Rachel Denham-White

Freaky

A Grisly, Girlboss Murder-Spree

raChel denhaM-White is a literature student who spends her days dreaming about Sapphic witches?

Do you like horror films? What about slashers? Do you mind if the characters exist to get killed, or do you prefer for them to have interesting personalities? How about the killer? Do they have to be walking monoliths of brute force, or can they add a few quips? What about gore? When you pick your horror film, is it the bloodier the better? Well, if all the above is true, I’ve got a gem of a movie for you!

Freaky is my ultimate, guilty pleasure horror movie and I want to sing its praises this October.

Freaky is a body-swapping narrative starring Vince Vaughn and Kathryn Newton, where a shy, reserved, and unpopular high school girl is stuck in the body of a hulking serial killer. As Millie desperately tries to get her body back, the Blissfield Butcher uses his new immunity to wreak havoc upon the town and murder any student who gets in his way (or slightly annoys him). Directed by Christopher Landon, the creator behind the Happy Death Day movies, Freaky hits as the perfect blend of horror and comedy, and a serious blood fest!

Firstly, the acting is top notch. Vaughn and Newton play dual roles and both of them are absolutely amazing as their body-swapped other. It’s hilarious to see a huge man like Vaughn take on the mannerisms of an insecure teenager, and Newton is the perfect blend of sexy and menacing when she takes up the mantle of the Blissfield Butcher. The cast is made up of fun side characters, such as Millie’s precocious friends, her cute but dull love interest, a couple of mean girls, and a truly unforgettable woodworking teacher played by Alan Ruck.

Freaky is a Blumhouse film, which means it’s definitely aimed at a younger generation of horror viewers. This does show a little bit,

as the high school segments are dominated by modern day slang, references, and jokes meant to appeal to a younger crowd. However, I’d argue that Freaky still appeals to all, as the film deals with interesting ideas of gender fluidity through the body-swapping narrative, and complex themes such as grief and insecurity. I have to applaud the film for its representation, as it includes a queer teen (played by non-binary actor Misha Osherovich), who is not: A) villainized; B) killed off in the first few minutes; or C) camp to the point of absurdity. Instead, the film presents an actual, enjoyable, and relatable LGBTQ+ character.

But (and this is a big but) here comes my guilty pleasure part. The film is utterly, unashamedly post-feminist, as The Butcher in Millie’s body becomes a pseudo-girlboss and does not take kindly to any of the casual sexism thrown at them. For someone who’s watched girl after girl get chopped up by a misogynistic killer in horror movies, I had so much fun cheering when the douchey, incel jocks are all murdered in horrific ways. Like I said, guilty pleasure.

And the cherry on top of the cake is that even though this film appeals to a younger crowd, Freaky is rated R! So there is no holding back on the blood, as the movie showcases some truly monumental gore. I thought I’d seen every way you can murder someone, but then Freaky proved me wrong. I won’t give too many spoilers, but one particular scene with a buzzsaw earned a standing ovation from me at the practical effects! For the gore hounds out there, Freaky won’t disappoint.

So, if you’re sick to death of rinse-and-repeat 80’s slasher films, or the plethora of terrible slasher remakes from the early 2000’s, or you just can’t watch another Conjuring movie, then what are you waiting for? Grab the friends, grab the popcorn, turn off the lights and give Freaky a watch this Halloween.

Berenice’s Lover

raChel denhaM-White

Content Warning: Violence

Berenice was in her early twenties when I first entered the stone-walled and crumbling sepulchre of the family mansion. The two of them could always be found in the library, her fair hair shining like a candle in the gloom of the bookcases, while he seemed to fade into the fawn leather of his armchair. The nuptials were already made, but tedious issues of funding meant we had a great deal of empty time to spend together. I spent that time sitting on the divan in the corner of the room. At first, I had books to occupy me, but when their fragile, spotted pages ceased to interest me, my gaze drifted over to her and stayed there.

HE COULDN’T HAVE kNOWN. HE WAS NOT WORTHY OF HER.

We both looked. How could we not? Berenice was a shaft of sunlight in that room, as bright as an ember smoking among dark coals. He had his marital right, and I was overstepping my place, but still I let my eyes drift over her body. Her delicate frame. Her fine-boned features. The golden cage of her hair, secured with a pearl hatpin. How could he have known the number of times I slid that hatpin into her soft tresses, restoring her to the picture of womanly innocence each morning after a night we spent together. How could he know how I pressed my face into her white flanks to stifle my moans, as her fingers coaxed sensations of icy heat all along my body. How could he know the texture of the inside of her wrist, smooth and supple as fine linen? Or the hollow of her throat, the way it shook and trembled as I brushed feather light kisses over her creamy skin.

He couldn’t have known. He was not worthy of her.

And so the anger and jealousy bubbled over and seemed to flood through me, tinging my veins with stinging hate. My gaze moved from her to him, his shrunken form confined to that armchair. I knew he spent his days looking, but slowly, dreadfully, I began to understand. I would stare at the profile of his face for as long as I dared, and I began to map the desire in his features. But not the kind I felt, a rosy blush igniting in my ribs and pooling between my legs. A dark, questioning desire. He stared at Berenice as though he wanted to understand how she worked, to take her apart piece by piece, peel back the skin and muscle, stick his face past the white bars into the red, beating rhythm of her soul.

If a gaze like that could wilt the woman I so ardently adored, what would his caresses look like? I dreaded to think of how her petals would be plucked in the marriage bed.

One day, we sat in the library together and I for once, I was trying not to look at Berenice. She and I had concocted a private joke in the small hours that morning. One hidden glance between us was enough to send us into a fit of remembered hilarity. I smiled into my sleeve and turned my eyes to him instead.

My blood ran cold.

What was this new expression? I thought I had understood his urges as simple lust before, but now, I was transfixed with horror at the naked obsession upon his face. Eyes bulging, teeth gritted, he sat like a hound on point. He stared at Berenice with a burning