Reading/Watching Log #119

The theme for this year’s October turned out to be Folk Horror. Yes, this was a bit of a surprise to me too, as last year it was vampires, and the year before that, werewolves. Something like witches or ghosts would seem the next obvious choice, but I had a ton of shows and films in the Folk Horror genre that I wanted to revisit, so Folk Horror it turned out to be…

When I think about that particular genre, it’s the atmosphere more than anything that springs to mind. Damp autumn leaves, mist-soaked fields, eerie forests, abandoned graveyards… there are plenty of exceptions of course, though to my mind any self-respecting Folk Horror story has to establish a strong ambiance. From that starting point, you can establish the weird cults, creepy neighbours, ancient beliefs, and highly ambiguous endings.

(In fact, given my excitement over the upcoming Robin Hood series on MGM, and the fact that a substantial amount of that story takes place in a forest, I found myself wondering what a Folk Horror take on Robin Hood would look like…)

Although I didn’t watch what’s referred to as the “unholy trinity” of Folk Horror films, there’s been something of a resurgence of the genre in recent years (The Witch, Midsomer), to the point where something like Starve Acre can just sort of fly under the radar a bit. This also means there’s plenty to choose from if you’re in the mood for something dark and unsettling for the spooky season, though living in Aotearoa means we’re enjoying longer evenings instead of the onset of winter.

I hope you all had an exciting and/or uneventful Halloween (depending on your preferences) and can start looking forward to Christmas with optimism in your heart. All things pass.

Dracula (Isaac Theatre Royal)

Back in August, I was checking my emails at work when I opened a message from the Isaac Theatre Royal, informing me that Dracula: The Ballet was arriving in October. Within twenty minutes I had contacted two of my previous work-colleagues (one that had been wanting to meet up, and one who has been my ballet-buddy since 2018) and secured tickets for three front row seats, opening night.

(Then my sister texted me a few weeks later and asked if I wanted to see it with her. She ended up going with mum on the same night).

It hasn’t been the first time I’ve seen Dracula as a ballet at this venue, though this one was an Australian production and had a completely different score and choreography. My previous experience was a performance very similar to this one, which follows the plot of Bram Stoker’s novel fairly faithfully, whereas this one retold the story from the ground up.

Once again, Dracula is equated with Vlad the Impaler, and once again, Mina turns out to be the reincarnation of his murdered wife (at this stage, it would appear that most people honestly believe this conceit is to be found in the original book, and not something first introduced in the 1992 film).

On hearing of his wife’s murder, Vlad transforms into a vampire, and centuries later, Jonathan Harker and Mina Murray are married. Their honeymoon destination? Castle Dracula. Um – okay. There they are menaced by the three ghost-like Brides of Dracula, only for Dracula to recognize his lost love (not that this goes anywhere, as Mina remains horrified of him from start to finish) and attack her husband out of jealousy.

Dracula turns Jonathan into a vampire and then, unable to control his bloodlust, Jonathan turns Mina into a vampire too. An angry mob of the couple’s friends and family storm the castle, only to be picked off one-by-one, and the whole thing ends with Mina throwing holy water over Jonathan and Dracula as they fight, then staking the pair of them before killing herself.

Yup, definitely a new take on the material. Furthermore, there are some very bizarre musical choices. It didn’t feature an original score, and so drew upon old compositions such as “Night on Bald Mountain” and “Danse Macabre,” which work well in context… only for the whole thing to end on “Overture 1812”. Yes, Mina stakes her current/former husbands and then commits suicide to the music that’s usually played at the climax of a fireworks display. Suffice to say, it was a completely inappropriate choice.

(Also, hilariously – my sister and I had been killing time earlier in the day by watching Jonathan Creek, which uses “Danse Macabre” as its theme music. As soon as the violins started up, I knew what I was about to hear…)

Despite mild disappointment that it wasn’t the ballet I’d seen previously (which was more in keeping with Stoker’s story), it was a good night out, and that holy water I mentioned earlier nearly splashed us, as you can see:

There were also plenty of candle and blood effects, because if you’re doing Dracula, you go all out.

Tales from Harrow County: Volume One by Tyler Crook and Cullen Bunn

In a month of folk horror, I had to squeeze in a rare offering from an American setting, and because it was a comic book, I had to get to it before my library discontinues membership to ComicsPlus. Made up of two connected stories, “Death’s Choir” and “The Fair Folk,” it focuses on Bernice, an important but supporting character of the comic’s main run.

Now a young adult, she earns her living by delivering remedies to the local doctor to pass off as his own, while seeing a nurse called Georgia (kudos to those who caught the Sapphic vibe between herself and Emmy back in the original series). Set during WWII, many households are not only getting their sons conscripted, but also hearing news of their lost loved ones on a daily basis.

