If it's in a word
Or if it's in a look
You can't get rid of the Babadook
Mister Babadook
I have watched a lot of horror movies in my life. Apparently the first movie my father ever took my mother to when they were dating was Carrie (dir. Brian De Palma, 1976). If that's not definitive proof of the genetic basis for the heritability of such a character trait, I don't know what is. Since becoming a mental health professional, it's perhaps natural that I've become more attuned to depictions of mental health problems in the horror genre. Indeed, although horror films are often regarded as being of rather low cultural value, I've often found they depict complex ideas about psychological distress and mental health difficulties through the use of metaphors in a very accurate and non-stigmatising way. This contrasts starkly with the more literal, yet often inaccurate, depictions of people with mental health problems in highly lauded films. I'm sure I'm not the only mental health professional, despite a deep and abiding love for Jennifer Lawrence, to have been left cringing behind my popcorn during the Silver Linings Playbook (dir. David O. Russell, 2012).
A recent film that resonated with me much more was The Babadook (dir. Jennifer Kent, 2014). In the best of horror traditions, this is a relatively small-budget film with little-known actors turning in compelling and authentic performances. The film tells the story of Amelia, a single mother to her seven-year-old son Sam, who scrapes a living caring for elderly people in a nursing home. Amelia has been widowed under tragic circumstances, and although portrayed as a sympathetic and fundamentally kind woman, she is burnt out by the emotional demands of caring for her patients at work, and her emotionally and behaviourally disturbed child at home.
The haunting of Amelia by the Babadook is always set within the wider context of her being haunted by the death of her husband, and the impact of this on her ability to effectively parent her child. Bowlby's classic work on attachment theory highlights the importance of a baby forming a close emotional bond with a primary caregiver, which is usually (but not necessarily) the mother (Bowlby, 1969). The forming of an effective attachment relationship is dependent on the emotional availability and responsiveness of the parent. As the film goes on, we see Amelia display many classic depressive symptoms, including low mood, lack of energy, decreased activity and disturbed patterns of eating and sleeping. In mothers of babies, these depressive symptoms unfortunately disrupt the normal reciprocal social interactions vital to the development of emotional expression and regulation in the child, such as eye-contact, smiling and shared attention (for review see Alvarez et al., 2015). For Amelia, as the birth of her son coincided with the death of her husband, the film leads us to speculate that her bond with Sam was forged under the most difficult of circumstances. This adverse emotional environment has unfortunately persisted over the years, perpetuated in part by the social exclusion both Amelia and Sam experience as a result of their bereavement. This is portrayed starkly in one heart-breaking scene as Amelia is shunned by the other mothers at her own niece's birthday party for being without a husband. In a parallel scene, Sam is shown being openly taunted by his cousin for being without a father.
To be clear, it is always made clear that Amelia loves her son and wants to be a good mother. At the same time, she clearly isn't a saint or an angel. When Sam is screaming and shouting, when he disobeys her, gets into trouble at school, when he constantly wakes her up at night looking for reassurance, she is shown to be frustrated and angry towards her son; unacceptable feelings that she can only suppress and deny for so long. Later, when in the terrible grip of the Babadook, she shouts and rails at her son, saying cruel and rejecting things to him. These scenes are difficult to watch, in that they confirm the deepest fears both of Sam, that he is ultimately unwanted and unloved by his mother, and of Amelia, that she is a bad and inadequate parent.
In the end, Sam helps his mother to find the strength to fight back, along with a timely appearance by their kindly neighbour Mrs Roach, who comes to check on them during the darkest of their nights. Prior to this point, Amelia's bereavement has remained a taboo; a mark of social stigma, something not to be spoken about or even admitted to. Even her sister suggests after so many years, shouldn't she perhaps be getting 'over it?' The elderly Mrs Roach, who has known the family for many years, recognises the futility of ignoring the anniversary of her husband's death, saying to Amelia:
I know this time of year's terribly difficult for you and I know you don't want me to go on about it, so I won't, but I just wanted you to know I'd do anything for you and Sam. I love you both.
Amelia's refusal to grant Mrs Roach admission to the house, even after this heartfelt offer of support, symbolises her inability at that time to let anyone in to her internal world, to be able to recognise that she is not, as feared, all alone in her struggle. However, Sam and Mrs Roach's declarations of unconditional love and support for her are in fact the turning point for Amelia, in that they allow her to gather her own resources to go into battle with the Babadook.
