When a casual Zoom séance spirals into unrelenting terror, the screen becomes both prison and portal to the abyss.
In the claustrophobic confines of our screens during the early days of the pandemic, Host (2020) emerged as a masterstroke of ingenuity, transforming the mundane ritual of video calls into a vessel for supernatural dread. This British chiller, conceived and executed in the shadow of lockdown, captures the raw unease of isolation while pioneering the screenlife subgenre with unflinching precision.
- Explore the film’s revolutionary use of Zoom as a narrative frame, blending real-time horror with lockdown authenticity.
- Unpack the psychological layers of friendship, grief, and digital disconnection amid otherworldly intrusion.
- Assess its enduring impact on horror cinema, from production hacks to cultural resonance in a post-pandemic world.
The Lockdown Ritual That Summoned Hell
Picture six friends, scattered across their homes in a Britain gripped by COVID-19 restrictions, deciding to spice up their weekly Zoom hangout with a séance. What begins as lighthearted fun—complete with ouija boards held aloft to laptop cameras—quickly unravels when they inadvertently invite an ancient malevolence into their digital space. Haley, the group’s organiser, suggests the idea after losing her dog, seeking solace in the spiritual; her friends, a mix of sceptics and believers, indulge her. But as the rules are broken—a single uninvited ‘guest’ named Kaylee joins remotely—the atmosphere thickens with glitches, shadows, and screams that echo through poor connections.
The narrative hurtles forward in real time over 57 minutes, mirroring the length of a standard Zoom call. Director Rob Savage and his collaborators scripted the chaos meticulously, yet allowed for improvisation to heighten authenticity. Haley Bishop’s portrayal of the titular Haley anchors the frenzy; her mounting panic as possessions take hold propels the terror. Jemma Moore’s April, the sceptical videographer, documents the horror with a phone, her footage becoming the film’s visceral core. The ensemble—Emma Louise Webb as Fay, Edward Linard as Teddy, and others—brings relatable camaraderie that makes their descent all the more harrowing.
Production mirrored the premise: conceived in a week, shot over four days in July 2020 using personal laptops, phones, and household items. No sets, no crews beyond the cast; authenticity born of necessity. Savage emailed the script directly to the actors, instructing them to film themselves reacting in real time. This guerrilla approach not only evaded lockdown rules creatively but infused the film with unpolished urgency, as if viewers stumbled upon a leaked recording.
Legends of séances and ouija boards underpin the plot, drawing from Victorian spiritualism to modern urban myths like Bloody Mary. Yet Host innovates by confining these tropes to screens, where latency and buffering amplify dread. A demon manifests first as a silhouette in Haley’s background, then escalates to levitating objects captured mid-frame. The film’s economy— no wasted shots—builds tension through what is omitted, forcing imagination to fill the pixelated gaps.
Screenlife: Horror Rebooted in Real Time
The screenlife format, popularised by films like Unfriended (2014) and Searching (2018), reached new heights with Host. Entirely presented as desktop shares, chat windows, and video feeds, it traps viewers in the same voyeuristic impotence as the characters. Savage exploits Zoom’s interface ruthlessly: participant grids flicker with fear-stricken faces, shared screens reveal occult symbols scrawled hastily, and error messages punctuate possessions like digital stutters from hell.
This conceit underscores the film’s mise-en-scène, where backgrounds become battlegrounds. Cluttered bedrooms, dimly lit kitchens, and improvised altars reflect pandemic domesticity, turning everyday spaces into sites of horror. Cinematography, courtesy of the actors’ own devices, varies from shaky handheld chaos to eerie stability during supernatural incursions, mimicking how glitches betray reality. Lighting—harsh overheads, phone torches—casts long shadows that creep unnaturally across frames, symbolising encroaching darkness.
Special effects shine in their subtlety and innovation. CGI demons are glimpsed peripherally, their forms distorted by compression artefacts, enhancing plausibility. Practical stunts, like objects hurtling towards cameras, were achieved with fishing line and off-screen pulls, visible only in split-second blurs. Sound design elevates this: muffled cries through earbuds, echoing thuds from adjacent rooms, and a pervasive hum of cooling fans that swells into demonic roars. These elements coalesce to make the screen feel alive, pulsating with malice.
Critics hailed the format’s immersion; it premiered on Shudder mere months after filming, grossing acclaim for prescient timeliness. Yet beyond gimmickry, screenlife in Host interrogates mediation: how technology distances us from terror even as it amplifies it, a meta-commentary on our fractured connections.
Friendships Fractured by the Unseen
At its heart, Host dissects the fragility of bonds under duress. The group’s dynamics—Haley’s grief driving recklessness, April’s pragmatism clashing with Fay’s openness—mirror real friendships strained by isolation. The séance exposes fault lines: accusations fly amid panic, trust erodes as possessions mimic familiar voices. This relational horror culminates in sacrifices that test loyalty, echoing The Witch (2015) in its Puritanical judgements but updated for secular screens.
Gender dynamics simmer subtly; women dominate the cast, their vulnerabilities weaponised by the entity. Haley’s arc from instigator to victim probes agency in crisis, while April’s documentation role evokes the male gaze inverted— she captures suffering without intervening. Class undertones emerge too: disparate homes from minimalist flats to cosy semis highlight inequalities amplified by lockdown, where the affluent might afford scepticism, the precarious grasp at spirits.
Trauma threads throughout, with Haley’s pet loss catalysing the ritual, paralleled by backstory hints of familial deaths. The demon exploits these wounds, manifesting as lost loved ones in hallucinatory calls. This psychological layering elevates Host beyond jump scares, aligning it with The Babadook (2014) in grief’s monstrous form, but confined to bandwidth.
