"The Sentimentality of Mike Flanagan’s Netflix Horror Series" by Hanna Rogers, www.collider.com 27feb2022
https://www.google.com/amp/s/collider.com/mike-flanagans-netflix-series-horror-sentimentality/amp/
How Mike Flanagan uses heart to make horror stories work.
Mike Flanagan’s style of horror, though at times terrifying, is also imbued with emotionally involved relationships and poignant themes that create a sense of warmth and sentimentality in each of his Netflix series: The Haunting of Hill House, The Haunting of Bly Manor and Midnight Mass. Flanagan’s ability to pull off real human love and connection amidst the darkness that shrouds each of the shows’ story arcs is why the ill fates met by many of the characters feel so personally tragic. It's also why his work is so beloved.
It’d be impossible to fit in all the elements that make the series so affecting, but here is a look at some of the most memorable. Tissues please?
THE HAUNTING OF HILL HOUSE
In the 1959 novel The Haunting of Hill House by Shirley Jackson, the characters are strangers who stay at Hill House to study the paranormal events. In Flanagan’s TV series, Hugh and Olivia Crain (Henry Thomas and Carla Gugino) are raising their five young children at Hill House, which automatically makes the premise more emotionally involved. Introducing children to the mix also creates an elevated sense of concern and investment from the audience, as we watch innocents experience unimaginable terror. However, as terrifying as the ghosts in Hill House are, the family looks out for each other because they truly care for one another — and that’s where the heart of Flanagan’s adaptation of The Haunting of Hill House lies.
In the very first sequence of the first episode, the Crain family’s caring dynamic is established. Hugh and young Steve (Paxton Singleton) check on Nellie (Violet McGraw) after hearing her cry from the bedroom. Once Nellie is calmed down and all the kids have been checked on, Hugh returns to bed with Olivia, who instinctively places her hand in his, and the dutiful parents have a chat about the kids before going back to sleep.
This moment — and others like it — help the audience understand the loss that the Crain siblings undergo when their mother dies and their happy childhood crumbles around them. The comparison of this warmth with the sinister events both at Hill House and beyond also compels the audience to feel more invested.
The fallout from the Crain siblings’ childhood trauma is laid bare in various ways, including Luke’s (Oliver Jackson-Cohen) addiction to heroin, Nel’s (Victoria Pedretti) sleep paralysis, and the group’s overall strained relationships with each other. The audience, having seen what the siblings were like as kids, can’t help but feel saddened by the lack of love between the adult Crains. To mend this, Flanagan brings the family together by closing the forces of Hill House in on them.
Nel’s death is the major event that forces the other siblings, and Hugh, to put their differences aside and confront the reality of Hill House’s malignity. Nel’s isolation from her siblings and grief for her husband cause her to easily succumb to the call of Hill House (and Olivia’s ghost). The comforting apparition of her departed family and husband when she steps inside keeps Nel blind to the real danger. Seeing Nel in such bliss, when we know what she’s about to experience, is emotionally disturbing and gut-wrenching in all the ways good horror should be. Nel’s murder is the most tragic scene in the series, and one of the best examples of Flanagan’s uncanny ability to pair unthinkable horror with warmth and sentimentality.
The pathos of the Crain family’s experiences at Hill House, mixed with their need to be there for each other, reaches a crossroads when Luke is dying in the Red Room, and Hugh (Timothy Hutton), Steve (Michiel Huisman), Shirley (Elizbeth Reaser), and Theo (Kate Siegel) must all return to Hill House to save him. Nel’s ghost explains that though the Red Room felt like a “heart” to each of them, it was actually the house’s “stomach,” slowly swallowing them up one by one.
In this shocking reveal, Flanagan once again demonstrates his expert interweaving of the beautiful with the horrific: the one thing that provided comfort to the Crain children was also the epicenter of their intended destruction. The use of Olivia as the house’s “agent” also adds a bittersweet element, especially when Hugh has to convince her ghost that their kids are safer alive outside of Hill House than dead inside it. Thankfully, Flanagan delivers a mostly happy ending, seeing Hugh reunite with Olivia (and Nel) once and for all, Luke getting clean, and Shirley, Steve and Theo finding peace in their lives.
THE HAUNTING OF BLY MANOR
Flanagan’s The Haunting of Bly Manor, based on the 1898 novella The Turning of the Screw by Henry James, still finds much of its tenderness rooted in the ideas of love, family and being there for one another. However, unlike Hill House, most of the characters are not blood-related, and choose to protect and love one another simply for who each of them are: a buoyant au pair (Pedretti), a disgruntled (but lovable) gardener (Amelia Eve), a “punny” cook (Rahul Kohli), a caring housekeeper (T’Nia Miller), and two very mature children.
The charm of Bly’s residents and employees is immediately illustrated by the hospitality that Dani, the au pair, is greeted with upon her arrival. Flora (Amelie Bae Smith), Hannah the housekeeper, and Owen the cook are all very warm and welcoming. And yet, even in these seemingly pleasant sequences, there are scattered oddities that raise questions in both Dani’s and the audience’s minds: Flora and Miles (Benjamin Evan Ainsworth) have moments of out-of-character rudeness, shadows and figures lurk in the corners, and Dani hears strange noises at night. In other words, the homey environment of Bly Manor is muddled by an unexplainable sense of foreboding.
