Devil's Advocates – serie

Released a matter of days after the end of the Second World War and a dozen years ahead of the first full-blooded Hammer Horror, the Ealing Studios horror anthology film Dead of Night featured contributions from some of the finest directors, writers and technicians ever to work in British film. Since its release it has become evermore widely regarded as a keystone in the architecture of horror cinema, both nationally and internationally, yet for a film that packs such a reputation this is the first time a single book has been dedicated to its analysis. Beginning with a brief plot précis 'road map' in order to aid navigation through the film's stories, there follows a discussion of Dead of Night's individual stories, including its frame tale ('Linking Narrative'), a consideration of the potency of stillness and the suspension of time as devices for eliciting goose bumps, an appraisal of the film in relation to the very English tradition of the festive ghost story, and an analysis of the British post-war male gender crisis embodied by a number of the film's protagonists. The book includes a selection of rarely seen pre-production designs produced by the film's acclaimed production designer, Michael Relph.

Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror, directed by German director Friedrich Wilhelm Murnau in 1922, is not only regarded as one of the most intriguing and disquieting films to have been produced during the years of Weimar cinema but is also a key step in establishing the vampire as a cinematic figure and in shaping its connection with our subconscious fears and desires. In her analysis of this hugely influential film, Cristina Massaccesi unravels the never-ending fascination exercised by the film over generations of viewers and filmmakers whilst at the same time providing the reader with a clear guide about the film's contexts, cinematography, and possible interpretations, covering the political and social context of the Weimar Republic and its film industry, the German Expressionist movement, the film's production, reception and difficult initial release. The book also includes the results of a lengthy interview between the author and E. Elias Merhige, director of the Nosferatu homage, Shadow of the Vampire (2000).

As one of the most globally recognisable instances of 20th century Eurohorror, Dario Argento's Suspiria (1976) is poetic, chaotic, and intriguing. The cult reputation of Argento's baroque nightmare is reflected in the critical praise it continues to receive almost 40 years after its original release, and it appears regularly on lists of the greatest horror films ever. For fans and critics alike, Suspiria is as mesmerising as it is impenetrable: the impact of Argento's notorious disinterest in matters of plot and characterisation combines with Suspiria's aggressive stylistic hyperactivity to render it a movie that needs to be experienced through the body as much as through emotion or the intellect. For its many fans, Suspiria is synonymous with European horror more broadly, and Argento himself is by far the most famous of all the Italian horror directors. If there was any doubt of his status as one of the great horror auteurs, Argento's international reputation was solidified well beyond the realms of cult fandom in the 1990s with retrospectives at both the American Museum of the Moving Image and the British Film Institute. This book considers the complex ways that Argento weaves together light, sound and cinema history to construct one of the most breathtaking horror movies of all time, a film as fascinating as it is ultimately unfathomable.

Robert Eggers' The Witch (2015) is one of the most critically acclaimed horror films of recent years, praised as a genre film of unusual depth which eschews jump scares in favour of a gradually and steadily building tension. Set in newly colonized New England in the early seventeenth century, the film’s deep historical and mythological background, as well as its complicated and interlocking character arcs, make for a film whose viewers will be well served by this Devil’s Advocate, the first stand-alone critical study of the film. As well as providing the historical and religious background necessary for a fullerappreciation, including an insight into the Puritan movement in New England Brandon Grafius situates the film within a number of horror sub-genres (such as folk horror) as well as its other literary and folkloric influences.

Widely regarded as one of the foundational 'Unholy Trinity' of folk horror film, The Blood on Satan's Claw (1971) has been comparatively over-shadowed, if not maligned, when compared to Witchfinder General (1968) and The Wicker Man (1973). While those horror bedfellows are now accepted as classics of British cinema, Piers Haggard's film remains undervalued, ironically so, given that it was Haggard who coined the term 'folk horror' in relation to his film. In this Devil's Advocate, David Evans-Powell explores the place of the film in the wider context of the folk horror sub-genre; its use of a seventeenth-century setting (which it shares with contemporaries such as Witchfinder General and Cry of the Banshee) in contrast to the generic nineteenth-century locales of Hammer; the influences of contemporary counter-culture and youth movement on the film; the importance of localism and landscape; and the film as an expression of a wider contemporary crisis in English identity (which can also be perceived in Witchfinder General, and in contemporary TV serials such as Penda's Fen).