When a sad song calls up the dead, Bernice goes in search of its source, fearing that it will awaken other things that aren’t just restless souls. As a result of her investigation, one of her haint friends ends up kidnapped by the fair folk, and so the second story concerns Bernice and Georgia’s rescue mission under the earth. There’s some interesting worldbuilding here when it comes to comparing the haints and the fair folk; for instance, the former aren’t bound to bargains or promises like the latter are, and so they have no compulsion about lying…

As with the original series, there are some beautifully bright and detailed images throughout, which capture the ambiance of Harrow County: a backwater place with a dark, mysterious history. It looks like white-picket-fence Americana, but the forests are mysterious and beautiful, and the strange creatures that live there are like nothing I’ve ever seen in any other graphic novel or picture book to date. If you haven’t discovered any of the Harrow County books, then I definitely recommend.

Dawn and the Disappearing Dogs by Anne M. Martin

I’m a little bewildered as to why Dawn is the narrator of this book, especially since the first line is: “it’s not that I hate animals.” Not an auspicious start, and Kristy would have clearly been the better choice for protagonist given her relationship with Shannon (the dog, not the person). I suspect that because the title directly after this is Kristy and the Worst Kid Ever, this animal-centric yarn may have been given to Dawn due to whatever mysterious rules govern how the ghostwriters roster our babysitters.

In any case, Dawn takes on a pet-sitting job at the Mancusi household, for the animal-loving couple who were originally introduced in Jessi Ramsay: Pet Sitter. Things go south pretty quickly after Dawn leaves Cheryl the Great Dane tied up in the front yard while she tends to the other pets, since she emerges to find the dog has disappeared. Despite scouring the neighbourhood, Cheryl cannot be found.

It seems a fluke, but then Shannon (again – the dog, not the person) also goes missing from the Brewer-Thomas front yard. Both times a slow-moving green car was noticed in the area. All this coincides with Mary Anne discovering a new pet store in town, and when she goes with her to buy some cat treats for Tigger, Dawn notices the green car driving away.

Finding this suspicious, Dawn has the other babysitters canvas the neighbourhood in order to get its license plate number, though once the driver is identified as one of the richest men in down, the police shoot down her theory that he’s the culprit.

Over in the B-plot, Kristy and Bart put together a new baseball team comprised of the best players in the Krashers and the Bashers, so they can play against another team in the neighbouring town of New Hope. They’re called the Krashers (a better choice than the Brushers), though there are a few tantrums from some of the younger kids who have been left out. In fact, Claire Pike and Suzi Barrett picket the Krashers’ practice session with chants and placards, something I absolutely cannot envision a bunch of five-year-olds doing.

More importantly, this book features a rare case of the A and B plots actually coinciding! It’s while in New Hope watching the game that Dawn spots a woman walking a dog who looks exactly like Cheryl (ignore the cover art; it doesn’t go down like that at all). She has Mary Anne tail the woman while she calls the police, and it turns out that the owner of the green car – moneybags Karl Tate, who’s in recent financial difficulties – was in league with the pet shop owners to sell dogs to order. That is, if someone requests a Great Dane, they go out and steal one.

And they would have gotten away with it too, if it wasn’t for those meddling kids (the ineptitude of the local police probably didn’t hurt, but the fact that this plan was insane on several levels and would have blown up in their faces sooner or later is also worth considering). 

This is the Babysitters Club Mystery instalment in which it’s fair to say the shark is jumped. Previous mysteries have dealt with things like a missing child or creepy phone calls or a potential theft (and okay sure, also a ghost cat) but this is the Babysitters’ first takedown of an actual crime ring, complete with them appearing in the newspaper the next day as the teenagers who cracked the case.

Yet inexplicitly, this was one of my favourites as a kid. I long nursed the daydream that I would make an elaborate diorama out of the New Hope setting, which meant a lot of weird childhood flashbacks of an imaginary and completely unrealized project while reading about Dawn approaching the man in the red overalls at the park.

Finally, here’s Mary Anne doing her Mary Anne thing, while the narrator states that the exact opposite of what we’re reading about is what’s actually going on:

“I noticed that Mary Anne ate two servings of lasagna before she even tried a tiny bite of the tofu. “Well,” she said, after she’d chewed for a moment. It’s – different.” Then she put down her fork. “I guess I’m full. Thanks for making it, though, Sharon.” Good old sensitive Mary Anne. She always does her best to make people feel good.

I’m sorry, but how on earth is that meant to make someone feel good?? It’s the most blatantly passive-aggressive thing I’ve ever read!

Kristy and the Worst Kid Ever by Anne M. Martin

Despite claiming a while ago that I was probably no longer ever going to own both books that feature on this blog in a single month, it turns out that I haven’t quite finished managing that feat. Along with Dawn and the Disappearing Dogs, I also own Kristy and the Worst Kid Ever, no doubt because I was suitably intrigued as a young reader to see who could claim such a title (certainly not Joey Conklin, who appeared in Stacey and the Missing Ring in order to spray the inside of the Prezzioso house with a hose and then disappear forever…)

The child who gets the honour of “worst kid ever” is Lou McNally, a foster child who comes to stay in the Papadakis home while social services try to track down her extended family. Her father has recently passed away and her mother disappeared when she was just a baby. Her brother Jay has been placed somewhere else, which is a little weird considering how affluent the Papadakises presumably are. They couldn’t take them both?

