Unraveling Inner Demons: Repulsion and The Babadook’s Duel with Grief

Grief does not merely haunt; it devours, reshaping reality into a labyrinth of madness where monsters wear familiar faces.

 

Two films separated by nearly five decades, yet bound by a savage exploration of the psyche: Roman Polanski’s Repulsion (1965) and Jennifer Kent’s The Babadook (2014). Both centre on women teetering on the brink, their grief morphing into visceral horror. This comparison peels back the layers of psychological terror, revealing how each wields loss as a blade against sanity.

 

  • Repulsion’s sterile descent into sexual repression contrasts The Babadook’s domestic frenzy, both rooted in unprocessed mourning.
  • Stylistic mastery—from Polanski’s claustrophobic long takes to Kent’s shadowy puppetry—amplifies grief’s monstrous form.
  • These films redefine psychological horror, influencing a generation to confront trauma’s tangible claws.

 

The Cracking Facade: Repulsion’s Solitary Spiral

Carol Ledoux, a Belgian manicurist in swinging London, embodies quiet fracture. Catherine Deneuve’s portrayal captures a woman retreating from the world, her sister’s casual liaisons triggering profound unease. As days blur in her empty apartment, reality frays: walls pulse like flesh, hands emerge from shadows to grope her body, and the hallway stretches into infinity. Polanski crafts a symphony of isolation, where auditory assaults—ticking clocks, dripping taps, discordant piano notes—erode her mind. Carol’s first kill, her landlord’s lecherous advance met with a razor, marks the pivot; blood spatters porcelain sink, yet she remains detached, wandering in a nightgown stained crimson.

The narrative unfolds over six suffocating days, each marked by title cards that heighten temporal dread. Rabbits rot on the kitchen counter, symbolising festering decay within. Her boyfriend’s rape fantasy turns fatal under a candlestick, his pleas echoing unanswered. Polanski, drawing from his own exile experiences, infuses the film with authentic paranoia. Produced on a shoestring by Compton Films, it premiered at the BFI, shocking audiences with its unflinching gaze on female hysteria. Myths of Polanski’s method acting demands swirl, but Deneuve’s commitment—immersing in silence for weeks—grounds the surreal in raw emotion.

Grief here stems not from overt loss but repressed trauma: an implied incestuous past with her father, glimpsed in a photo frame. Carol’s catatonia mirrors clinical catatonia, Polanski consulting psychiatrists for accuracy. The film’s Belgian roots nod to surrealists like Magritte, whose apples and bowler hats echo in its domestic distortions. Compared to contemporaries like Psycho, Repulsion shuns slashers for internal carnage, pioneering the ‘apartment horror’ subgenre.

Picture Book Peril: The Babadook’s Domestic Devastation

Amelia Vanek, seven years widowed after her husband’s car crash on their son’s birthday, battles sleepless nights and a hyperactive child, Samuel. Essie Davis conveys exhaustion etched in every tremor, her forced smiles cracking under pressure. The Babadook arrives via a pop-up book: a top-hatted ghoul in trench coat, promising presence with claw-like fingers. Whispers precede manifestations—dishes rattle, Amelia’s name scrawled in chalk—escalating to physical assaults. Samuel wields makeshift weapons, his warnings dismissed as delusion until the creature corners them in their crumbling home.

Kent’s debut, crowdfunded after festival shorts, builds tension through mundane horror: Amelia’s failed date, library shifts where colleagues pity her. The book’s pages tear reality—shadows elongate, Amelia’s face contorts unnaturally. Climax sees her bludgeoning Samuel in blackout rage, only to cradle him post-exorcism. The finale’s twist—feeding the monster daily scraps—affirms grief’s permanence. Shot in Adelaide’s derelict houses, production faced rain delays, yet Kent’s script, honed over years, resonates universally. Influenced by The Exorcist and silent films, it blends metaphor with menace.

Noel Cross, the late husband, haunts via flashback smiles; his absence fuels Amelia’s rage. Samuel’s nightmares reflect maternal rejection, their bond fracturing under duress. Kent consulted child psychologists, ensuring Noah Wiseman’s performance—wild-eyed defiance—avoids exploitation. Australian censorship debates ensued, praising its mental health candour. Unlike Repulsion‘s solo decline, The Babadook weaponises family, grief as shared contagion.

Grief’s Many Masks: Thematic Parallels and Rifts

Both films posit grief as antagonist, externalising internal voids. Carol’s unspoken paternal loss manifests tactile violations, hands symbolising unwanted penetration. Amelia’s mourning, raw and recent, births a literal monster, the Babadook voicing suppressed fury: “If it’s in a word or in a look, you can’t get rid of the Babadook.” Polanski intellectualises repression; Kent visceralises depression, drawing from her own losses. Gender dynamics sharpen: Carol’s sexuality weaponised against her, Amelia’s motherhood eroded.

Class undertones simmer—Carol’s bourgeois flat versus Amelia’s working-class decay—yet universal trauma unites them. Religion absents both; salvation lies in acceptance or annihilation. Repulsion ends in institutionalisation, a sister’s return underscoring isolation’s cost. The Babadook offers uneasy coexistence, critiquing ‘move on’ platitudes. Influences diverge: Polanski’s European arthouse versus Kent’s Ozploitation grit, yet both elevate women beyond victims.