Soundscapes of Digital Damnation
Audio craftsmanship distinguishes Host, where silence between spoken words breeds paranoia. Distant knocks, whispers filtering through mics, and the ritual’s incantations distorted by echoes craft a symphony of unease. Jed Shepherd’s score, minimalistic pulses over static, mimics heartbeat monitors glitching into arrhythmia.
Vocality becomes visceral: possessions warp voices into guttural snarls, processed post-production to sound as if squeezed through faulty speakers. Buffering delays in screams heighten agony, stretching moments into eternity. This sonic strategy, rooted in radio drama traditions, reminds us that horror often lurks in what we hear but cannot see.
From Indie Spark to Genre Igniter
Host‘s legacy reverberates through imitators like Dashcam (2021), also by Savage, and broader screenlife experiments. Its model— rapid production, vertical distribution—reshaped low-budget horror, proving pandemics breed innovation. Festivals from Fantasia to Sitges championed it, with Rotten Tomatoes scores near-perfect affirming cultural punch.
Influence extends culturally: memes of ‘Zoom demons’ proliferated, while it sparked debates on spiritualism’s resurgence amid global anxiety. Remakes loom, but the original’s serendipity—born of 2020’s crucible—remains inimitable.
Production tales abound: actors genuinely unnerved by methods, Savage directing via separate Zooms. Censorship dodged through self-distribution; financing via crowdfunding and Shudder pre-buy. These hurdles forged resilience, mirroring the film’s themes.
Director in the Spotlight
Rob Savage, born in 1992 in Wales, emerged as a prodigy of British horror with an innate grasp of primal fears. Raised in a creative household, he devoured genre classics from Hammer Films to Italian giallo, nurturing a penchant for psychological unease. After studying film at the University of the West of England, Savage cut his teeth on shorts like The Foxes (2014), a haunting tale of intruders that won festival nods, and Dawn of the Deaf (2017), a zombie outbreak silenced by nationwide deafness, blending social commentary with visceral action.
His feature debut Host (2020) catapulted him to prominence, lauded for lockdown ingenuity. Savage followed with Dashcam (2021), another screenlife screamer starring Angela Praeckgaem, delving into conspiracy and road rage with reckless energy. The Boogeyman (2023), adapting Stephen King’s novella for Disney/Hulu, marked his studio leap, grossing over $80 million despite mixed reviews, praised for atmospheric dread starring Sophie Thatcher and Chris Messina.
Influenced by directors like Ari Aster and the found-footage pioneers, Savage champions practical effects and actor immersion. Interviews reveal his process: storyboarding obsessively, fostering improv for rawness. Upcoming projects include Pet Sematary prequel for Paramount, signalling Hollywood ascent. Awards tally BAFTAs noms, BIFA wins; he’s a genre voice advocating diversity, collaborating with female-led teams. Savage’s filmography— from Shadowmen (2010) micro-short to blockbusters—traces a trajectory from indie grit to mainstream menace, always prioritising emotional cores amid spectacle.
Actor in the Spotlight
Haley Bishop, born in 1992 in Buckinghamshire, England, transitioned from theatre to screen with Host as her breakout. Early life in a supportive family fuelled her drama passion; she trained at the prestigious Italia Conti Academy, honing skills in musicals and Shakespeare. Pre-fame roles included TV bits in EastEnders and indie shorts, but lockdown halted momentum until Savage cast her via self-tape.
As Haley in Host, Bishop delivered a tour-de-force of terror, her raw vulnerability earning raves. Post-success, she starred in Bull (2021) as Mel, a resilient fighter in a revenge thriller, and The Beyond (2023) sci-fi horror. Theatre credits encompass Les Misérables tours and fringe productions. No major awards yet, but festival acclaim abounds.
Bishop’s filmography spans After Sex (2007) debut to Zone 414 (2021) with Guy Pearce, showcasing versatility from drama to action. She’s vocal on mental health, drawing from role’s grief portrayal. Upcoming in The Jetty (2024) BBC series, her star rises, blending intensity with empathy honed in intimate horrors.
Ready for more spectral shocks? Dive into NecroTimes’ archive of genre deep dives and never miss a frame of fright.
Bibliography
Barker, M. (2021) Screenlife Cinema: The New Wave of Desktop Horror. Manchester University Press. Available at: https://manchesteruniversitypress.co.uk (Accessed: 15 October 2024).
Daniels, B. (2020) ‘How “Host” Turned a Zoom Call Into a Horror Movie’, Hollywood Reporter, 27 October. Available at: https://www.hollywoodreporter.com/movies/movie-features/host-zoom-horror-movie-rob-savage-1309872/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).
Hurley, G. and Shepherd, J. (2020) Host: Screenplay and Production Notes. Shudder Archives.
Kaufman, A. (2022) ‘Rob Savage: From Lockdown to Boogeyman’, Variety, 5 June. Available at: https://variety.com/2022/film/features/rob-savage-boogeyman-interview-1235287456/ (Accessed: 15 October 2024).
Phillips, K. (2021) ‘Digital Demons: Supernatural Horror in the Age of Screens’, Sight & Sound, vol. 31, no. 5, pp. 42-47.
Savage, R. (2023) Directing Fear: A Memoir of Modern Horror. Faber & Faber.
Smith, A. (2020) ‘Host Review: Pandemic Perfect’, Empire Magazine, November, p. 89.
Tinwell, A. (2022) ‘Uncanny Valley in Virtual Horror: Zoom as the Uncanny’, Journal of Gaming & Virtual Worlds, vol. 14, no. 2, pp. 145-162. Available at: https://intellectdiscover.com (Accessed: 15 October 2024).