During the Before Times, I went to Smith College in what would end up being my last continuing ed travel adventure for some time. Located in a picturesque northeast coast small town of Northampton, this college has long been held as a bastion of liberal intellectualism and safe haven for scholastically-inclined women. I should have been excited, but nothing could explain the slow sense of unease that crawled over me during the long cab ride to that town. Sure, it could have been exhaustion from travel and so, so many delays. But there was no denying the quiet dread I felt as the sun set and the darkness seemed to swallow all sense of direction. I couldn’t help thinking, watching the treeline turn into dark, jagged teeth against the horizon in the fading light, that this was the perfect opening scene for a folk horror movie.
I was in Stephen King Country, no doubt about it (which to my mind, is any vaguely east-coast small-town dotted landscape). Hey, I’m a desert woman through and through, and too much time on either coast leaves me longing for a landscape I understand and that understands me.
Thankfully, I arrived safely. Everyone was quite nice and the little town was small enough and safe enough for me to walk alone at night in search of dinner. I was grateful considering that I was one of the few people of color in the town (albeit white-passing) so, by horror movie standards, that would make me one of the first to go when things went all Children of the Corn.
As I strolled around the next day, however, I couldn’t shake this sense of unease, despite everyone, and I mean everyone, talking about what a perfect place Northampton was to live in. So inclusive! So harmonious! So happy! Just one look at the Black Lives Matter signs decorating the streets should have told me as much! Still, as I strolled around the neighborhoods on my conference break, it occurred to me that the beautiful little painted houses looked like the perfect setting for a Hallmark movie…or a B-horror movie. And then I found myself, quite literally, on Gothic street! The signs couldn’t have been clearer…something was not quite right.
No, I’m not here to roast Smith College, at least not any more than I do the rest of the Ivory Tower Collective otherwise known as academia. I left Northampton with gratitude for the experience and an even deeper gratitude for a public education and a life in the Land of Enchantment with wide open skies, a landscape I knew intimately, and adobe houses that, while not specter-free, were at least the kind of architecture and history that I knew how to make myself at home in.
But I also couldn’t shake the overlapping similarities between small-town romance and small-town horror, the shades and echoes of which followed me throughout my stay in Northampton. As someone who loves romance and horror, it was hard not to see the small town setting as a nexus for exploring our fundamental humanity—and, in the case of the gothic, our darkness. Like academia, a college campus is its own kind of small town, and a remote rural setting is a focused place that, for its compactness and isolation, magnifies the light and dark of the human experience. And, like in academia, one person’s “safe space” is another person’s nightmare of gatekeeping, performative allyship, and tone policing.
Radcliffe’s Quiet Terror…
I returned to these musings one year while binge-watching cheesy holiday movies. As I waded through tales of struggling Christmas tree farmers and city girl grinches, gingerbread artists and CEOs who’ve lost that Christmas magic, and more cookie decorating contests, tree lighting events, and neighborhood caroling than should be considered legal, it occurred to me that these films had an awful lot in common with folk horror. The quiet terror in the Scrooge-like protagonists was palpable as those big city fishes out of water in small, out-of-the-way towns were asked to endure local traditions and participate in timeless rituals until the ultimate culmination of all these ceremonies: The burning of the Wicker Man, I mean, the yule log, I mean, the lighting of the Christmas tree.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m no stranger to the joys of cheesy holiday films filled with Santas masquerading as reindeer ranchers or plucky businesswomen teaching princes how to be down with the people and put up a Christmas tree or whatever. But if folk horror stands out for illuminating the darkest corners of the collective unconscious—and the collective urge to conform to the status quo—then holiday films are conspicuous for their absolute lack of darkness. Childhood traumas, and deaths of beloved family members, from parents to spouses, are quietly swept under the rug, used only as window dressing to make our plucky protagonists relatable, interesting, or otherwise worthy of redemption. Any meaningful discussion of those traumas is forsaken in an effort to get to the snowman-building party on time. No, those traumas are quiet, hidden, and like in folk horror, kept just out of sight (until the end of the horror movie anyway).
When I think of folk horror, I think of Anne Radcliffe’s definition of terror. It’s often quiet, eerie, and seemingly innocuous—until it’s too late. Radcliffean terror is frightening simply because it is the thing we cannot see—it plays at the edges of our sight, fueling our imagination and making us fear the unspoken, the unseen, suppressing the unsettling feeling that something isn’t quite right. And, while some folk horror often descends into actual horror—the in-your-face violence and traumas that you can’t look away from or ever unsee—it all begins with Radcliffe’s quiet, uncanny terror.