Hannie and Linny are excited about getting a temporary sibling/live-in friend, but of course things never go according to plan. Lou is not remotely happy to be there, and spends several chapters being rude and disrespectful, complaining about the rules in the Papadakis household, relentlessly teasing Hannie, and even being cruel to animals (see the cover art).

Eventually the babysitters realize that Lou isn’t bad, just – get this – really, really sad that her father died, that her mum abandoned her, that her brother has to live somewhere else, and that she’s in foster care. All this means she’s suffering from abandonment issues, and testing everyone with the old “I’ll drive you away by misbehaving before you get a chance to leave me” stratagem.

In a slight concession to reality, there’s not a lot that Kristy and the other babysitters can do about this, and the whole scenario is resolved when Lou and her brother are adopted by their paternal uncle and his wife. (Though I’ve just realized that the chapter in which Lou runs away so that Kristy can successfully track her down was probably added to ensure she had SOME impact on the events in this book, because otherwise she’s completely useless. Heck, it wasn’t even Kristy who realized that Lou was deeply troubled. That was Dawn, which is even stranger since Kristy probably should have been the protagonist of Dawn and the Disappearing Dogs mystery. Stop honing in on Kristy’s territory, Dawn!)

In any case, reading this again as an adult only underscored all the holes in the setup. As mentioned, why couldn’t the Papadakis household take on two children? They had room and I’m pretty sure foster care services try not to separate siblings. Why do the Papadakis parents keep leaving a clearly troubled child with a bunch of teenage babysitters? (Yeah, I know – the plot won’t work unless they do, but still). Why on earth would a social worker deliver serious news about Lou’s future to her without her legal guardians present in the house? (Again, plot). Finally, where on earth was Lou’s uncle all this time? It’s unclear how long ago her father died, but you’d think that his immediate family members would be on the scene immediately – and there’s no talk about him living overseas or being particularly difficult to find. Maybe the brothers were estranged, in which case it’s a bit weird he’s now willing to take on both his kids.

Meanwhile, the B-plot is staggeringly superfluous. In order to raise money for a computer lab (ah, the nineties – these days kids have their own devices) Stoneybrook Middle School sets up a fundraiser in which students donate items that will then be auctioned off to the community.

Of course, the babysitters get uber-competitive with Cokie, who donates a three-minute shopping spree at a record store (again, the nineties). They struggle for ideas before coming up with a plan to write to their favourite celebrities and ask them to send back various items, which means they end up with stuff like a baseball signed by the season’s winning team, the blanket of the horse that just won the Kentucky Derby, and Cam Geary’s jacket. They end up raising the most money, and look forward to rubbing it in Cokie’s face. It’s all pretty banal, though I did like the detail that the auctioneer was a woman.

Minor Notes: There’s some very mid-nineties genderism going on throughout this book, which is rather interesting to look back on. Lou exclusively wears dungarees and has her hair cut short, and foregoes building a playhouse with the girls to play kickball with the boys. Though Mary Anne (surprise, surprise) insists on calling her Louisa, she makes it very clear she prefers “Lou.” At her going-away party, she’s given a football and a doll, then asks if her brother wants to hold her present. Everyone laughs their heads off when she hands him the doll.

Mkay. Back then, all this just makes Lou a tomboy, though by today’s standards there’s potentially a lot more going on with that portrayal.

The Craine girls make a reappearance! There was a quick cameo from them in Mary Anne and the Secret in the Attic, but aside from that I was sure they were a one-and-done family. This story marks an unexpected return from them in a filler chapter, wherein Jessi takes them to the Middle School to have a look around (the hook is that it’s just a school to Jessi, but a fascinating “big kids” place for the girls).

Speaking of continuity nods, they remember that Mallory is class secretary for her grade (even if it has no impact on the story) and Ms Colman is mentioned from the Little Sister spin-off series. Still, I call foul on Sophie Craine asking what a tailor’s dummy is, as they found one in their own attic in Mallory and the Ghost Cat, and had it explained to them then. You can even see it in that book’s cover art!

Hannie is described as being “short for Hannah.” First of all, no it’s not, because both names have two syllables. And as far as I know, this is the very first time “Hannah” has been mentioned as her real name, and I suspect it’s a gaff on the part of the ghostwriter that no one picked up on. The character is Jewish, and Hannie is a traditional Jewish name.  

Finally, I found in inordinately amusing that in order to get something for the auction, Stacey writes to a band called the Sleazebuckets.

The Gathering Dark: An Anthology of Folk Horror edited by Tori Bovalino

I have to accuse this book of false advertising, as the stories found within these pages are simply not Folk Horror. Unless there’s a completely different definition of the genre out there that I’m not aware of, they’re just not.