In conclusion, although The Babadook explores some rather dark themes, it is a strangely uplifting film. The great screenwriter Nora Ephron famously said 'Above all, be the heroine of your life, not the victim', and Amelia's character certainly embodies this notion. Despite cautionary evidence that persistent maternal depressive symptoms are related to higher levels of emotional and behavioural problems in the children of affected parents (van der Waerden et al., 2015), likewise there is much cause for optimism for good outcomes for both parents and their children if they receive timely help and support. For example, a recent meta-analysis of nine randomised-controlled trials concluded that not only were psychological therapies an effective treatment for maternal depression, there was also a knock-on beneficial impact on the mental health of their children (Cuijpers et al., 2015). As the wise old neighbour Mrs Roach might say, it's good to talk.
The Shining is a 1980 psychological horror film[7] produced and directed by Stanley Kubrick and co-written with novelist Diane Johnson. It is based on Stephen King's 1977 novel of the same name and stars Jack Nicholson, Danny Lloyd, Shelley Duvall, and Scatman Crothers. Nicholson plays Jack Torrance, a writer and recovering alcoholic who accepts a new position as the off-season caretaker of the Overlook Hotel. Lloyd plays his young son Danny, who has psychic abilities ("the shining"), which he learns about from head chef Dick Hallorann (Crothers). Danny's imaginary friend Tony warns him the hotel is haunted before a winter storm leaves the family snowbound in the Colorado Rockies. Jack's sanity deteriorates under the influence of the hotel and the residents, and Danny and his mother Wendy (Duvall) face mortal danger.
Production took place almost exclusively at EMI Elstree Studios, with sets based on real locations. Kubrick often worked with a small crew, which allowed him to do many takes, sometimes to the exhaustion of the actors and staff. The new Steadicam mount was used to shoot several scenes, giving the film an innovative and immersive look and feel.
Frequently cited as one of the best horror films of all time, the film was selected for preservation in the United States National Film Registry by the Library of Congress as being "culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant" in 2018.[8] A sequel titled Doctor Sleep based on King's 2013 novel of the same name was adapted to film and released in 2019.
Jack Torrance takes a winter caretaker position at the remote Overlook Hotel in the Colorado Rocky Mountains, which closes every winter season. After his arrival, manager Stuart Ullman advises Jack that a previous caretaker, Charles Grady, killed his wife, two young daughters and himself in the hotel a decade prior.
In Boulder, Jack's son, Danny, has a premonition and seizure. Jack's wife, Wendy, tells the doctor about a past incident when Jack accidentally dislocated Danny's shoulder during a drunken rage. Jack has been sober ever since. Before leaving for the seasonal break, the Overlook's head chef, Dick Hallorann, informs Danny of a telepathic ability the two share, which he calls "shining". Hallorann tells Danny that the hotel also has a "shine", due to residue from unpleasant past events, and warns him to avoid Room 237.
A month passes and Danny starts having frightening visions, including of the murdered Grady twins. Meanwhile, Jack's mental health deteriorates; he suffers from writer's block, is prone to violent outbursts, and has dreams of killing his family. Danny gets lured to room 237 by unseen forces, and Wendy later finds him with signs of physical trauma. Jack investigates and encounters a female ghost in the room but blames Danny for inflicting the bruises on himself. Jack is enticed back to drinking by the ghostly bartender Lloyd. Ghostly figures, including Delbert Grady, then begin appearing in the Gold Room. Grady informs Jack that Danny has telepathically contacted Hallorann for assistance and says that Jack must "correct" his wife and child.
Wendy finds Jack's manuscript written with nothing but countless repetitions of "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy". When Jack threatens her life, Wendy knocks him unconscious with a baseball bat and locks him in the kitchen pantry, but she and Danny cannot leave, due to Jack having previously sabotaged the hotel's two-way radio and snowcat. Back in their hotel room, Danny says "redrum" repeatedly and writes the word in lipstick on the bathroom door. Wendy sees the word in the mirror and realizes that it is actually "murder" spelled backward.
7fc3f7cf58