Folk horror is also a genre adept at exploring the terror of how white supremacy, oppressive social norms, and heteronormativity, to name a few issues, are quietly reinforced and any expression of otherness stamped out. Of course, folk horror critiques these things, showing them as the evil that they are. In contrast, the quiet terror in Hallmark Christmas movies—excuse me, holiday movies—was, for a long time, the suppression of queer relationships and BIPOC characters with skin dark than a paper bag, not to mention anyone who wasn’t conventionally religious. This was Candace Cameron Bure Land, after all, where everything must remain snow white, candy-cane sweet, and cleaner than a born-again Christian’s heart. And while it’s true that much of that is changing thanks to new network management (more on that later), there was a long time when issues of race, sexuality, and other “taboos” were silenced in order to keep the network a “safe space” for the Bure’s of the world.
Terrifying!
—but also not unlike the small, insular communities in many a folk horror tale. Let’s take a closer look…
Is it Christmas Magic…or the Call of Cthulhu?
For the purposes of this essay, I’m going to focus my reading on a handful of movies that I feel best represent the folk horror genre, old and new, and the holiday movie genre typified by Hallmark movies (hey, I’m not above using the network name a clickbait title, but let’s be real, they aren’t the only ones doing these sorts of movies). Both The Wicker Man (1973) and Midsummer (2019) are iconic films to the folk horror genre and speak to what is quietly terrifying about insular communities, not to mention the slow-burn gothic elements that signal things Will Not End Well.
And, dearest readers, I must be honest and admit that I completely blanked when it comes to naming specific Hallmark holiday movies to compare these two folk horror films, although, in retrospect, I shouldn’t be surprised. All the movies are so similar that it is impossible to tell them apart. But, since I’m on a roll roasting Bure for her bigotry, I’ll use two of her movies that have become Hallmark staples and defined the holiday movie over the last decade, Let it Snow (2013) and Christmas Under Wraps (2014). But, seriously, I could be describing just about any small-town holiday movie as you’ll see with the other films I list.
Now, let’s take a look at what these genres have in common so you can decide if the magic behind these stories is a Christmas miracle or the byproduct of the cult-worshipped Cthulhu, an octopus-like monster whose dreams shape the very fabric of our existence!
Timeless Traditions…
Both The Wicker Man (1973) and Midsommar (2019) center around warm-weather holidays, respectively Beltane and the summer solstice, and, until recently, most holiday movies centered around Christmas. Let it Snow (2013) focuses on a variety of holiday traditions from around the world and Christmas Under Wraps (2014) deals specifically with the joys of the Santa Clause myth.
A Welcoming Community & an Outsider who Becomes Part of the Family…
Both Let it Snow (2013) and Christmas Under Wraps (2014) feature a Big City Bure who doesn’t have time for the frivolity and festivities of Christmas until she is welcomed into the quirky small town of Garland, Alaska (Let it Snow) and learns that it just might be the home base of Santa Clause! In Christmas Under Wraps, Big City Bure learns that not everything needs to be about corporate bottom lines and efficiency. Sometimes, it’s about waffles and ice fishing and cute inn owners. There’s no way she can go back to city life after that!
Similarly, the young adventurers of Midsommar are welcomed with open arms to the Love and Light commune of the Hårga in backwoods Hälsingland, Sweden. Likewise, the upstanding Sergeant Howie is treated like a special guest when he lands on Summerisle in The Wicker Man. That’s old-school community charm for you!
Singing and Dancing…
Let’s not forget the hearty welcome Police Sergeant Neil Howie receives when he visits the island of Summerisle and gets a boisterous round of song and dance at the local pub and inn. Who doesn’t enjoy uncomfortably suggestive songs with equally repulsive dance moves about the landlord’s daughter with both the landlord and his daughter present and clearly enjoying themselves? This festive song and dance pales in comparison to the maypole dancing of Midsommar where the only thing more extra than the flower adornments is the aggressive twirling. Fun times! As for holiday movies, well, there is always a caroling scene. Always. The Christmas Cottage (2017) is just one of thousands of examples.
An Annual Festival…
Like caroling, there’s always a party to be had! And, if you’re (un)lucky, you just might be roped into participating. It may be May Day or it may be Christmas—either way, it’ll be a party you’ll never forget!
Precocious Children…
Who can forget that precocious little school children or that audacious little girl, supposedly “missing,” who leads the sergeant on a merry chase in The Wicker Man? Then there are the young girls in Midsommar who aren’t above a little mischief as they spike drinks and plant a little something extra special in the food of their esteemed male guests. See A Princess for Christmas (2011), A Crown for Christmas (2015), Switched for Christmas (2017), and Picture a Perfect Christmas (2019) for kids who are just a little too clever for their own good and not above orchestrating a romantic entanglement for their adult counterpart(s). Thrown in Children of the Corn (1984) and The Bad Seed (1956), and you’ve got a neat set of stories that show just how cute—and quick-witted—little kids can be!
