A Chiller That Gets Under Your Skin

Rating: 7/10 (2 May 2015)

The Babadook is not like Godzilla, Dracula, or some other movie monster a child fears is hiding in their closet. Those beasts, by comparison, were real, in their outlandish zones anyway. In contrast, The Babadook is a manifestation of grief, tormenting the lives of Amelia (Essie Davis) and her son, Samuel (Noah Wiseman). His presence is there — strikingly evil and intellectually sadistic — but his existence is never as certain as we might like it to be, similar to how the ghosts in The Innocents could have easily been a twisted hallucination stemming from Deborah Kerr's psyche.
Lately, the best of horror seems to be found in independent cinema (You're Next, It Follows), The Babadook acting as its arguable peak. It is not a self-aware slasher nor is it a crafty supernatural farce; it is, instead, a highly original work of psychological terror. The directorial debut for Jennifer Kent, the film is, by turns, visually stunning (nearly everything is shaded with the metallic artistry of a IKEA designed prison cell) and genuinely chilling, though not in the ways you might expect. The real monster here is not The Babadook himself but the feelings of mourning, sadness, and agony, pressing on and on until they reach an explosive breaking point.
These emotions have been lingering over Amelia and Samuel for nearly a decade. Seven years earlier, Amelia's husband was killed in a car accident, an accident that took place only moments before Samuel was born. Ever since, Amelia sees her son as a burden, a reminder of the horrific doom she faced that fateful night. She loves him as much as any mother in her situation could, but it's no easy task, considering how precocious Samuel has become over the years.
Precocious, however, is too kind a word to describe his temperament. He seems only able to speak within the constraint of an ear-curdling shriek; he can hardly sleep through the night, believing he is tormented by monsters (building harmful weapons to try to avoid them); and, to Amelia's increasing horror, he is turning into an extremely violent child, eventually getting kicked out of school. She wishes he were normal, or, better yet, well-behaved.
Things take a turn for the ghastly when a mysterious storybook pops up in Samuel's room one night. Titled Mister Babadook, it is filled with disturbing images and a storyline certainly not meant for young children; the book promises that, once Mister Babadook makes his way into your home, he will never leave, will never stop terrorizing you. Amelia finds it troubling, but not as much as Samuel. If he wasn't already the child from hell, one might send him straight to a local asylum. His behavior becomes more bizarre than ever. He is convinced that The Babadook is residing in the house, talking to blank spaces in his spare time; he starts having hysterical outbursts, at one point breaking his cousin's nose at her birthday party. Gradually, though, his actions are eclipsed by his mother, who is showing signs of monstrosity similar to the apparently fictional creature.
The Babadook is not an easy horror movie. Gone are the jump-scares, the ghostly clangs that come from nowhere. Its most stunning aspect is its ability to hold a spectral atmosphere throughout its running time; even before the titular villain appears, despair looms like laughter in a '90s sitcom. If it weren't a horror movie, it would be a sinister study of trauma and its aftershocks.
Not to suggest that the film isn't already a sinister study of trauma. The allusions to grief are hardly subtle; The Babadook itself reminded me of a childhood story in which a big, green monster suddenly appeared and grew bigger every time a little boy told a lie. As Amelia tries to move on with her life, The Babadook gets stronger and more oppressive, reminding her time and time again that the memory of her husband's tragic death will never really go away, and that's a scary thing for someone wants to live a normal, happy life. I questioned the true existence of The Babadook several times; only Amelia and Samuel seem to be able to see it, the rest of the world oblivious to its destruction. Maybe that's because Amelia and Samuel are the only people in the world that truly understand the loud bereavement that has hung over their life since the accident. The list could go on, but it's impressive how Kent, a first- timer, is able to link fantastical horror and real-life terror with such fluidity. Grief and the existence of The Babadook go hand in hand, but which is more frightening?
Much should be said for Davis's fearless performance, which calls for as much silent torment as verbal outburst. So vivid is her characterization that we find ourselves intertwined with her pain, through her limits as a parent and a person afflicted by an invisible, metaphorical monster and a very real one. And Wiseman, as Samuel, gives one of the most disturbing performances I've seen come from a child. He isn't the usual creepy horror movie tyke that likes to spit out threatening lines with the calm of a angel; his screeching anguish truly makes us question his sanity, unlike any young actor ahead of him.
Where most have found The Babadook to be the scariest film in, well, forever, I was not frightened by it; I was fascinated, hypnotized by Kent's presentation and the potent performances that come with it. I do have inhibitions about how successful the film is as both a family drama and a horror — they connect but are never fully realized as individual ideas — but that shouldn't stop you. This is the kind of horror audiences have been waiting for; like Poltergeist or The Blair Witch Project, the thrills are not transparent but affecting.
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