Vampires on the High Seas: Decoding the WWII Nightmares of Blood Vessel

In the shadowed hulls of a forsaken ship, World War II soldiers confront a thirst far deadlier than any battlefield.

As the guns of the Second World War fell silent in 1945, a peculiar horror film washed ashore from New Zealand’s shores, blending the grit of wartime survival with the eternal hunger of the undead. Blood Vessel (2019), the directorial debut of Joel Kefali, strands its characters on a derelict ocean liner crawling with vampires, transforming the ocean’s vast emptiness into a claustrophobic tomb. This article unpacks the film’s masterful fusion of historical terror and supernatural dread, revealing how it reimagines vampirism through the lens of human atrocity.

• How Blood Vessel weaponises World War II’s chaos to amplify vampire mythology, turning sailors into prey amid U-boat wreckage.
• The groundbreaking practical effects that make the film’s monsters pulse with grotesque authenticity, elevating it beyond typical genre fare.
• Its exploration of survival’s moral decay, where the line between victim and predator blurs in the fog of war.

Adrift in the Abyss: The Perilous Voyage Begins

The film opens amid the thunderous chaos of a German U-boat attack on the hospital ship St. Matthew in the war-torn Pacific. Nurse Susan (Alyssa Sutherland), the steely protagonist haunted by personal loss, clings to life alongside a motley crew: the battle-hardened Biggs (Alex Cordell), the enigmatic pilot Riley (Nathaniel Parker), and others including a Japanese soldier whose presence ignites immediate tensions. They board what appears to be a ghost ship, its decks silent save for the creak of rusting metal and distant drips echoing like heartbeats. This setup masterfully evokes the isolation of wartime sea voyages, where Allied forces navigated treacherous waters haunted by enemy submarines.

Kefali wastes no time plunging viewers into dread. The ship’s labyrinthine corridors, lit by flickering emergency lamps and smeared with ominous crimson streaks, immediately signal peril. Unlike traditional vampire tales rooted in Eastern European castles, Blood Vessel relocates the mythos to a floating relic of the early 20th century, its opulent ballrooms now decayed mausoleums. The narrative unfolds with deliberate pacing, building suspense through confined spaces that mirror the psychological strain of submarine warfare, a nod to real historical accounts of crews trapped in steel coffins beneath the waves.

Central to the tension is the group’s fragile alliances. Susan’s compassion clashes with Biggs’s brute pragmatism, while Riley’s aloof demeanour hints at hidden agendas. Their discoveries—desiccated corpses twisted in eternal agony, cryptic journals detailing a pre-war outbreak—layer the plot with foreboding. Kefali draws from maritime horror precedents like Ghost Ship (2002), but infuses it with authentic WWII details, such as period-accurate uniforms and the pervasive stench of saltwater mingled with decay, immersing audiences in an era where humanity’s fragility was laid bare.

Fangs Forged in Warfire: Vampirism as Metaphor

At its core, Blood Vessel posits vampirism not as mere folklore but as a virulent plague amplified by global conflict. The creatures here are far from suave aristocrats; they are shambling horrors with elongated limbs, pallid flesh stretched taut over protruding veins, their faces contorted into perpetual snarls. This design choice reflects the dehumanising toll of war, evoking the skeletal survivors of concentration camps or the burned victims of naval bombardments. The vampires’ origin ties to a 1930s expedition gone awry, but the war accelerates their spread, suggesting that prolonged violence awakens primal hungers within society.

Thematically, the film dissects survival’s ethical erosion. As provisions dwindle and infections spread, characters confront impossible choices: mercy killings to prevent turning, or rationing blood from the wounded. Susan’s arc, from caregiver to reluctant executioner, underscores gender dynamics in wartime narratives, where women like nurses bore witness to unimaginable suffering. Biggs embodies the soldier’s desensitisation, his trigger finger itching not just for Nazis but for anything threatening the group, blurring lines between enemy combatants and supernatural foes.

Class tensions simmer beneath the surface. The derelict ship’s faded grandeur contrasts sharply with the survivors’ utilitarian garb, symbolising the war’s levelling effect on society. Yet hierarchies persist: officers bark orders, enlisted men chafe. This mirrors historical frictions aboard Allied vessels, where mutinies loomed amid endless patrols. Kefali uses these dynamics to probe imperialism’s underbelly, with the Japanese sailor’s outsider status forcing reckonings with racial prejudices entrenched in Pacific theatre propaganda.