Reviled on its release, Peeping Tom (1960) all-but ended the career of director Michael Powell, previously one of Britain's most revered filmmakers. The story of a murderous cameraman and his compulsion to record his killings, Powell's film stunned the same critics who had acclaimed him for the work he'd made with writer-producer Emeric Pressburger (The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, 1943; A Matter of Life and Death, 1946), resulting in the film falling out of circulation almost as soon as it was released. It took the 1970s 'Movie Brat' generation to rehabilitate the director, and the film, which is now regarded as a masterpiece. In this Devil's Advocate, published to coincide with the film's 60th anniversary, Kiri Walden charts the origins, production and devastating critical reception of Peeping Tom, comparing it to the treatment meted out to its contemporary horror classic, Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho (1960).

In the fading atmosphere of the New Hollywood era, William Friedkin – the wunderkind director with an Academy Awardfor his cop drama, The French Connection (1971) who then scored an even bigger success with The Exorcist (1973) – began work on what would prove to be the most controversial film of his career: Cruising (1980). In the process he established a template for a sub-genre, the serial killer thriller, that would thrive long after his film had left theatres, having caused widespread offence among the very audience he'd hoped to appeal to, via a campaign mobilised by the counter-culture press. As such, Cruising can be read as a bitter farewellto the seventies and its cinema and industry. This Devil's Advocate dives deep into the phenomenon that is Cruising, examining its creative context and its protagonists, as well as examining its ongoing popularity as it turns 40 in 2020.

Daughters of Darkness (1971) is a vampire film like no other. Heralded as psychological high-Gothic cinema, loved for its art-house and erotic flavors, Harry Kümel's 1971 cult classic is unwrapped in intricate detail by writer Kat Ellinger to unravel the many mysteries surrounding just what makes it so appealing. This book, as part of the Devil’s Advocates series, examines the film in the context of its peers and contemporaries, in order to argue its place an important evolutionary link in the chain of female vampire cinema. The text also explores the film's association with fairy tales, the Gothic genre, and fantastic tradition, as well as delving into aspects of the legend of Countess Bathory, traditional vampire lore, and much more. The book contains new and exclusive interviews with director Harry Kümel and actress and star Danielle Ouimet.

Widely regarded as one of the foundational 'Unholy Trinity' of folk horror film, The Blood on Satan's Claw (1971) has been comparatively over-shadowed, if not maligned, when compared to Witchfinder General (1968) and The Wicker Man (1973). While those horror bedfellows are now accepted as classics of British cinema, Piers Haggard's film remains undervalued, ironically so, given that it was Haggard who coined the term 'folk horror' in relation to his film. In this Devil's Advocate, David Evans-Powell explores the place of the film in the wider context of the folk horror sub-genre; its use of a seventeenth-century setting (which it shares with contemporaries such as Witchfinder General and Cry of the Banshee) in contrast to the generic nineteenth-century locales of Hammer; the influences of contemporary counter-culture and youth movement on the film; the importance of localism and landscape; and the film as an expression of a wider contemporary crisis in English identity (which can also be perceived in Witchfinder General, and in contemporary TV serials such as Penda's Fen).

Robert Eggers' The Witch (2015) is one of the most critically acclaimed horror films of recent years, praised as a genre film of unusual depth which eschews jump scares in favour of a gradually and steadily building tension. Set in newly colonized New England in the early seventeenth century, the film’s deep historical and mythological background, as well as its complicated and interlocking character arcs, make for a film whose viewers will be well served by this Devil’s Advocate, the first stand-alone critical study of the film. As well as providing the historical and religious background necessary for a fullerappreciation, including an insight into the Puritan movement in New England Brandon Grafius situates the film within a number of horror sub-genres (such as folk horror) as well as its other literary and folkloric influences.

In the fading atmosphere of the New Hollywood era, William Friedkin – the wunderkind director with an Academy Awardfor his cop drama, The French Connection (1971) who then scored an even bigger success with The Exorcist (1973) – began work on what would prove to be the most controversial film of his career: Cruising (1980). In the process he established a template for a sub-genre, the serial killer thriller, that would thrive long after his film had left theatres, having caused widespread offence among the very audience he'd hoped to appeal to, via a campaign mobilised by the counter-culture press. As such, Cruising can be read as a bitter farewellto the seventies and its cinema and industry. This Devil's Advocate dives deep into the phenomenon that is Cruising, examining its creative context and its protagonists, as well as examining its ongoing popularity as it turns 40 in 2020.

