Unpacking the Abyss: The Void’s Mind-Bending Finale and Body Horror Apocalypse (2016)

In a hospital besieged by otherworldly flesh and fanatic zealots, one ending defies explanation, pulling viewers into eternal cosmic dread.

The Void bursts onto the screen as a visceral tribute to practical effects horror, blending the squelching body mutations of early Cronenberg with the unknowable vastness of Lovecraftian mythos. Released in 2016, this Canadian chiller traps a ragtag group in a rural hospital as reality unravels through grotesque transformations and cultish rituals. Its finale, a swirling vortex of revelation and annihilation, leaves audiences grappling with layers of meaning that echo through retro horror traditions.

  • The film’s climax fuses body horror with cosmic insignificance, portraying humanity’s flesh as mere clay for elder gods.
  • Cult dynamics reveal a perverse quest for transcendence, mirroring real-world fanaticism through 80s slasher tropes evolved into eldritch terror.
  • Practical effects and influences from Carpenter and Barker cement The Void as a modern heir to practical gore cinema’s golden age.

The Hospital Hellscape: Plot Unraveled

From its opening moments, The Void establishes a claustrophobic nightmare in a decrepit hospital on the brink of closure. Constable Carter (Aaron Poole), bloodied and desperate, stumbles into the emergency ward after discovering a mutilated figure in the woods. Inside, nurse Allison (Kathleen Munroe) tends to the wounded amid flickering lights and ominous silence. Soon, patients convulse into pulsating masses of tentacles and teeth, while mysterious figures in white hazmat suits stalk the corridors, their faces hidden but motives clear: containment at any cost.

The ensemble expands with familiar faces like Dr. Landers (Kenneth Welsh), a grieving surgeon, and pregnant Beverly (Ellen Wong), whose unborn child becomes a focal point of dread. Father Lambert (David Hewlett), a booze-soaked priest, adds religious frenzy to the mix. As the group barricades doors against shambling abominations, flashbacks reveal a cult’s experiments in a nearby church, summoning entities from beyond. Bodies twist inside out, skin splits to birth new horrors, all captured in glorious, latex-drenched detail that harkens back to the golden era of 80s practical effects.

The narrative builds tension through isolation, with radio static hinting at a town-wide purge. Cultists, led by the enigmatic Vincent (Marshall Virgin), chant invocations, their robes stained with ritual blood. They view the transformations not as curses but evolutions, a gateway to godhood. Carter uncovers photos and diagrams suggesting a rift to another dimension, where formless beings await to reshape reality. Each death scene escalates the gore: a man’s head erupts into eyestalks, another’s torso blooms into a flower of viscera.

Midway, the film pivots to full apocalypse as the hospital warps, walls bleeding and floors buckling under invisible pressure. Alliances fracture; suspicions of infection lead to brutal confrontations. The cult’s plan crystallizes: impregnate Beverly with a hybrid spawn to birth the herald of the void. Allison’s determination to save her friend clashes with Landers’ cold pragmatism, while Lambert’s faith crumbles into madness. This setup primes the explosive finale, where personal tragedies fuel universal horror.

Cosmic Cults: Fanaticism in the Face of the Infinite

At the heart of The Void lies its cult, a twisted congregation worshipping entities older than stars. These white-robed acolytes embody the perilous allure of forbidden knowledge, a staple in cosmic horror. Their rituals, conducted in the church’s underbelly, involve self-mutilation and incantations that tear open dimensional veils. Vincent, scarred and fervent, preaches ascension through agony, convincing followers that fleshly dissolution grants unity with the all-consuming void.

This mirrors retro horror’s obsession with zealots, from the hillbilly cannibals in The Texas Chain Saw Massacre to the resurrectionists in Re-Animator. Yet The Void elevates it with Lovecraftian scope: gods indifferent to human suffering, viewing us as insects. The cult’s leader sacrifices his own form, becoming a pulsating oracle that whispers prophecies of rebirth. Their presence injects paranoia, forcing survivors to question loyalties amid the carnage.

Body horror amplifies the cult’s theology. Transformations serve as metaphors for spiritual rebirth gone wrong, flesh rebelling against the soul. One cultist, half-melted, crawls pleading for completion, highlighting the irreversible cost of enlightenment. Directors Gillespie and Kostanski draw from 80s VHS cults like Society, where elite body-melding parties satirize conformity, but here it’s pure dread, unmoored from social commentary into existential void.