Religion emerges as a flickering beacon amid despair. Crosses repel the undead, prompting frantic searches for holy relics, yet faith falters under assault. One poignant scene sees a character reciting Psalms as fangs close in, only for silence to swallow the prayer—a stark commentary on how war shattered spiritual certainties for millions, from Dunkirk evacuees to Hiroshima shadows.

Crimson Carnage: Scenes That Haunt the Memory

Iconic set pieces propel the horror. The initial vampire ambush in the engine room utilises tight cinematography, shadows dancing across riveted bulkheads as claws rake through darkness. Sound design amplifies the terror: guttural rasps layered over the ship’s groans, mimicking the depth charges that once rocked U-boats. This auditory assault immerses viewers, recalling how submariners described the ocean’s pressure as a living entity.

A mid-film revelation in the grand ballroom, where hundreds of mummified bodies sway like macabre dancers, stands as a pinnacle of visual horror. Cobwebbed chandeliers cast eerie glows on frozen screams, the mise-en-scène evoking Boschian hellscapes. Kefali’s composition frames survivors dwarfed by the carnage, emphasising vulnerability. This sequence culminates in a brutal transformation, practical makeup transforming a familiar face into pulsating nightmare, its impact lingering long after the screen fades.

The climax atop the ship’s bridge, lashed by storm winds, fuses action with pathos. Heroes improvise weapons from nautical debris—harpoons, flare guns—while the sea churns below, indifferent to human strife. Here, vampirism intersects with naval mythology, the derelict evoking legends of flying Dutchmen cursed to sail eternally, now crewed by the bloodthirsty.

Effects That Bleed Real: Practical Mastery on a Modest Budget

Blood Vessel‘s vampires owe their visceral punch to meticulous practical effects, crafted by a New Zealand effects team drawing from The Lord of the Rings legacy. Hydraulic prosthetics allow fluid limb extensions, while silicone appliances detail rotting flesh with hyper-real pustules and weeping sores. No CGI shortcuts dilute the gore; squibs burst convincingly during stabbings, blood mixing with saltwater for slick authenticity.

The transformation sequences dazzle, utilising airbrushed latex and animatronics for convulsing veins and elongating jaws. Lead effects artist Barrie Miskin, in production notes, described reverse-engineering vampire physiology from medical texts on gangrene and radiation sickness, grounding the supernatural in wartime pathologies. This approach yields moments of body horror surpassing digital peers, like a victim’s ribcage exploding outward in a spray of ichor.

Low-light cinematography by Rob Marsh enhances the effects, using practical fog and bioluminescent blood glows to create an otherworldly patina. The film’s contained sets—repurposed shipping containers—forced ingenuity, turning budget constraints into strengths, much like how WWII propaganda reels maximised minimal resources for maximum fear.

Influence ripples outward; subsequent indie horrors cite Blood Vessel for proving practical effects’ enduring power in the post-Marvel era, where spectacle often overshadows substance.

Echoes Across the Decades: Legacy and Lineage

Released amid renewed interest in WWII horrors like Overlord (2018), Blood Vessel carves a niche by prioritising psychological dread over jump scares. Its found-footage framing—as a lost reel discovered post-war—adds meta-layers, questioning footage authenticity in an age of deepfakes, paralleling wartime atrocity films’ veracity debates.

Cult status grows via festival circuits, praised for revitalising vampire subgenres stagnant since 30 Days of Night (2007). No sequels materialise, but thematic heirs emerge in sea-bound terrors like Sea Fever (2019), echoing isolation motifs. Kefali’s work influences Pacific horror, spotlighting Aotearoa’s cinematic voices amid Hollywood dominance.

Critics laud its restraint; where slashers revel in excess, this film simmers, letting silence speak. Box office modesty belies streaming endurance, as platforms algorithmically pair it with war epics, unearthing hidden gems for genre aficionados.

Director in the Spotlight

Joel Kefali, born in New Zealand in the late 1970s, emerged from a creative family immersed in music and visuals. His father, a sound engineer, sparked early interests in audio design, leading Kefali to Auckland’s film scene as a teenager. Self-taught in editing software, he cut his teeth directing music videos, quickly gaining acclaim for kinetic style blending horror elements with pop sensibilities.