I’ve already gone over the prerequisites of Folk Horror in my introduction (rural settings, ancient gods, weird cults, the darker aspects of nature, the past emerging to haunt the present) and I can say decisively that these stories just don’t have any of that. There are haunted graveyards and creepy dolls and serial killers and urban legends, all of which are used to explore issues such as homophobia, cancer, child molestation, escaping abusive relationships… but not in the context of Folk Horror.

“One-Lane Bridge” probably comes the closest, in which a group of teenagers undergo a ritual on an old bridge only for it to go wrong, leading to three of them trying to sacrifice the fourth, but the rather uplifting “girl powah!” ending sort of undermines it. That’s the other thing – most of the stories end happily, which also doesn’t jive with the unsettling, ambiguous tone that Folk Horror usually strives for.

In that regard, “Petrified” also vibes with the genre better than the others, especially as it’s told from the point-of-view of young people in a cult, but then it ends up being a straightforward revenge fantasy.

As is to be expected with most YA these days, a lot of the stories have to do with teenagers overcoming trauma (which is not a bad thing, but it’s practically a requirement of YA these days – and a little tricky to pull off within the confines of a short story). There are ten stories in all, and I just wish it had been more of what was promised on the cover. 

Beyond and Within: Folk Horror edited by Paul Kane and Marie O’Regan

Another anthology, but for adults this time, as written by people who actually know what the term “Folk Horror” actually means. And it’s a gorgeous book: hardbound with an emerald green cover and gold embossing. Myself and a coworker both ordered this from the library catalogue independently of each other at almost exactly the same time, largely due to the attractiveness of the book itself.

There are seventeen entries in all (fifteen short stories and two poems) by authors that are renowned in horror circles. John Connelly, Alison Littlewood and Adam Nevill are the most recognizable, but all of those contributing understood the assignment. There are ancient forests, abandoned churches, inexplicable occurrences, and hapless travellers getting in way over their heads aplenty. In fact, Connelly’s “The Well” reads exactly like an M.R. James story, involving an archaeological dig in Hexhamshire that uncovers much more than anyone bargained for.

Of especial interest to me was Lee Murray’s “Summer Bonus,” as he’s a New Zealand writer who very much captures the landscape of the rural NZ countryside and the attitudes of the people living there (make no mistake, there are some absolute weirdoes out there).

We also visit Wales (where there’s an appearance from the Mari Lywd), California (for a run-in with the wendigo), the forests of England (where the Grim lurks) and a fair amount of post-colonial vengeance across the board. Jen William’s “Rabbitheart” is also worth mentioning for its spin on Children of the Corn.

It was a nice little collection; nothing mind-blowing, but careful in selecting a broad range of Folk Horror from all over the world.

Ghost Stories of An Antiquary by M. R. James

Speaking of M.R. James, I revisited his short story collection this month after discovering A Ghost Story for Christmas on YouTube. Now I’m mildly obsessed.

He’s one of the seminal ghost story writers, and his work is perfect for reading aloud around a roaring fireplace in the dead of winter (which is precisely why the BBC hired Christopher Lee to do precisely this). They are also the inspiration for (most of) the episodes in their anthology series A Ghost Story for Christmas, which I’ve been gradually working my way through. 

He predates Lovecraft (who noted him as an inspiration) and you can see the seeds of Folk Horror in his work – they forego restless spirits and haunted houses, and instead grapple with mysterious artefacts that may or may not hold equally ancient curses, as well as moving away from Gothic melodrama and concentrating instead on the encroachment of the paranormal on the everyday – often in rather subtle ways. A fussy, cranky and entirely normal protagonist, usually a scholar or professor or antiquarian, will uncover something he shouldn’t and pays the price.

The most interesting thing to me was that most were divided into three distinct segments: the discovery of an old antiquarian object, the suspenseful leadup to the haunting (however that may manifest) and the usually third-person recounting of the aftermath. What’s especially interesting is that these three segments can be placed in any order. Sometimes you get the aftermath first, of a terrified man trying to convey something to his friend, then the lead-up to the haunting and then the uncovering of an artefact. It’s really quite fascinating how James can take these three building blocks of a story and rearrange them in any order.

In terms of form and style, you can absolutely tell these were all written by the same person, and the familiarity as to how things will unfold is also a key part of the enjoyment. According to him, the purpose was to: “put the reader into the position of saying to himself, if I’m not very careful, something of this kind may happen to me!” and many of them do fit into that “don’t meddle in forces you don’t understand!” category of cautionary tales. He’s also a master at ratcheting up suspense – things always start out ordinarily enough and then creeping horror begins so unobtrusively that by the time you understand what’s going on, it’s too late.

Anyways, I loved this. It contains eight stories in all, with “Whistle and I’ll Come To You,” being one of his most famous, though my favourite was “The Mezzotint,” which I read years and years ago and never forgot. It was long enough ago that my recollection was a little vague, but as soon as the text started describing the image of a house by moonlight, I was a teenager again.