Reviled on its release, Peeping Tom (1960) all-but ended the career of director Michael Powell, previously one of Britain's most revered filmmakers. The story of a murderous cameraman and his compulsion to record his killings, Powell's film stunned the same critics who had acclaimed him for the work he'd made with writer-producer Emeric Pressburger (The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp, 1943; A Matter of Life and Death, 1946), resulting in the film falling out of circulation almost as soon as it was released. It took the 1970s 'Movie Brat' generation to rehabilitate the director, and the film, which is now regarded as a masterpiece. In this Devil's Advocate, published to coincide with the film's 60th anniversary, Kiri Walden charts the origins, production and devastating critical reception of Peeping Tom, comparing it to the treatment meted out to its contemporary horror classic, Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho (1960).

Prevenge (2016) is an entertainingly dark 21st-century horror movie detailing the serial killing journey of heavily pregnant Ruth. It’s a cleverly crafted narrative full of stark social commentary, traversing the delicate line between comedy and tragedy by fusing together a kitchen sink approach with a supernatural revenge plot. This book, as part of the Devil’s Advocates series, examines how the film deconstructs the slasher mythology and the sexism therein, and upends stereotypical representations of the ‘weak’ woman and ‘delicate’ mother. With new exclusive input from writer, director and star Alice Lowe, the text also looks at the production’s inception and development, assesses its debts to cult British cinema, and inspects its umbilical connections to Rosemary’s Baby, Alien, Village of the Damned and many other ‘Monstrous Child’ silver screen features.

Prevenge (2016) is an entertainingly dark 21st-century horror movie detailing the serial killing journey of heavily pregnant Ruth. It’s a cleverly crafted narrative full of stark social commentary, traversing the delicate line between comedy and tragedy by fusing together a kitchen sink approach with a supernatural revenge plot. This book, as part of the Devil’s Advocates series, examines how the film deconstructs the slasher mythology and the sexism therein, and upends stereotypical representations of the ‘weak’ woman and ‘delicate’ mother. With new exclusive input from writer, director and star Alice Lowe, the text also looks at the production’s inception and development, assesses its debts to cult British cinema, and inspects its umbilical connections to Rosemary’s Baby, Alien, Village of the Damned and many other ‘Monstrous Child’ silver screen features.

George A. Romero’s Dawn of the Dead (1978) is celebrated both as a ‘splatter’ movie and as a satire of 1970s consumerism. One of the most financially successful independent films ever produced, Dawn of the Dead presented a strong vision to audiences of the time in terms of its excessive, often shocking violence. It challenged censorship internationally and caused controversy in the United States and the UK. The film created problems with distributors because of its length and its graphic content; with the MPAA who awarded it an ‘X’ in America (a rating usually reserved for pornography); with the BBFC in the UK who completely recut it; and in various European territories where it was released in several versions. Arguably, excess is at the heart of Dawn of the Dead, integral to its meaning: not only in its scenes of gore, its in-your-face social satire and its gaudy pop-kitsch style but in the production history of the film itself. This Devil’s Advocate explores the various ways in which Romero took Dawn of the Dead into areas of extremity during its scripting, production and distribution; and the responses of industry, censorship bodies, reviewers and audiences of the time to the film’s excesses. Taking the approach of a micro-historical study, Jon Towlson offers a close analysis of the film’s production context to explore the cultural significance of Dawn of the Dead as a ‘rebel text’ and an example of oppositional cinema.

George A. Romero’s Dawn of the Dead (1978) is celebrated both as a ‘splatter’ movie and as a satire of 1970s consumerism. One of the most financially successful independent films ever produced, Dawn of the Dead presented a strong vision to audiences of the time in terms of its excessive, often shocking violence. It challenged censorship internationally and caused controversy in the United States and the UK. The film created problems with distributors because of its length and its graphic content; with the MPAA who awarded it an ‘X’ in America (a rating usually reserved for pornography); with the BBFC in the UK who completely recut it; and in various European territories where it was released in several versions. Arguably, excess is at the heart of Dawn of the Dead, integral to its meaning: not only in its scenes of gore, its in-your-face social satire and its gaudy pop-kitsch style but in the production history of the film itself. This Devil’s Advocate explores the various ways in which Romero took Dawn of the Dead into areas of extremity during its scripting, production and distribution; and the responses of industry, censorship bodies, reviewers and audiences of the time to the film’s excesses. Taking the approach of a micro-historical study, Jon Towlson offers a close analysis of the film’s production context to explore the cultural significance of Dawn of the Dead as a ‘rebel text’ and an example of oppositional cinema.