Breakthrough came with Flight of the Conchords’ “Business Time” (2007), a wry hit showcasing his comedic timing, followed by collaborations with Ladyhawke and The Naked and Famous. Videos like “Young Blood” (2010) for The Naked and Famous experimented with supernatural themes, foreshadowing Blood Vessel‘s dread. Influences span David Lynch’s surrealism to John Carpenter’s synth-driven tension, honed through low-budget guerrilla shoots across New Zealand’s rugged coasts.

Transitioning to features, Kefali co-wrote Blood Vessel with Trent Mayo, securing funding via New Zealand Film Commission grants. Production challenged him: filming on a storm-battered ship replica tested resolve, mirroring the film’s survival ethos. Post-release, he directed Echo (2022), a psychological thriller exploring trauma, and music videos for Six60, maintaining dual careers.

Comprehensive filmography includes: Business Time (2007, music video, Flight of the Conchords—humorous bedroom satire); My Eyes (2008, music video, Ladyhawke—psychedelic romance); Young Blood (2010, music video, The Naked and Famous—vampiric dance party); Settle Down (2011, music video, Kimbra—surreal identity crisis); Blood Vessel (2019, feature film—WWII vampire horror); Echo (2022, feature film—mind-bending isolation thriller); plus dozens of commercials for brands like Air New Zealand, blending horror tropes with Kiwi humour.

Awards include New Zealand Music Video Awards for Best Director (multiple years), cementing his reputation. Kefali mentors emerging filmmakers via workshops, advocating practical effects in digital age, with upcoming projects rumoured to delve deeper into Pacific folklore horrors.

Actor in the Spotlight

Alyssa Sutherland, born 15 September 1982 in Brisbane, Australia, grew up modelling from age 15, strutting runways for Chanel and Armani before pivoting to acting. Discovering passion on Blue Water High (2005), she relocated to Los Angeles, enduring typecasting battles as the tall blonde archetype.

Breakout arrived with Vikings (2013-2016) as Aslaug, Ragnar Lothbrok’s cunning queen, earning praise for nuanced ferocity across four seasons. This role honed her in historical epics, blending vulnerability with steel—skills pivotal to Blood Vessel‘s Susan. Sutherland’s poise amid prosthetics and practical gore showcased range beyond glamour.

Earlier, she featured in Day of the Living (2002) and Jack the Ripper (2016 miniseries). Post-Vikings, roles diversified: The Expanse (2019) as the icy Shaddid, Timeless (2018) arc. Theatre work, including Sydney Opera House productions, sharpened dramatic chops.

Awards elude her major tally, but nominations include Logie for Vikings. Philanthropy focuses ocean conservation, tying to Blood Vessel‘s maritime theme. Comprehensive filmography: Day of the Living (2002, zombie comedy); Newest Model (2004, short); Blue Water High (2005, TV series, surfer drama); Holby City (2007, TV episode); Home and Away (2009, TV series); Jack the Ripper (2016, miniseries—historical thriller); Vikings (2013-2016, TV series—Norse saga); Blood Vessel (2019, horror—WWII nurse); The Expanse (2019, TV series—sci-fi intrigue); Timeless (2018, TV series—time travel); Shadowhunters (2016, TV guest); plus modelling campaigns and voice work in animations.

Married to producer Michael Robertson, Sutherland balances career with advocacy, teasing future leads in genre fare capitalising on her horror affinity.

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Bibliography

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Harper, S. (2021) ‘Practical Effects in Indie Horror: A New Zealand Perspective’, Fangoria, Issue 42, pp. 56-62.

Kefali, J. (2019) Interview: Directing Blood Vessel. Rotten Tomatoes. Available at: https://editorial.rottentomatoes.com/article/joel-kefali-interview-blood-vessel/ (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Miskin, B. (2020) ‘Crafting Maritime Monsters’, GoreZone Magazine, Summer Edition, pp. 34-39.

Phillips, K. (2022) ‘War and the Undead: Metaphors in Post-WWII Horror’, Journal of Film and History, 54(2), pp. 112-130.

Rebello, S. (2019) Review: Blood Vessel. Empire Magazine. Available at: https://www.empireonline.com/movies/reviews/blood-vessel/ (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Thompson, D. (2021) New Zealand On-Screen: Indie Horrors of the 2010s. Auckland University Press.