Shadows That Linger: Carnival of Souls and It Follows Redefine Psychological Dread
In the quiet spaces between screams, true horror whispers its most enduring secrets.
Two films separated by over half a century, yet bound by an unyielding grip on the psyche: Herk Harvey’s Carnival of Souls (1962) and David Robert Mitchell’s It Follows (2014). These cornerstones of psychological horror eschew gore for something far more insidious, a creeping unease that burrows into the viewer’s subconscious. This exploration uncovers their shared mastery of dread, from atmospheric soundscapes to themes of inescapable fate, revealing why they continue to unsettle generations.
- Both films weaponise slowness and inevitability, turning pursuit into a metaphor for existential terror.
- Innovative low-budget techniques in sound, visuals, and pacing create palpable tension without relying on jumpscares.
- Their legacies echo through modern horror, influencing a revival of retro-styled psychological thrillers.
The Phantom Pavane: Unpacking Carnival of Souls
Mary Henry, a church organist, emerges unscathed from a drag race plunge into the Kansas river, only to find her life unraveling into a spectral nightmare. Driving alone through desolate landscapes, she glimpses a grinning ghoul in her rearview mirror, its pallid face leering from the shadows. Arriving in Lawrence, Kansas, Mary rents a room from a landlady and fends off the advances of a sleazy neighbour, John Linden, while her new job at a church organ triggers visions of a decrepit pavilion filled with dancing ghouls. The film unfolds in a dreamlike haze, blending reality and hallucination as Mary’s detachment grows, culminating in a revelation that her existence straddles the living and the dead.
Shot on a shoestring budget of around $100,000 in just three weeks, Carnival of Souls leverages its constraints into strengths. Black-and-white cinematography by John Clifford bathes scenes in high-contrast chiaroscuro, evoking German Expressionism. The abandoned Saltair Pavilion in Utah, standing in for the titular carnival, becomes a character itself, its rotting grandeur symbolising decay and the allure of oblivion. Candace Hilligoss delivers Mary with ethereal poise, her wide eyes conveying a profound alienation that mirrors the film’s existential undercurrents.
Herk Harvey’s direction favours long takes and static shots, allowing dread to accumulate like dust. A pivotal sequence sees Mary wandering the empty carnival grounds at dusk, the wind moaning through the boards as ghouls emerge in balletic silence. No dialogue punctuates the horror; instead, the relentless pipe organ score, performed by Harvey himself, swells into a cacophony of judgment. This auditory assault underscores Mary’s spiritual isolation, her talent for the divine instrument ironically sealing her damnation.
The film’s psychological core lies in its ambiguity. Is Mary a ghost unaware of her death, or a woman tormented by trauma? Critics like Paul Schrader have noted parallels to Ingmar Bergman’s introspections, but Harvey roots it in Midwestern Protestant guilt. Mary’s rejection of human connection, prioritising her music, invites supernatural retribution, a theme resonant in an era of post-war conformity.
The Walking Curse: Dissecting It Follows
In suburban Detroit, teenager Jay enjoys a fleeting romance with Hugh, who drugs her post-coitus and reveals the curse: a shape-shifting entity now pursues her at a walking pace, relentless and unhurried, passing only through sexual transmission. Adopting various disguises from strangers to loved ones, the entity closes in during mundane moments, forcing Jay and her friends into desperate flight. They hole up in a lake house, board up windows, and fire bullets into its forms, but it always returns, shambling forward with inexorable patience.
David Robert Mitchell crafts a modern mythos from urban legends, infusing the narrative with adolescent angst. Maika Monroe’s Jay evolves from vulnerable ingenue to determined survivor, her fear palpable in wide shots that dwarf her against empty streets. The film’s 16mm aesthetic evokes 1970s exploitation flicks, with Jeff Cronenweth’s cinematography layering synth pulses over sun-dappled suburbia, subverting nostalgia into nightmare.
Key scenes amplify the dread: Jay spots the entity as her father in a car, or as a disfigured giant smashing through a pool fence. The relentless walking pace, never running, mirrors life’s gradual erosions, forcing viewers to confront mortality in real time. Supporting cast like Keir Gilchrist as the lovesick Paul add emotional stakes, their futile attempts at normalcy heightening the horror.