The Masque of the Red Death (1964), the seventh collaboration between producer-director Roger Corman and horror icon Vincent Price, became the crowning achievement for both men, their masterpiece. After the critical and commercial success of House of Usher in 1960, Corman fervently desired to adapt Edgar Allan Poe’s story, ‘The Masque of the Red Death’ as his next project, but the tale took three years to finally become, not Corman’s second Poe film, but his second to last. Its long development benefitted the end result, and the story of its making reveals the persistence and vision of Corman, the artist and entrepreneur of classic horror. In this Devil’s Advocate, Steve Haberman takes an auteurist approach to the film with Corman as the ultimate author of the work. He explores the emergence of Corman’s themes and techniques through directorial control and compares them with the intentions and concerns of the story’s original creator, Poe. In his research, Haberman secured both drafts of the script, the first by Charles Beaumont and the last by R. Wright Campbell, consulted published interviews and met with Corman. The result illuminates not only the film but the profound and profoundly dark world views of both Roger Corman and Edgar Allan Poe.

The Cabin in the Woods (2012), directed by Drew Goddard and co-authored by Goddard and Joss Whedon of Buffy-fame, was famously described by co-author Whedon as his ‘loving hate letter’ to horror. Interviews with Whedon reveal that his struggles with modern cinematic horror are not merely emotional, but intensely philosophical. This book is the first to read Cabin as a philosophical metatext that asks what horror offers audiences and why audiences accept. Like any good philosophy, the film offers no answers but raises questions: what ‘choices’ are possible in a pre-determined universe? How do we, the audience, see the victims of violence, and with what ethical consequences? And finally, the most fraught question of all: why do we keep looking?

'Created’ by Steven Spielberg yet officially directed by Tobe Hooper, Poltergeist(1982) can be best described as ‘family horror movie’ both in its target audience and in its narrative context, the story of an All-American suburban family, the Freelings, whose home suddenly becomes the site of a spectacular haunting, apparently summoned by their young daughter. The film is somewhat of an anachronism and this Devil's Advocate explores this in both the scope of production and narrative.The book discusses the duality of the text highlighting debates surrounding both Spielberg's somewhat saccharine portrayal of middle-class Americana and his more subversive cinematic endeavours. The duality of the text also will also be discussed in the context of the film's production – with both Spielberg and Hooper on set for much of the time, the result was a movie with the production values, effects and marketing of a high budget mainstream cinema blockbuster apparently directed by a subversive 'grindhouse' cinema auteur. Yet Poltergeist is neither nor both of those things, instead being a unique hybrid of genres and styles taking the best and worst from both aspects of family blockbuster and cult horror film, and as such can be seen as a text that is something unique – a classic modern take on the traditional haunted house story.

'Created’ by Steven Spielberg yet officially directed by Tobe Hooper, Poltergeist(1982) can be best described as ‘family horror movie’ both in its target audience and in its narrative context, the story of an All-American suburban family, the Freelings, whose home suddenly becomes the site of a spectacular haunting, apparently summoned by their young daughter. The film is somewhat of an anachronism and this Devil's Advocate explores this in both the scope of production and narrative.The book discusses the duality of the text highlighting debates surrounding both Spielberg's somewhat saccharine portrayal of middle-class Americana and his more subversive cinematic endeavours. The duality of the text also will also be discussed in the context of the film's production – with both Spielberg and Hooper on set for much of the time, the result was a movie with the production values, effects and marketing of a high budget mainstream cinema blockbuster apparently directed by a subversive 'grindhouse' cinema auteur. Yet Poltergeist is neither nor both of those things, instead being a unique hybrid of genres and styles taking the best and worst from both aspects of family blockbuster and cult horror film, and as such can be seen as a text that is something unique – a classic modern take on the traditional haunted house story.

Martin Scorsese’s Cape Fear (1991) opens with a shot of water andclimaxes on a raging river. Despite, or perhaps because of, the film’s great commercialsuccess, critical analysis of the film typically does not delve beneath the surface of Scorsese’s first major box office hit. As it reaches its 30th anniversary, Cape Fear is now ripe for a full appraisal.The remake of J. Lee Thompson’s 1962 Cape Fear was originally conceived as a straightforward thriller intended for Steven Spielberg. Author Rob Daniel investigates the fascinating ways Scorsese’s style and preoccupations transform his version into a horror epic. The director’s love of fear cinema, his Catholicism and filmmaking techniques shift Cape Fear into terrifying psychological and psychosexual waters. The analysis also examines the influence of Gothic literature and fairy tales, plus how academic approaches to genre aid an understanding of the film.