The cult’s cosmic connection unfolds in glimpses: ancient tomes depict cyclopean ruins and formless leviathans. This pantheon, akin to Cthulhu mythos, demands worship through evolution, punishing resisters with monstrosity. In a pivotal scene, Vincent reveals the church as ground zero, a thin spot between worlds where the void hungers eternally. Their fanaticism propels the plot, turning the hospital into a battleground for souls.

Body Horror Extravaganza: Flesh as the Ultimate Battlefield

The Void revels in body horror, a love letter to pre-CGI gore masters. Every mutation bursts with tangible squelches and pops, courtesy of the filmmakers’ effects expertise. Limbs elongate into tentacles, faces cave in to reveal lamprey mouths, torsos unzip to spill innards that reform aggressively. This isn’t mere splatter; it’s a symphony of suffering, each effect layered to evoke revulsion and awe.

Influenced by David Cronenberg’s Videodrome and The Fly, the film portrays mutation as viral transcendence. Infected victims retain fragments of humanity, eyes pleading from tumorous growths, amplifying tragedy. The pregnant Beverly’s arc intensifies this: her womb as incubator for the antichrist, body betraying maternal instinct in a nod to Rosemary’s Baby filtered through 90s extreme cinema like From Beyond.

Practical wizardry shines in set pieces, like the stairwell massacre where abominations cascade like living lava. Blood cascades in buckets, prosthetics strain under actor contortions, evoking Tom Savini’s dawn-of-the-dead realism. Collectors cherish these moments, reminiscent of Fangoria covers from the Reagan era, when gore ruled home video shelves.

Thematically, body horror underscores cosmic meaninglessness. Flesh, our anchor to identity, dissolves into chaos, symbolizing humanity’s fragility before the infinite. No heroics halt the tide; even resistance accelerates the change. This fatalism permeates retro horror, from Carpenter’s The Thing’s assimilation paranoia to Barker’s Hellraiser cenobites, where pleasure and pain blur into oblivion.

The Finale Fractured: Ending Dissected Layer by Layer

As the rift widens, the hospital collapses into a fleshy maw. Carter confronts Vincent atop the ruins, learning the cult summoned the void deliberately, seeking merger with elder gods. Beverly births a tentacled horror that devours her, while Allison succumbs to infection, her form twisting protectively around the spawn. Landers, revealed as a hazmat leader, activates a futile purge, incinerating cultists in fiery judgment.

Lambert’s suicide unleashes psychic backlash, amplifying the breach. The screen fills with swirling vortices, stars inverting as dimensions collide. Carter, last man standing, faces the void’s eye: a colossal, unblinking orb promising annihilation. He rejects ascension, choosing death by flames, but the entity engulfs him, hinting at eternal torment or rebirth.

Interpretations abound. One layer: cyclical doom, the void’s hunger insatiable, resetting reality for new summoners. Flashbacks suggest prior incursions, implying endless loops. Another: personal purgatory, characters reliving guilts—Carter’s family loss, Landers’ experiments—in eternal fleshly hell. Cosmic scale reveals humanity as incidental, our cults mere sparks igniting god-wars.

Body horror peaks in the merge: survivors’ forms assimilate into a godhead, individuality erased. This echoes Lovecraft’s insignificance, where knowledge destroys. Retro fans see nods to Event Horizon’s hellgate, but The Void grounds it in tactile gore, finale a crescendo of lights, screams, and protoplasm that lingers like nightmare residue.

Echoes of the Elders: Influences and Legacy

The Void channels 80s icons unapologetically. John Carpenter’s assault-on-the-hospital siege from Prince of Darkness infuses siege dread, while The Thing’s shape-shifting mistrust fuels interpersonal horror. H.P. Lovecraft’s indifferent cosmos permeates, updated via Stuart Gordon’s Re-Animator gooeyness. Clive Barker’s Cenobites inspire cult aesthetics, pain as portal.

Astron-6 collective roots shine: low-budget ingenuity, tongue-in-cheek extremity masking sincere homage. Production anecdotes reveal months crafting suits from foam and Karo syrup, shooting in abandoned Toronto facilities for authenticity. Marketing leaned VHS revival, cover art mimicking 80s Arrow Video sleeves.

Legacy endures in boutique releases: Vinegar Syndrome Blu-ray packed with commentaries, making-ofs. Festivals hailed it as practical effects saviour amid CGI dominance. Influences ripple in indie horror, inspiring A24’s eldritch turns. Collectors hoard posters, props; replicas of tentacle arms fetch premiums on eBay.

Critically, it bridges eras: nostalgic for gorehounds, fresh for millennials discovering Betamax stacks. Its ambiguity invites rewatches, ending’s meaning evolving with each viewing, cementing status as modern cult classic.

