The Babadook Review

A great horror movie can get away with simply being very scary.  If I leave the theater with pissed-in pants or tear-streaked cheeks (or with other streaks related to other cheeks), I'm perfectly satisfied.  Horror is a genre that sometimes works best as pure entertainment.  Yes, it's possible - and preferable - when there's more going on beneath the surface.  Some of the most fascinating and troubling feminism in film happens in scary movies: motherhood is monstrous, children are creepy parasites, Final Girls survive only to be mowed down in a sequel.  But considering horror at the shallowest imaginable depth, it can still provide plenty of fun.

But in the hands of the right director, horror can be as incisive, intellectual, and invigorating as any other genre.  That's precisely the case with The Babadook, a thoroughly creepy and thought-provoking debut from Aussie writer-director Jennifer Kent.  Kent never flaunts her film's brilliance; this is an exercise in subtlety and precision.  Thus, some will watch The Babadook and think of it as a terrifying entry to a largely stagnant genre.  It is that.  But The Babadook is so much more, too.

The premise is simple: single mother Amelia (Essie Davis) struggles to keep her wild child Samuel (Noah Wiseman) under control.  The arrival of a mysterious pop-up book about a shadowy creature called the Babadook adds further strain to their already tense relationship, as Samuel clings to the idea that the Babdook is real, and Amelia rallies against the idea, even as supernatural forces start closing in, looking like Rorschach phantoms torn from the reels of German Expressionism.

What follows is, at its core, a tale of possession married to the core horror trope of monstrous maternity.  The Babadook is legitimately scary, bolstered by its two strong performances and a beautiful, shadowy aesthetic.  As we read the words of the pop-up book alongside Amelia, the dread is tangible and all the more disturbing because of its kid-friendly trappings.  As the monster approaches, accompanied by the requisite set of foreboding noises, The Babadook joins the ranks of the great horror films, every element perfectly pitched.  Watching with the lights off is mandatory, and difficult.

The Babadook stands apart, though, because of what's going on below the surface.  Yes, this is a scary movie that will haunt your dreams and make you fear the children's section at Barnes and Noble.  But what makes the film so terrifying is its metaphoric weight, the Babadook standing in for mental illness (or more precisely, depression or PTSD).  The book promises that the Babadook will take over Amelia's body and force her to commit horrific deeds, a veiled warning about the transformative, overwhelming power of mental illness.  It's a timely symbol, and a powerful one.  We know that Amelia isn't completely in control; we see the strain and struggle of loss.  The real-life horror of not being oneself becomes the source of all of the on-screen scares.  Depression is a powerful monster that can prey on anyone, and will when given the chance.  But just as powerful is the fierce maternal instinct, portrayed with immensity and bravado by Davis.

But Kent doesn't wield her clever symbolism like a club.  It's there to be discovered and understood by those who have been affected by mental illness, or those who make the connection.  But The Babadook is just as scary even if the true source of its power goes unnoticed.  It's a most impressive feat, and a dazzling start to a career I'll closely follow.