Martin Scorsese’s Cape Fear (1991) opens with a shot of water andclimaxes on a raging river. Despite, or perhaps because of, the film’s great commercialsuccess, critical analysis of the film typically does not delve beneath the surface of Scorsese’s first major box office hit. As it reaches its 30th anniversary, Cape Fear is now ripe for a full appraisal.The remake of J. Lee Thompson’s 1962 Cape Fear was originally conceived as a straightforward thriller intended for Steven Spielberg. Author Rob Daniel investigates the fascinating ways Scorsese’s style and preoccupations transform his version into a horror epic. The director’s love of fear cinema, his Catholicism and filmmaking techniques shift Cape Fear into terrifying psychological and psychosexual waters. The analysis also examines the influence of Gothic literature and fairy tales, plus how academic approaches to genre aid an understanding of the film.

This Devil’s Advocate explores the cinematic wonders of Brian Desmond Hurst’s much loved 1951 adaptation of A Christmas Carol, Scrooge, through the prism of horror cinema, arguing that the film has less in common with cosy festive tradition than it does with terror cinema like James Whale’s Bride of Frankenstein, Robert Weine’s The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, and F.W. Murnau’s Faust. Beginning with Charles Dickens himself, a prolific writer of ghost stories, with A Christmas Carol being but one of many, Colin Fleming then considers earlier cinematic adaptations including 1935’s folk-horror-like Scrooge, before offering a full account of the Hurst/Sim version, stressing what must always be kept at the forefront of our minds: this is a ghost story.

This Devil’s Advocate explores the cinematic wonders of Brian Desmond Hurst’s much loved 1951 adaptation of A Christmas Carol, Scrooge, through the prism of horror cinema, arguing that the film has less in common with cosy festive tradition than it does with terror cinema like James Whale’s Bride of Frankenstein, Robert Weine’s The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, and F.W. Murnau’s Faust. Beginning with Charles Dickens himself, a prolific writer of ghost stories, with A Christmas Carol being but one of many, Colin Fleming then considers earlier cinematic adaptations including 1935’s folk-horror-like Scrooge, before offering a full account of the Hurst/Sim version, stressing what must always be kept at the forefront of our minds: this is a ghost story.

Premiering at the 1981 Cannes Film Festival, Andrzej Żuławski’s Possession remains a distinct phenomenon. Though in competition for the illustrious Palme d’Or, its art cinema context did not rescue it from being banned as part of the United Kingdom’s ‘video nasties’ campaign, alongside unashamedly lowbrow titles such as Faces of Death and Zombie Flesh Eaters. Skirting the boundary between art and exploitation, body horror and cerebral reverie, relationship drama and political statement, Possession is a truly astonishing film. Part visceral horror, part surreal experiment, part gothic romance dressed in the iconography of a spy thriller: there is no doubt that the polarity evinced by Possession’s initial release was in part a product of its resistance to clear categorisation.With a production history almost as bizarre as the film itself, a cult following gained with its VHS release, and being re-appreciated in the decades since as a valuable work of auteur cinema, the story of how this film came to be is as fascinating as it is unfathomable. Alison Taylor’s Devil’s Advocate considers Possession’s history, stylistic achievement, and legacy as an enduring and unique work of horror cinema. Beginning with a marital breakdown and ending with an apocalypse, the film’s strangeness has not dissipated over time; its transgressive imagery, histrionic performances, and spiral staircase logic remain affective and confounding to critics and fans alike. Respecting the film’s wilfully enigmatic nature, this book helps to unpack its key threads, including the collision between the banal and the horrific, the socio-historical context of its divided Berlin setting, and the significance of its legacy, particularly with regard to the contemporary trend for extreme art horror on the festival circuit.