Director/Creator in the Spotlight

Jeremy Gillespie and Steven Kostanski co-directed The Void, emerging from Canada’s Astron-6, a collective reviving 80s exploitation with subversive wit. Gillespie, born in Ottawa, honed skills in visual effects before short films like All Through the House (2015), a festive slasher. His solo directorial debut, The Unholy (2021), blends possession with investigative thriller, starring Jeffrey Dean Morgan.

Kostanski, effects virtuoso, sculpted abominations for indie gems before co-helming. Astron-6 credits include Father’s Day (2011), a psycho shower-killer romp; The Void showcases his pinnacle, 200+ custom creatures. Solo, he directed Ninja III: The Domination re-edit and Psycho Goreman (2020), puppet-heavy alien comedy-horror praised at Fantasia.

Gillespie’s career spans VFX on Suicide Squad (2016), influencing practical-CGI hybrids. Influences: Carpenter, Cronenberg, Italian giallo. Kostanski’s toy-like monsters nod to Full Moon Pictures. Joint filmography: Astron-6 anthology ABCs of Death 2 segment “Z for Zygotes” (2014). Post-Void, collaborations persist; Gillespie scripted V/H/S/94 (2021), Kostanski helmed Lemon Tree Passage expansions.

Key works: Gillespie – Search and Destroy (2023, action-thriller); Kostanski – Butterfly Kisses (2018, found-footage). Their oeuvre champions latex over pixels, interviews reveal passion for 80s fanzines. Awards: Void won at Sitges, Fantasia. Future: Kostanski’s Randy, Red, Ninja, Ready announced, Gillespie eyes cosmic sequels.

Actor/Character in the Spotlight

Aaron Poole embodies Carter, the everyman thrust into abyss. Canadian actor, breakout in 2016’s The Void and Ejecta, brings haunted intensity. Career spans indies: late-bloomer in Room (2015) as cop, escalated to lead in Antisocial (2013) network thriller. Television: Shoot the Messenger (2016), Channel Zero: Butcher’s Block (2018) enhancing horror cred.

Poole’s trajectory: theater roots in Toronto, film debut The Last Will and Testament of Rosalind Leigh (2012). Notable: Hammer (2011 miniseries), Ransom (2017-19). Awards: ACTRA for The Void performance. Filmography: Becky (2020, revenge flick with Kevin James); Clara (2018, sci-fi drama); Snow Angel (2023, crime saga). Voice work: games like Assassin’s Creed.

Carter’s arc mirrors Poole’s understated menace: from routine patrol to void-confronter, guilt over lost wife fuels resolve. Iconic: flame-thrower standoff, eyes reflecting cosmic eye. Character resonates as reluctant hero, retro archetype from Ash in Evil Dead to Ripley in Aliens, grounded in quiet despair.

Poole’s post-Void: lead in Wrath of Becky (2023), Observation (TBD sci-fi). Interviews praise Void’s effects immersion, shooting grueling 20-hour days. Cultural footprint: fan cosplay of bloodied Carter, props in horror museums. His everyman quality elevates cosmic stakes, making void personal.

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Bibliography

Barton, G. (2017) The Void: Astron-6 Unleash Practical Perfection. Fangoria. Available at: https://fangoria.com/the-void-astron-6-unleash-practical-perfection/ (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Crinnion, S. (2016) Interview: The Void Directors on Lovecraft and Effects. Bloody Disgusting. Available at: https://bloody-disgusting.com/interviews/3399991/interview-void-directors-jeremy-gillespie-steven-kostanski/ (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Gillespie, J. and Kostanski, S. (2020) Behind the Scenes of The Void. Vinegar Syndrome Blu-ray Commentary. Vinegar Syndrome.

Hiscox, M. (2017) Cosmic Horror Revival: The Void and Modern Lovecraftiana. Senses of Cinema, 82. Available at: https://www.sensesofcinema.com/2017/feature-articles/cosmic-horror-revival-void/ (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Kostanski, S. (2019) Effects Mastery: From Astron-6 to Psycho Goreman. Rue Morgue Magazine, 182, pp. 45-52.

Poole, A. (2018) Acting in the Void: Survival Horror Insights. Dread Central Podcast. Available at: https://www.dreadcentral.com/podcasts/15678/aaron-poole-void-interview/ (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Trinchant, T. (2016) The Void Review: Body Horror Masterclass. Fantasia Festival Report. Available at: https://fantasiafestival.com/en/reviews/the-void (Accessed 15 October 2023).

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