“Lost Hearts” and “The Ash Tree” are the most Folk Horrorish in nature, both precursors to that genre, while “Canon Alberic’s Scrapbook” and “The Treasure of Abbott Thomas” are quintessential James, containing all the elements that most interest him (antiques, scholarship and so on). “Count Magnus” and “Number 13” left me a little cold, though both have been adapted for A Ghost Story for Christmas, so it’ll be interesting to see how they work onscreen.

Anyways, I loved this and I’m looking forward to more.

A Field in England (2013)

Okay… I know that Folk Horror goes to some weird places, but this one is super weird, and surprisingly high budget for a genre that usually gets by on pennies (or at least it feels that way thanks to watching stuff like A Ghost Story for Christmas and Enys Men, in which the low budget is part of the charm).

Set within a single (albeit extremely large) field in England, it starts with a man called Whitehead escaping a battle and falling into company with another soldier and two deserters. While on their way to an alehouse, they stumble upon a carved wooden post in the ground, and together they decide to pull it up. Along with it out of the ground comes the wizard O’Neill, who was… hiding? Trapped? Waiting? It’s unclear. 

He tells the men that there’s a treasure buried somewhere in the field, and ropes them into helping him dig for it. But is he telling the truth? There’s not a lot else to say, as the film only gets more bizarre from there. It’s shot entirely in black and white, features only six characters, and contains some psychedelic effects towards the end that certainly wouldn’t be safe for anyone with epilepsy to watch.

I’m honestly not entirely sure what I just watched or what the meaning of it all was. That some of the characters consume mushrooms feels like a bit of a cheat, giving leave for the audience to just pass it all off as a bad trip, but I was interested how much of the dialogue concerned alchemy and holy fools and ancient rituals… perhaps there was something metaphysical going on here, but I’m going to have to watch it again (and do some extra reading) to discern what exactly it was.

Enys Men (2022)

Here’s the thing: like A Field in England, this film is baffling on several levels. But despite not having the slightest idea what was going on at any given moment, I was fully locked in from start to finish. It was actually quite interesting to find myself so fascinated by something so inexplicable.

A woman is collecting scientific data on an island called Enys Men (which is Cornish for “stone island”) in a routine that has apparently been going on for some time. Along with the careful examination of several flowers growing on the rocks, her daily routine also involves dropping a stone down a mine shaft, walking around a standing stone on a grassy outcropping, and recording her findings in a notebook.

Sometimes she sees other people on the island, though it’s clear they’re from another time period entirely: a group of women, a parish priest, some earth-blackened miners, and a teenage girl who might be her daughter, or might be her younger self. And um, that’s it really. There’s no actual story to speak of, just strange occurrences for the film’s entire duration.

It ended up reminding me of Doctor Who’s “73 Yards,” in that it draws heavily on obscure Welsh/Cornish folklore to craft a story that raises more questions than it answers. Above all, it’s interested in establishing a mood. Just as Field was filmed in black and white, this was shot on 16 mm Kodak film stock (or so Wikipedia tells me) to retain grainy, deliberately low-quality visuals.

(And here’s something a little freaky: I watched this on Sunday the fifth of October, and then after doing some digging into the film, discovered that the actor who played the priest passed away that same week, on the Monday. It was a little spooky…)

For whatever reason, I found this one more compelling than Field, despite both being pretty inexplicable. I can’t explain it, but even though I had no idea what was going on, I was captivated from start to finish. You might not be. It all depends on your state of mind.

Starve Acre (2023)

As stated above, Folk Horror is having something of a resurgence in recent years, and Starve Acre may well be the perfect example of that, creeping into mainstream(ish) cinema without much fanfare. It just… arrived, like it was no big deal.

Its casual release is even more pronounced given it stars a couple of well-known B-listers: Matt Smith and Morfydd Clark (that is, the Eleventh Doctor and Galadriel). Erin Richards is also here (best known as Barbara on Gotham, but who to me will always be Eira, the last evil woman Merlin saw fit to execute in its five-season woman-hating run), as well as character actors Sean Gilder and Robert Emms. In fact, the presence of Robert Emms made me yelp since he also appears in The Living and the Dead (below) nearly ten years before the release of this. I guess he just has a face for Folk Horror.

This is also the most quintessential of the Folk Horror entries on this post, ticking all the prerequisites of the genre: unsettling child, unexpected first-act twist, mist-soaked countryside, weird locals, creepy animals, an ambiguous ending – the whole shebang. 

Early in the film, Welsh couple Richard and Juliette suffer a terrible loss, one that threatens their sanity as well as their marriage. Juliette finds a degree of comfort in the arrival of her sister and the spiritual guidance offered by a local woman, while Richard copes by excavating an archaeological digsite on their extensive property.

There he discovers the remains of a large hare, which inevitably starts to demonstrate some extremely preternatural qualities. Based on the book by Andrew Michael Hurley, it’s a suitably creepy and disquieting offering, which (just to consolidate its commitment to exemplifying the genre) ends on a visual that’s straight out of Robert Eggers’s The Witch.  