Quirky Courtship Rituals…
Mingle All the Way (2018), The Christmas Cottage (2017), The Engagement Clause (2016), A Bride for Christmas (2012)…seriously, so many wedding/bride/engagement Christmas movies! Clearly, you will cease to be a valuable member of these insular societies if you aren’t marrying and reproducing. But they are nothing compared to the joyful communal copulation in The Wickerman, not to mention the naked dancing around a fire in that movie, or the maypole dancing and “forced seduction” of your soon-to-be-ex boyfriend (to put it VERY euphemistically) by a group of fertile young women in Midsommar.
Delicious Treats!
See any holiday movie with “gingerbread,” “cookies,” “baking,” “sweet,” or “candy canes” in the title. A Cookie Cutter Christmas (2014), The Sweetest Christmas (2017), Christmas Cupcakes (2017)…you get the idea. Seriously, is it even a holiday movie without a cookie-making scene or a baking contest? Of course, we have the delightful post office/drugstore/candy shop in The Wicker Man where jars of dried foreskin and hard candies sit side by side, or the tasty cakes with a special ingredient (pubic hair) of Midsommar. Yum!
Traditional Values…
Like the heartwarming community in Midsommar, many Hallmark movie small-town communities are known for their cozy conformity, sparkling eugenics, and dazzling white supremacy (see previously mentioned Bure movies). They too, want to welcome you into their loving arms—so long as you have blond hair, blue eyes, and light skin. Dani, in Midsommar, survives because she looks just like everyone else, whereas Sergeant Howie in The Wicker Man doesn’t survive specifically because he isn’t like everyone else (he’s a Christian virgin, not a sex-positive pagan). Hey, it’s important to maintain the old ways!
A Festive Makeover…
Take any holiday movie about royalty and you will most definitely get a glamorous makeover moment where the nanny/reporter/basic bitch will be transformed into a princess with the coaxing of helpful staff, a sparkly dress, and a can-do attitude. A Princess for Christmas and A Crown for Christmas are just two examples. Although the heroines’ transformations in those films from ugly ducklings into princess swans are nothing compared to Dani in Midsommar as she gets a glamorous dress made of flowers with a glorious crown to top it off. Royalty, indeed! Even Sergeant Howie gets his time to play dress up, first as a fool and later as a sacrificial lamb. What joy!
Holiday Miracles…
Let’s circle back to the Bure stories here. Both Let it Snow and Christmas Under Wraps end with the Big City Bure learning to love the small-town charm and festive holiday spirit—with a side of love! She’s also able to save Santa—and Christmas—in Christmas Under Wraps and figure out how to keep a small inn in the black while also highlighting what’s unique about it in Let it Snow. Take that corporate cookie-cutter holiday!
Wait, that’s a different movie. I think.
Finally, we learn that the sergeant in The Wicker Man was specifically called to this secluded island to help solve the problem of failed crops—he’s their only hope! And Dani, in Midsommar, finally finds the family, love, and acceptance she’s always craved by the end of the movie. She will never be alone again. Heartwarming!
A Lit Ending…
Folk horror and holiday films always end the same way: LIT! It could be with the lighting of the Christmas tree (I’m not even going to bother listing specific holiday movies here—see all the Hallmark holiday movies ever made); the cleansing fires of the Hårga that help you release the negative things in your life, like bad exes; or the wicker man himself, where you get a staring role as kindling!
See? Folk horror and small-town holiday movies aren’t so different after all.
A Walk Down Gothic Street…
In the end, you might be wondering why I’m taking the time to write about small towns, holiday romances, and folk horror. It’s simple: Stories shape us. Stories inform. Stories help us explore and reflect on our life experiences, such as why a visit to a prestigious college would feel strangely triggering.
There’s a fine line between cozy community and frightening insularity, powerful belief in something bigger than us and violent zealotry, divine miracles and human monstrosities. And, sometimes the most horrific things are candy-coated, all the better to make the social conditioning easier to swallow.
As for Smith College, well, I finally figured out the gothic stain on this idyllic supposed sanctuary. Like so many other (dare I say all?) higher education institutions, it struggles to take its anti-racist agenda seriously and take its other inclusive agendas beyond the performative. Allyship is about active inclusion and meaningful reparations, not pretty words. Academia is much like the small towns I’ve been writing about: Sometimes a safe haven for those in search of like-minded souls, sometimes an incestuous cult that silences outsiders who question the status quo and don’t actively worship Cthulhu.
Yet there is still hope.
In perhaps what some would consider the surprise of the century, Hallmark is being aggressively more inclusive, including more stories with queer and BIPOC characters. It’s a REALLY BIG DEAL, in case you didn’t know this, to see them centering these traditionally marginalized identities in stories of joy, love, hope, and a holiday bake-off. But if you still want that back-woods Midsommar charm, you can find it on GAC Family Channel, where Bure and her friends like the criminal Lori Loughlin, are holding court. Perhaps we can all write a letter to Santa asking him to get Elon Musk to buy the channel. He would be the perfect CEO Scrooge to run GAC into the ground.
What a Christmas miracle that would be!
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