And though these strange events continue to occur throughout the series, the characters are also able to find plenty of time for moments of togetherness and connection. The kitchen is an especially warm place, where Owen concocts delicious meals for the others, and they sit down to enjoy them together. In an especially poignant scene in Episode 4, which occurs shortly after Owen’s mother’s funeral, and displays Flanagan’s affinity for existentially heartfelt writing, Flora provides comfort to Owen about his grief with a wisdom far beyond her years.
The care Flora shows Owen in that scene is only one of many meaningful encounters between the characters of Bly Manor. There are also deep romances amongst the employees, namely between Owen and Hannah, and Dani and Jamie (the gardener). Though Hannah repeatedly waves off Owen’s flirtations, it’s pretty clear that she likes him too. When it’s later discovered that Hannah was killed by Peter (Jackson-Cohen), Owen’s heartbreaking devastation reveals just how much he loved her, and his lovability as a character renders this scene similarly painful for the audience.
However, Dani and Jamie’s romance is given the opportunity to flourish, as their love lasts years beyond the events at Bly Manor. We see them build a home and a life together, with an eagerness to keep going even as the lady of the lake’s hold on Dani grows in strength. When eventually Dani must give in to the lady’s pull, and Jamie finds her body at the bottom of the lake, the bliss of their years together is crushed in one fell swoop. Flanagan shows us beautiful examples of romantic love, but, in keeping with his heart-wrenching tendencies, ends them quickly to keep them sacred.
Flanagan’s use of the older version of Jamie (Gugino) as narrator deepens the cut of Dani and Jamie’s painful end, especially when we see that she is still waiting for Dani to miraculously return to her. What’s more, older Flora’s (Christie Burke) inability to realize that the story Jamie tells is her story too, makes Dani’s sacrifice, Hannah’s death, Rebecca’s bravery and all the good moments at Bly Manor seem meaningless — another successful attempt by Flanagan to twist the emotional knife of the series. Though Bly Manor doesn’t deliver the caliber of scares of Hill House, it maintains the heart.
MIDNIGHT MASS
Midnight Mass, inspired by Mike Flanagan’s personal experiences surrounding religion,sees the isolated community of Crockett Island witness miraculous phenomena, which unearths a mutual devotion between them and the “new” charismatic priest, Father Paul (Hamish Linklater). The skeptics on the island boldly challenge the rest of the devoutly religious residents, even to their own detriment. The show’s refreshing commentary on death, along with the characters’ bravery and efforts at redemption, mark the series as another of Flanagan’s thoughtful yet horrifying masterpieces.
In the first episode, Riley (Zach Gilford) is introduced, like many of Flanagan’s characters, as a tragic figure: he’s just returned home after spending years in jail for killing someone while driving drunk, and struggles with flashbacks of the woman’s face. But Riley’s regular attendance at Father Paul’s AA sessions shows that he has a true desire to be better. The trust that Riley puts in Father Paul at their sessions reveals how disarming the priest’s audience can be, even to those who are skeptical of religion. During the sessions, we also learn a lot about Riley and Father Paul’s opinions on life and death, which brings us closer to their characters.
Riley’s endeavor to be a better person is tested after Father Paul reveals to him the truth about the vampire creature and its intentions for the people of Crockett Island. As a last-ditch effort to help Erin (Siegel) fully understand the danger she and the entire town are in, Riley sacrifices himself. The two’s love and time together throughout the show, especially their conversations surrounding what happens after death, are some of the most moving scenes in the series. Riley’s bravery sanctifies those intimate moments, and reaffirms Flanagan’s ability to unexpectedly crush the audience.
The beginning of Episode 6 sees Erin reeling from witnessing Riley’s death, unsure how to save the town. But it takes the events at Easter vigil to push her and the other benevolent characters — like Dr. Sarah Gunning (Annabeth Gish) and Sheriff Hassan (Kohli) — to fight against Bev (Samantha Sloyan), the creature, and the newly “saved” residents. The bravery that these characters, along with Riley’s parents (Kristin Lehman and Thomas), display in the final episode allows some solace in a sequence that is otherwise bloodcurdling (no pun intended). Once again, Flanagan aptly uses light to shine through the darkness.
Though the characters show bravery in fighting for their lives and those of the children, they also show it when facing certain death. Erin allows the creature to suck a fatal amount of her blood in order to wound and incapacitate him, Sheriff Hassan and his son (Rahul Aburri) pray in their last moments together, and Riley’s parents lead the other residents in song to calm themselves for what’s to come. Midnight Mass has more death scenes than Flanagan’s other Netflix series, but they serve to evoke an acceptance of one’s final moments, and in this case give the right characters the dignified last moments they deserve.
The plot point in the show that is the unwitting, driving force behind the whole story is Father Paul’s true identity, and his real reasons for bringing the creature to the island. When we learn that Father Paul is Monsignor Pruitt, and that he actually returned to get a second chance at a life with Dr. Sarah, his daughter, and her mother Mildred (Alex Essoe), it is hard to blame him for the wickedness he unleashed. Flanagan’s choice to give the supposed villain of the series such a relatable, human reason for his destruction (and leave small clues for the audience to put together), generates an engaging, heartfelt experience, and is largely why Midnight Mass lives up to expectations.