A Ghost Story for Christmas (1971 – 1976)

Behold, my current obsession. This is an ongoing BBC anthology series that started in the seventies and was revived in the early noughties (thanks, Mark Gatiss). It usually adapts the short stories of M.R. James, though there are some exceptions, and airs them at the time they were initially designed to be read aloud: Christmas. Thus the title.

I ended up watching all but two episodes of the original broadcast (omitting “Stigma” and “The Ice House,” as they weren’t based on preexisting stories, had a contemporary setting – or at least they did when they first aired in the late seventies – and aren’t really ghost stories either). I also added “Whistle and I’ll Come to You,” which technically wasn’t part of this anthology, but was an important precursor to it, and which has since been readapted in the revival, starring John Hurt.

That leaves six others, which I’ll go through briefly in chronological order. All of them are available on YouTube if you’re interested.

“Whistle and I’ll Come to You,” has unfortunately dated quite badly, and misses some of the major beats of James’s original story. With only a bedsheet on a string to bring to life the horrifying specter, and prolonged scenes of the protagonist simply eating meals at the hotel in which he’s staying, it’s just too dated to capture the horror of what is arguably James’s most famous story.

“The Stalls of Barchester” (one of the few stories I hadn’t read beforehand) contains a decent slow-burn into horror after an ambitious cleric murders his older counterpart and finds himself haunted by more than just guilt. It’s framed by scenes in which scholars find a written record of his mounting paranoia, one of whom is played by Clive Swift – better known as Mr Bucket on Keeping up Appearances.

He appears again in “A Warning to the Curious,” which is by far my favourite of these films. An amateur archaeologist ignores the warning signs in his quest to uncover of the protective crowns of Anglia in the seaside town of Norfolk, only to regret doing so when he manages to uncover the treasure. This contains a fantastic build-up of suspense and creeping horror – the scenes in which our protagonist is trailed by a specter that everyone except him can see is impeccable. I’ll definitely be watching this one again, and look, I’ve embedded it here for you. You can watch it right now!

In comparison, “Lost Hearts” veers a little into the campy. A young orphan boy joins his uncle in an isolated manor house where two children have already gone missing in the past. Because the story itself isn’t James’s best, this adaptation also suffers. Let’s just say it involves an alchemist searching for eternal life and leave it at that.

“The Treasure of Abbott Thomas” isn’t bad, but I much preferred James’s structuring of the story, which sets down the clues to the location of the treasure, then shifts to a young man summoned to help his near-catatonic friend, then tells us the testimony of said friend, who has recovered enough to explain how the two prior segments of the story are related. This adaptation lays things down in chronological order, and clearly doesn’t have the budget to recreate what’s described in the book – though the very last scene is fabulous.

“The Ash Tree” is also a tad silly, in which a rich young man finds himself being haunted by a witchy presence because his ancestor had a woman executed centuries ago. Sins of the father and all that. Again, the special effects let it down a little, as the creepy-crawlies in the titular ash tree aren’t remotely convincing. Still, one name in the credits caught my eye: Barbara Ewing? Surely not the New Zealand author who made me cry my eyes out with her book The Mesmerist when I was just a teen? Yup, turns out they’re one and the same!

Finally, “The Signalman” is the odd one out, as it’s the only one that isn’t based on a story by M.R. James, but Charles Dickens instead. Starring Denholm Elliot (best known as Marcus in the Indiana Jones films), a traveller happens upon a station box at the bottom of railway cutting and introduces himself to the signalman, who has a frightening story to tell about a specter that appears whenever disaster is about to strike. It makes fantastic use of the setting: the aforementioned signal box within the deep valley of the railway cutting, making it both foreboding and beautiful, what with the autumnal colours of nature that surround it.

Though some of these entries are better than others, all are worth a look to one extent or the other. As for the revival, I fully intend to settle down with them at actual Christmas, even though our summer weather in Aotearoa is completely wrong for the viewing experience.

Cardcaptors: Season 1 (2001)

Yes, this is certainly the odd entry out this month, but (as with Winx last month) my journey through Magical Girl animation continues. And along with Sailor Moon, this is one of the founding fathers – or mothers – of that genre.

Though this originally aired in Japan in 1998, I watched the English dub simply because it was the only one available, which unfortunately did not include episode sixteen, which seems to be one of those Bizarro Episodes that has absolutely nothing to do with the overarching plot – or even the premise – of the show.

One day Sakura Avalon (yes, I love that last name, but I’m pretty sure it’s not Japanese) opens a book belonging to her university professor father, and out flies a magical pack of cards, along with a tiny creature who looks like a flying bear. His name is Kero and he tells her the cards are called clow cards, each one containing a powerful spirit. Now they’re lose in the world, and in true Pokémon fashion, Sakura has to track down and recapture each one, binding them back inside their cards. The more she gets, the more powerful she grows, as she can use the clow cards in her possession to assist in capturing more.

Other characters involve her best friend Madison, who videotapes all her exploits, her rival Li, who is also hunting down the cards, and his clingy quasi-girlfriend Meiling, who tries and fails at pretty much everything she does. Then there’s her father, her brother Tori, and his friend Julian, whom Sakura has a crush on. Guess which names were changed for the English dub and which ones weren’t!

