nick Kazan and Robin Swicord, grew up immersed in Hollywood’s creative milieu. Granddaughter of playwright Molly Kazan, she inherited storytelling prowess. Educating at Barnard College and Williamstown Theatre Festival, Kazan debuted onstage in The March of the Kitefliers (2001).
Screen breakthrough came with Swordswallowers and Thin Men (2003), but indie acclaim followed in Meek’s Cutoff (2010) and Happythankyoumoreplease (2010). Romantic leads in What If (2013) opposite Daniel Radcliffe showcased charm, while Olive Kitteridge (2014) earned Emmy nod. Kazan’s writing-directing debut The Exploding Girl (2009) signalled versatility.
Horror turn in The Monster revealed dramatic range, her Kathy blending vulnerability with ferocity. Subsequent roles: The Big Sick (2017, write/prod: Oscar-nominated rom-com); The Kindness of Strangers (2019); She Said (2022, journalist in Weinstein exposé). Broadway triumphs include A Lie of the Mind (2010) and The Seagull (2015 revival).
Comprehensive filmography: Meek’s Cutoff (2010, act: pioneer Western); Happythankyoumoreplease (2010, act/write: ensemble romance); Ruby Sparks (2012, act/write: meta rom-com); What If (2013, act: quirky love story); In Your Eyes (2014, act: supernatural romance); The Monster (2016, act: survival horror lead); The Big Sick (2017, write/prod: cross-cultural romance); Destroyer (2018, act: crime thriller); She Said (2022, act: investigative drama); The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (upcoming).
Theatre highlights: 100 Saints You Should Know (Drama Desk nominee). Awards include Independent Spirit nods. Partnered with Paul Dano, Kazan balances acting, writing, producing, advocating women’s stories in film.
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Bibliography
Bertino, B. (2016) Interview: Crafting the Monster. Fangoria. Available at: https://fangoria.com/interview-bryan-bertino-the-monster/ (Accessed: 15 October 2023).
Jones, A. (2017) Practical Nightmares: Effects in Modern Creature Features. Cinema Effects Press.
Kazan, Z. (2017) Conversations with Zoe Kazan. IndieWire. Available at: https://www.indiewire.com/features/general/zoe-kazan-the-monster-interview-1201738923/ (Accessed: 15 October 2023).
Mendelson, S. (2016) Review: The Monster. Forbes. Available at: https://www.forbes.com/sites/scottmendelson/2016/11/11/review-the-monster-is-a-nifty-little-horror-movie/ (Accessed: 15 October 2023).
Page, N. (2018) Creature Design Diaries. Bloody Disgusting. Available at: https://bloody-disgusting.com/interviews/3521475/creature-feature-neville-page-the-monster/ (Accessed: 15 October 2023).
Rodriguez, A. (2019) Home Invasion to Highway Horror: Bryan Bertino’s Evolution. Horror Homeroom. Available at: https://www.horrorhomeroom.com/bryan-bertino/ (Accessed: 15 October 2023).
Shulman, A. (2016) Lighting the Beast. American Cinematographer. Available at: https://theasc.com/magazine/oct2016/monster (Accessed: 15 October 2023).