Premiering at the 1981 Cannes Film Festival, Andrzej Żuławski’s Possession remains a distinct phenomenon. Though in competition for the illustrious Palme d’Or, its art cinema context did not rescue it from being banned as part of the United Kingdom’s ‘video nasties’ campaign, alongside unashamedly lowbrow titles such as Faces of Death and Zombie Flesh Eaters. Skirting the boundary between art and exploitation, body horror and cerebral reverie, relationship drama and political statement, Possession is a truly astonishing film. Part visceral horror, part surreal experiment, part gothic romance dressed in the iconography of a spy thriller: there is no doubt that the polarity evinced by Possession’s initial release was in part a product of its resistance to clear categorisation.With a production history almost as bizarre as the film itself, a cult following gained with its VHS release, and being re-appreciated in the decades since as a valuable work of auteur cinema, the story of how this film came to be is as fascinating as it is unfathomable. Alison Taylor’s Devil’s Advocate considers Possession’s history, stylistic achievement, and legacy as an enduring and unique work of horror cinema. Beginning with a marital breakdown and ending with an apocalypse, the film’s strangeness has not dissipated over time; its transgressive imagery, histrionic performances, and spiral staircase logic remain affective and confounding to critics and fans alike. Respecting the film’s wilfully enigmatic nature, this book helps to unpack its key threads, including the collision between the banal and the horrific, the socio-historical context of its divided Berlin setting, and the significance of its legacy, particularly with regard to the contemporary trend for extreme art horror on the festival circuit.

Directed by Richard Donner and written by David Seltzer, The Omen (1976) is perhaps the best in the devil-child cycle of movies that followed in the wake of Rosemary’s Baby and The Exorcist. Released to a highly suggestible public, The Omen became a major commercial success, in no small part due to an elaborate pre-sell campaign that played and preyed on apocalyptic fears and a renewed belief in the Devil and the supernatural. Sincepolarising critics and religious groups upon its release, The Omen hasearned its place in the horror film canon. It’s a film that works on different levels, is imbued with nuance, ambiguity and subtext, and is open to opposinginterpretations. Reflectingthe film’s cultural impact and legacy, the name ‘Damien’ has since become apop culture byword for an evil child.Adrian Schober’s Devil’s Advocate entry covers the genesis, authorship, production history, marketing and reception of The Omen, before going on to examine the overarching theme of paranoia that drives the narrative: paranoia about the 'end times'; paranoia about government and conspiracy; paranoia about child rearing (especially, if one strips away the layer of Satanism); and paranoia about imagined threats to the right-wing Establishment from liberal and post-countercultural forces of the 1970s.

Directed by Richard Donner and written by David Seltzer, The Omen (1976) is perhaps the best in the devil-child cycle of movies that followed in the wake of Rosemary’s Baby and The Exorcist. Released to a highly suggestible public, The Omen became a major commercial success, in no small part due to an elaborate pre-sell campaign that played and preyed on apocalyptic fears and a renewed belief in the Devil and the supernatural. Sincepolarising critics and religious groups upon its release, The Omen hasearned its place in the horror film canon. It’s a film that works on different levels, is imbued with nuance, ambiguity and subtext, and is open to opposinginterpretations. Reflectingthe film’s cultural impact and legacy, the name ‘Damien’ has since become apop culture byword for an evil child.Adrian Schober’s Devil’s Advocate entry covers the genesis, authorship, production history, marketing and reception of The Omen, before going on to examine the overarching theme of paranoia that drives the narrative: paranoia about the 'end times'; paranoia about government and conspiracy; paranoia about child rearing (especially, if one strips away the layer of Satanism); and paranoia about imagined threats to the right-wing Establishment from liberal and post-countercultural forces of the 1970s.

There is something weird and eerie going on in the oneiric Iranian ghost-town Bad City. A mysterious female vampire, clad in a long-black veil, imbued with occult and erotic power, has newly arrived in town and is summarily dispensing with its unsavory characters. Through a chance encounter in a night of luminal darkness, an eternally dark romance begins – baptized in love’s blood. Shot in dazzling anamorphic black and white cinematography and accompanied with an intoxicating and mesmeric soundtrack, Ana Lily Amirpour’s debut feature film A GirlWalks Home Alone At Night (2014), was an instant popular and critical success. Dubbed ‘the first Iranian vampire western’ the genre-bending film is a pastiche of genres such as vampire cinema, gothic and horror films, spaghetti westerns, graphic novels, and Iranian cinema; yet the film stands as a new vampire fairy-tale with a unique style all its own. The first full-length study dedicated to the film since its release, this book in the Devil’s Advocate series provides a unique approach to the film situated within three theoretical coordinates: the vampire genre, psychoanalytic (film) theory and German Idealism.