Sakura and Madison are the core relationship of the show, and are uncomplicated BFFs. It was really quite relaxing to watch a female friendship with no drama in it whatsoever. My only complaint is the very weird gag that Madison provides Sakura with new themed outfits every time she goes out to capture a new card. Where is she getting these things from? And why does Sakura agree to wear them considering they’re all pretty fugly?

But what I loved most was how low-stakes it all was. There’s an episode in which the girls go to the fair and just enjoy themselves. In the last five minutes, Sakura effortlessly captures some sprites, and that’s the end of the story. It’s the epitome of a filler episode, and it was perfect bliss to watch. God, between this and the Studio Ghibli films I watched last month, I’m filled with a longing to go live in nineties Japan.

The Living and the Dead (2016)

It was nearly ten years ago that I watched and reviewed this miniseries: I even gave it its own post which you can read here! It was one of Colin Morgan’s first projects after Merlin, and was also an early role for Charlotte Spencer (now best known for Sanditon) and very relevant to my interests given its folk horror-ish vibes. Period setting, late summer/autumnal landscapes, the past rising up to haunt the present… and even a bit of haunting from the future given a few visitations from what are clearly modern-day people (it’s an odd wrinkle in a story that’s otherwise placed firmly in the nineteenth century, but it mostly works).

Nathan Appleby and his vivacious new wife Charlotte have arrived in Shropshire on the brink of his elderly mother’s impending death. Inheriting the house and surrounding pastures, the couple decide to stay on as the farm’s new overseers, leaving behind Nathan’s London profession as a psychotherapist.

But from the very evening they arrive, weird things start happening – not just in the house and grounds, but the whole community: a girl who speaks in an otherworldly voice, a young man hearing voices imploring him to kill his mother, a schoolteacher who emerges from the forest with no memory of what’s happened to her… each episode deals with another eerie occurrence, with an overarching plot involving Nathan’s deceased son.

It’s an interesting format, and one that’s unique for a six-episode miniseries. You don’t really see episodic standalone stories mingled with seasonal arcs these days, and the whole thing tracks how Nathan gradually loses his grip on reality as the supernatural phenomena escalates.

The strength of the show is by far its atmosphere: the gloomy rooms, the autumnal forests, the dripping branches and moss-covered rocks; the mournful soundtrack of old folk songs, the pronounced use of negative space and contrasting images: farmers scything against the skyline, or a bright red dress in a dark wood.

It gradually weaves in a science fiction element which throws into question all that we’re seeing. What if the specters aren’t ghosts, but merely time travellers from the past or future? Like Tom’s Midnight Garden, the story involves people moving back and forth through time, a component that doesn’t really mesh with the show’s spooky atmosphere. (It’s like how The Prestige suddenly introduced the cloning device in the third act, which didn’t really vibe with everything we’d seen prior to its appearance).

But there are familiar faces aplenty, from the aforementioned Robert Emms (who has popped up in a lot of things this year), Elizabeth Berrington, Chloe Pirrie and David Oates (nice to see him playing a good guy for a change). Oh, and in literally the last few seconds of the final episode, Jacob Fortune-Lloyd in what IMDB tells me was one of his very first roles. You can’t even see his face because he’s wearing a mask, but the voice is instantly recognizable.

The Third Day (2020)

Folk Horror isn’t something you cannot universally recommend, for what is enthralling to one person might well be baffling or frustrating to another. The best way to describe this one is as a family drama that’s set against a backdrop of Folk Horror, and though most things are clarified regarding the issues of the family element, mysteries are deliberately left opaque when it comes to the setting.

It’s divided into two halves: three episodes starring Jude Law in what’s titled “Summer,” and then three starring Naomi Harris in “Winter.” Between them (in a very unusual marketing ploy) is a twelve-hour livestream called “Autumn,” which bridges the two halves and – as far as I can tell – covers the festival that the citizens of Osea are preparing for in “Summer” and winding down from in “Winter.” I did not watch this, but it’s not essential to understanding the story.

It all opens with Jude Law having a fraught cellphone conversation on an empty road about a large sum of money that’s seemingly been stolen from his office. He then calls his wife and tells her he’s “going ahead” with a ceremony that’s clearly in memory of a child.

Hearing voices nearby, he’s horrified to find himself intervening in a young girl’s suicide attempt, and drives her home to Osea, a real island in the Blackwater Estuary, Essex (it’s also where they filmed The Woman in Black). His parental instincts are reluctant to leave Epona behind with the strange owners of the local tavern, but he’s only got a short window of time before the causeway is closed by the rising tide. Then things really start to get weird.

In “Winter,” Naomi Harris takes over, arriving with her two daughters for what she describes as a surprise adventure for her eldest’s birthday. It’s not too much of a shock to learn that she’s actually Jude Law’s wife, though her motivation still isn’t as clearcut as simply “track down my husband.”