Production ingenuity shines through practical effects by Kurt Hansen, using prosthetics and stunt performers for the entity’s manifestations. Mitchell drew from childhood fears of being followed, transforming personal paranoia into universal anxiety. The film’s sexuality as both curse vector and salvation nods to AIDS-era metaphors, yet transcends them into a broader meditation on consequence.
Pursuit as Existential Metaphor
At their hearts, both films equate pursuit with the unavoidable. In Carnival of Souls, ghouls materialise silently, embodying death’s quiet claim; in It Follows, the walker incarnates fate’s plodding advance. This shared motif elevates psychological horror beyond shocks, probing human fragility. Mary flees inward, her organ playing a futile ward; Jay runs outward, yet community fractures under pressure.
Sexuality threads both narratives as transgression. Mary’s prudish disdain for suitors parallels Jay’s post-sex vulnerability, suggesting intimacy invites otherworldly intrusion. Film scholar Wheeler Winston Dixon observes in Carnival a fear of feminine independence, while It Follows flips it, empowering Jay through alliance. These dynamics reflect evolving gender roles across decades.
Isolation amplifies terror: Mary’s muteness estranges her, much as the curse isolates Jay from peers. Both protagonists inhabit liminal spaces, betwixt life and afterlife, forcing confrontations with identity. Harvey’s film whispers of spiritual void; Mitchell’s screams of physical inevitability, yet both achieve transcendence through restraint.
Sound Design: The Unseen Symphony
Audio crafts the dread’s backbone. Carnival of Souls‘ calliope and organ dominate, their carnival wails evoking fairground ephemerality. Sudden silences punctuate visions, disorienting audiences. Gene Moore’s sparse score relies on diegetic sounds, wind and footsteps echoing Mary’s hollowness.
It Follows pulses with Rich Vreeland’s (Disasterpeace) analogue synths, retro waves mimicking heartbeats. The entity’s approach signals via ominous drones, building tension sans cues. Footsteps on pavement or through snow become symphonic, their rhythm inescapable.
This auditory kinship proves budget no barrier. Harvey recorded live; Mitchell layered electronics, both prioritising immersion. As critic Robin Wood argues in examinations of slow cinema, sound here functions as psychological scalpel, carving fear from anticipation.
Comparatively, Carnival‘s monochrome minimalism pairs with organic tones, while It Follows‘ colour palette demands electronic urgency, yet both films silence screams for subtler violation.
Visual Mastery on a Dime
Low budgets birthed visual poetry. Carnival uses fog, double exposures, and negative film for ghouls, their ashen makeup by Jack Oliphant chilling in simplicity. Saltair’s decay provides free gothic sets, lit to sculpt shadows like Nosferatu.
It Follows employs long lenses for voyeuristic distance, compressing space as the entity nears. Practical gore minimal, focus on body horror via subtle distortions. Mitchell’s frames linger on empty horizons, echoing Harvey’s voids.
Mise-en-scène unites them: abandoned buildings symbolise neglect. Mary’s church organ loft mirrors Jay’s beach house barricade, sacred and secular refuges failing. Cinematographers Clifford and Cronenweth share compositional rigour, static shots permitting dread’s creep.
Effects and Artifice: Less is Infinite
Special effects prioritise suggestion. Carnival‘s ghouls rely on greasepaint and slow motion, their silent stare more potent than CGI. A underwater sequence, filmed in a drained pool, conveys drowning limbo with chlorine ripples.
It Follows favours prosthetics: elongated limbs, burnt flesh, evoking Cronenbergian unease. No digital trickery; performers walk tirelessly, their ordinariness terrifying. Underwater climax uses practical currents for verisimilitude.
These techniques democratise horror, proving imagination trumps spectacle. As effects historian Tom Weaver details in B-movie analyses, such restraint fosters replay value, inviting scrutiny of every frame.
Influence ripples outward: It Follows homage to Carnival via retro filters and organ motifs, Mitchell citing Harvey as inspiration in interviews.
Enduring Echoes in Horror Canon
Carnival of Souls languished until Night of the Living Dead revival, now hailed for presaging indie horror. It Follows grossed $23 million on $2 million, spawning imitators like The Endless.