Trauma’s physicality links them—hallucinations as corporeal. Carol scratches wallpaper to blood; Amelia convulses under invisible force. Mental health discourse evolves: 1965’s hysteria label to 2014’s depression allegory, sparking online therapies post-release. Critics note queer subtexts—Carol’s lesbian hints, Amelia’s ambiguous bonds—but core remains grief’s alchemy into horror.

Cinematography’s Grip: Visual Assaults

Gilbert Taylor’s black-and-white for Repulsion traps light in corners, fisheye lenses warping doorframes into threats. Long takes prowl the flat, negative space dwarfing Deneuve. Sound design by Barry Andrews layers ambient unease—breathing walls, fractured glass syncing with psyche snaps. Polanski’s handheld frenzy in kills contrasts static madness.

Radek Ladczuk’s Babadook cinematography favours desaturated blues, Babadook’s silhouette stark against clutter. Stop-motion pop-up animations homage German expressionism, shadows puppeteered live for uncanny valley. Jed Kurzel’s score, piano dirges to orchestral swells, mirrors Amelia’s breakdown. Kent’s framing—low angles on Samuel, high on Amelia—shifts power dynamics fluidly.

Both eschew jump scares for slow burns, Repulsion‘s 90-minute runtime compressing dread, The Babadook‘s 94 matching pace. Editing rhythms—cross-cuts in Repulsion, montages in Babadook—pulse like heartbeats failing.

Performances that Pierce the Soul

Deneuve, 22, channels fragility with vacant stares, her beauty a curse amplifying vulnerability. Ian Hendry’s suitor adds pathos, his death a tragic misread. Supporting cast—Yvonne Furneaux’s vibrant sister—highlights Carol’s otherness. Davis, theatre-honed, swings from tender to feral, her kitchen meltdown a tour de force. Wiseman’s unhinged energy grounds the supernatural.

Directorial trust yielded magic: Polanski’s improvisations, Kent’s rehearsal marathons. Both leads embody grief’s spectrum—numbness to explosion—earning festival acclaim.

Effects Mastery: Subtlety Over Spectacle

Repulsion‘s practical illusions—prosthetic hands, matte paintings for hallway—rely on suggestion. Rotting rabbit by SFX pioneer Wally Veevers evokes nausea sans gore. No monsters, yet horror feels primal.

The Babadook blends prosthetics (Babadook’s elongated limbs by Odd Studio) with digital enhancements sparingly. Pop-up book illusions via miniatures, possessions via Davis’ contortions. Kent prioritises emotional authenticity, effects serving metaphor.

Era gaps show evolution: 1960s ingenuity to 2010s hybrids, both proving less yields more in psych-horror.

Legacy’s Long Shadow

Repulsion birthed Polanski’s reputation, influencing Rosemary’s Baby, Apartment horrors like Saint Maud. Restored 4K editions revive its potency. The Babadook exploded via Sundance, meme-ified yet profound, spawning TV parodies and trauma discussions. Kent’s follow-up The Nightingale extends themes.

Together, they anchor grief in canon, from Hereditary echoes to therapy frameworks. Censorship battles—BBFC cuts for Repulsion, acclaim for Babadook—trace genre maturity.

Director in the Spotlight: Roman Polanski

Born Raymond Liebling in 1933 Paris to Polish-Jewish parents, Polanski survived the Holocaust hidden in Krakow, shaping his worldview of persecution. Post-war, he studied at Łódź Film School, debuting with shorts like Two Men and a Wardrobe (1958), absurdist tales echoing his trauma. Exiled from Poland amid scandal, he landed in London for Repulsion, his English breakthrough.

1968’s Rosemary’s Baby (1968) blended horror with paranoia, grossing millions. Macbeth (1971) followed personal tragedy—wife Sharon Tate’s Manson murder—infusing gore with grief. Chinatown (1974) earned Oscar nods, neo-noir mastery. Fleeing US sodomy charges in 1978, he helmed Tess (1979), César winner. Later: Pirates (1986) swashbuckler flop; The Pianist (2002) Holocaust survival tale, Best Director Oscar. The Ghost Writer (2010) political thriller; Venus in Fur (2013) stage adaptation; Based on a True Story (2017) meta-thriller; An Officer and a Spy (2019) Dreyfus affair drama, Venice prize. Influences: Hitchcock, Buñuel. Controversies shadow legacy, yet filmic prowess endures.

Actor in the Spotlight: Catherine Deneuve

Born Catherine Dorléac in 1943 Paris, youngest of five acting siblings, Deneuve debuted aged 13 in Les Collégiennes (1957). Breakthrough: Les Parapluies de Cherbourg (1964) musical, Cannes Best Actress. Repulsion (1965) showcased dramatic range, followed by Le Sauvage (1975) comedy.

Jacques Demy collaborations defined 1960s allure; Belleville Tokyo (1967). Tristana (1970) Buñuel arthouse; The Last Metro (1980) César win. Hollywood: Hustle (1975) with Reynolds; Indochine (1992) Oscar-nominated epic. 8 Women (2002) ensemble musical; The Truth (2019) with Binoche. Over 120 films, fashion icon (YSL muse), political activist. Filmography highlights: Manon 70 (1968); Donkey Skin (1970); La Vieille Fille (1976); Le Divorce ( sketch2003); Potemkin doc-nar (2020). Enduring elegance meets fierce intensity.

Which film’s grief grips you harder? Share in the comments and explore more psychological plunges at NecroTimes.

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