The whole thing is imminently compelling while you’re watching it. It’s gorgeously shot and beautifully acted, and half the appeal is just being there on Osea. Not since Midnight Mass have I felt so grounded and immersed in a quasi-fictional setting (it was filmed on the real Osea, but I’m going to go out on a limb and assume it’s not actually inhabited by weird cultists). But as mentioned, when it comes to what the deal is on Osea Island, most of the questions are left unanswered.

More annoyingly, huge changes in relationships and dynamics occur from one season to the next, in a way that feels less organic than it does convenient to the narrative. In “Summer,” Katherine Waterson’s character is motivated by the safety of her daughters, while in “Winter,” she couldn’t care less about them. The island inhabitants all seem obsessed with Jude Law in “Summer,” but by “Winter” a fair amount have had enough of him for no visibly apparent reason. Old reliable Paul Kaye turns up in “Winter,” and then proceeds to do nothing of any narrative importance.

The mystery of Osea itself feels like it’s come straight out of LOST, what with residents claiming that it’s the soul of the world. When it’s sick, the rest of the world is also sick. But whether this plot-point gets resolved or whether everyone involved was just crazy is up to the viewer to decide – the story itself is more interested in the character dynamics and getting closure on a grieving, broken family.

Because of the limited time-frame in which this unfolds, we only get a glimpse of what may or may not be going on here, but it’s a highly detailed glimpse that demands your full attention, even as it leaves you hanging. I’m always happy to let my imagination draw in the blanks of any world-building, and this definitely succeeded in getting my heart rate up when it came to its action sequences.

Special mention must be given to Paddy Considine and Emily Watson for two incredible performances. The owners of the local tavern, they have a well-oiled system of feeding someone a lie, then if they’re caught out, providing a reasonable-sounding explanation for lying in the first place, before covering it all up with yet another lie. It’s fascinating to watch them bounce off each other, and Considine in particular is amazing. His character is forty percent amiable, sixty percent off-putting, and you would never recognize him as King Viserys. In fact, this was filmed right before House of the Dragon, which could rightly be called his big break, and it demonstrates just how underrated he is as an actor.

The Excavation of Hob’s Barrow (2022)

I have been wanting to play this game for probably over a year now (I’m too afraid to look up the post where I first mentioned it – it’s probably even longer than that) and finally got my chance this month.

Along with Starve Acre, it’s the story that most epitomizes the mood and substance of Folk Horror: mist-strewn countryside, malevolent ancient cults, and a deeply ambiguous conclusion – in fact, it’s an outright Downer Ending. Perhaps a little too downer: an option for Thomasina to just hop back on a train and get the heck outta dodge would not have been remiss. Then the player at least knows they can save her from a grim story-mandated fate if they want to.

Thomasina Bateman is an antiquarian following in her father’s footsteps despite the distinct lack of female archaeologists at the turn of the last century. She’s called to a small village called Bewlay by a man called Leonard Shoulder, who has informed her of an interesting barrow in the area. On arrival, Thomasina faces plenty of side-eyes from the locals, but no sign of her contact in the pub where they agreed to meet.

Mysteries pile up upon mysteries. Where is Leonard Shoulder? Why are the villagers so reluctant to talk about Hob’s Barrow? What’s up with Thomasina’s weird dreams? And what actually happened to her father that’s left him catatonic in a London hospice?

Visually, this game is a dream come true. I love pixel art, and I’m so glad it hasn’t died out completely as an art form. The voicework is also engaging (especially Thomasina herself, played by Samantha Béart) and some of the effects are genuinely creepy: abrupt disappearances, unexplained noises, that eerie purple light…

It’s a fairly simple game to complete: none of the puzzles are particularly difficult, and you’re all but led by the hand through it due to the format, which moves swiftly from one scene to the next. It’s clear that this was designed to be a mildly interactive story rather than a gaming experience, as during a lengthy flashback sequence, all the player has to do is simply click on certain areas of the garden. Its main purpose is to fill you in on Thomasina’s relationship with her father.

Storywise, almost everything clicks together nicely in the overarching plot, though there are some strands that are left unresolved (one side-quest involves tracking down another character’s fiancé – but who on earth tied him up, covered him in flowers, and left him out on the street? It was a YouTube comment that helped explain it, but I don’t think I would have figured that out by myself).

There are enough twists and turns to make me want to go back and watch it as a playthrough, as there were plenty of clues regarding secret character motivations and the barrow’s true history along the way, which makes it all the more frustrating that the game can only end in one way. I found myself invested in Thomasina – she’s driven to the point of foolhardiness, but it is her devotion to her father that ends up being her downfall. Maybe one day there’ll be a sequel that will help her find justice.

According to the game designers, this was heavily inspired by the stories of Lovecraft and M.R. James, but having absorbed so much Folk Horror this month, I was left wondering if Bewlay was named for Bewdley Tunnel, which was the inspiration for Charles Dicken’s “The Signalman,” adapted in 1976 for A Ghost Story for Christmas. Whatever the case, I’m glad I finally checked this off my to-do list, and it was a great capper to a month of Folk Horror.