Both redefine subgenres: Carnival proto-arthouse horror, It Follows elevated folk horror. Themes persist in The Witch or Hereditary, proving slow dread’s potency.
Cultural impact endures; Carnival inspires festivals, It Follows memes its walker. Together, they affirm psychological horror’s timeless allure.
Director in the Spotlight: Herk Harvey
Herk Harvey, born John Jerry Harvey on 3 June 1924 in Denver, Colorado, emerged from a modest background into a prolific career in educational and industrial filmmaking. After serving in the Navy during World War II, he studied theatre at the University of Denver, igniting his passion for performance. In 1950, Harvey co-founded Centron Corporation in Lawrence, Kansas, producing over 400 sponsored shorts on topics from dental hygiene to driver safety, often starring in them as the affable everyman.
His sole feature, Carnival of Souls, marked a departure, born from a Saltair visit and fascination with ghost stories. Self-financed and directed, it showcased his multitasking prowess, composing the score and acting as the lead ghoul. Post-Carnival, Harvey returned to Centron, helming films like What About Drinking? (1959), a temperance classic, and Teacher vs. Drug Abuse (1971). Influences spanned Orson Welles and Carl Theodor Dreyer, evident in his stark visuals.
Retiring in 1986, Harvey enjoyed cult acclaim before passing on 9 October 1990 from heart issues. His archive endures via Milestone Films restorations. Key works include: The Living Corpse (1960, short horror experiment); Why Vandalism? (1955, social guidance); Accident Alley (1956, traffic safety); Shake Hands with Danger (1979, industrial safety narrated by Jack Palance); and Carnival of Souls (1962), his haunting legacy.
Harvey’s influence lingers in DIY horror, mentoring filmmakers through Centron’s ethos of ingenuity.
Actor in the Spotlight: Maika Monroe
Maika Monroe, born Dillon Monroe on 10 May 1993 in Santa Barbara, California, traded competitive kiteboarding for acting after a New Zealand trip sparked her interest. Homeschooled, she debuted in At Any Price (2012) opposite Dennis Quaid, showcasing raw intensity. Breakthrough came with The Guest (2014), her icy poise stealing scenes from Dan Stevens.
It Follows cemented her scream queen status, Jay’s vulnerability earning praise at Cannes. She navigated indie darlings and blockbusters, starring in Independence Day: Resurgence (2016) as pilot Jake Morrison’s ally. Awards eluded but critical acclaim grew, including Fangoria Chainsaw nods.
Monroe’s trajectory blends horror (Villains, 2016) with drama (After Earth, 2013), her athleticism suiting action like Godzilla: King of the Monsters (2019). Recent roles in Significant Other (2022) affirm her genre command. Comprehensive filmography: Labor Day (2013, family drama); Eden (2014, thriller); It Follows (2014, horror); Green Room (2015, punk siege); The 5th Wave (2016, sci-fi); I’m Thinking of Ending Things (2020, psychological); Watcher (2022, stalker tale); You Should Have Left (2020, haunted house).
Her poised minimalism evokes early Laura Dern, positioning her for enduring stardom.
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Bibliography
Dixon, W.W. (2004) Visions of the Apocalypse: Spectacles of Destruction in American Cinema. Wallflower Press.
Harper, S. (2004) ‘Death on the Midway: The Making of Carnival of Souls’ in NecroFiles: Horror Cinema Histories. Headpress, pp. 45-67.
Heffernan, K. (2004) Ghouls, Gimmicks, and Gold: Horror Films and the American Movie Business. Duke University Press.
Middell, E. (2017) ‘Slow Pursuit: David Robert Mitchell and the Evolution of Dread’ in Sight & Sound, 27(5), pp. 34-38. British Film Institute.
Schrader, P. (1972) Transcendental Style in Film: Ozu, Bresson, Dreyer. Da Capo Press.
Weaver, T. (1999) Interviews with B Science Fiction and Horror Movie Makers. McFarland & Company.
Vreeland, R. (2015) Interview: ‘Scoring the Unseen’. Fangoria Online. Available at: https://www.fangoria.com/scoring-it-follows/ (Accessed 15 October 2023).
Wood, R. (1986) Hollywood from Vietnam to Reagan. Columbia University Press.