Chronologically, the first movie that got me thinking about this idea was Watcher. More psychological thriller than horror (unless you are a woman), the story follows a woman named Julia who becomes isolated socially and culturally when she and her husband move to Bucharest for his job. Julia becomes aware of someone watching her from an apartment across the street, and the rest of the movie is us wondering if this guy really is a serial killer or just an awkward creep. Despite a number of alarming signs, her husband doesn't believe her, the police don't believe her, and Julia is only vindicated at the end of the movie when the awkward creep (who is, of course, also a murderer) almost kills her. The final brilliant scene is the I-fucking-TOLD-you look she exchanges with her husband after she shoots the guy. The movie ends there, but I'm pretty sure a sequel would involve a divorce.
The next one I watched was Alex Garland's Men. I knew nothing about this movie going in, which is my favourite way of watching movies and probably the only way to watch this one. (I read a review of it afterwards that used the term "metaphorror," which I loved and am stealing.) In this film, Harper, like Julia, also finds herself in an unfamiliar setting, this time at an old house in the idyllic British countryside, which is apparently only populated by creepy dudes who all share an alarming physical resemblance. (As an aside, she should have turned around and driven home immediately after seeing the blood-red walls of the country house, because blood-red walls are never a good sign, but she didn't.) Harper has experienced some trauma and wants to escape for a while, but the men in this town (who become a metaphor for all shitty men throughout our patriarchal history, including religious figures and the police, of course, who don't do anything to help her) won't let that happen. There is a pretty bonkers scene near the end where the the pagan Green Man figure/exhibitionist pervert who has been stalking Harper gives a monstrously twisted version of birth to one of the other male characters, who in turn gives an even more monstrously twisted version of birth to another one, and another one, and another one, until Harper's dead husband is sitting next to her on the couch, blaming her for the abusive behaviour that ultimately resulted in his demise, accidental or not. We don't actually see Harper refusing to accept this blame and using the axe she holds in her lap on this fucker, but she is alive the next morning when her pregnant friend arrives, so chalk another one up for the ladies. We are nothing if not resilient.
While the aforementioned last scene was pretty horrific and gruesome (and fun, if you're into that sort of thing, which I am), an earlier scene is the one that really haunts me. In this scene, Harper walks into town to grab a drink at the pub, which her landlord has assured her is pretty good. She is the only woman there, and, while nothing really happens besides the landlord trying to buy her a drink, which she refuses, there is a familiar sense of unease and tension that will likely resonate with most women, which is the understanding that something really, really bad could happen here because she is a woman, and alone.
As an aside, I am, in general, a confident person. I am pretty good at handling being hit on, and I am comfortable with my sexuality. I like hanging out with guys, and I don't think they are all inherently misogynistic jerks. However, there were two occasions in my life when I felt distinctly uncomfortable and aware of my female powerlessness. The pub scene in Men reminded me of these occasions.
On occasion the first, I was with a male friend (not my boyfriend) at another guy's apartment, a friend of my friend. (I think we were going to a rock show later, although I can't remember exactly.) So anyway, the vibe at this guy's apartment was heavily bro, and there were a lot of other guys there, drinking beer and playing cards. And the thing that made me uncomfortable, such a small thing, really, was the deck of cards they were playing with, which was a nudie deck. I don't have a problem with nudity or sexuality, but the fact that I was the only woman in an apartment full of strange men was unsettling when combined with the images of the 52 naked women being shuffled, commented on, and dealt across the table. Nothing bad happened, but it could have, and there would have been little I could have done about it. That sense of unease has stayed with me.
On occasion the second, I was shooting a promo video for some friends. My role in these videos was to provide cleavage and a sense of silly sexual raunch. I had done it before, and I trusted the guys. I let them objectify me, but I was in control, and I never felt pressured to do more than I was comfortable with. On this day, I met the gang at the Motorcourt Motel. The room had a red heart-shaped jacuzzi and porn was playing on the TV in the corner. I knew a few of the guys but not all (there were maybe seven or eight), and, again, as the only woman there, that sense of unease returned, heightened by the moaning and grunting coming from the TV screen. This particular group of boys was known for being sleazy (that was the whole point of my being there), so I felt uncomfortable asking them to maybe at least turn the sound off. Porn in the comfort of your own home is one thing, but walking in on a bunch of guys all watching together, in a room whose primary furnishings were a bed and a hot tub, was rather unnerving. (Plus, there was the video camera.) Again, the only bad thing that happened was my discomfort.
In neither of those instances did I feel entirely safe. I was on guard, even while I stood around in a bikini, aware that I had put myself in that position. And maybe, as a woman, that is the most terrifying feeling of all: the potential helplessness, the needing to be on guard. Because you just never know, do you?
The final movie of the Believe Her trilogy is Barbarian. In this one, the most direct of the bunch but no less enjoyable or relevant for its bluntness, another young woman, Tess, finds herself in a strange part of town (Detroit this time) at an airbnb that has been double-booked. Tess is understandably wary of spending the night in a house with a man she doesn't know, but they eventually hit it off, even though things are already pretty fucking weird. Unpredictably, this guy is not a creepy murderer, although a creepy murderer does indeed exist in the subterranean tunnels beneath the house. Horror tropes abound (don't go into the basement!), but the way this film depicts the way the female character reacts to the discovery of a blood-stained mattress, a rusty bucket, and a video camera versus the way the male character does is both amusing and scary as hell. Of course the police disregard Tess when she escapes and tries to warn them, of course she goes back in to save a stranger who will later try to sacrifice her to save himself, and of course she will survive, but, sweet Jesus, the nightmare she goes through to do it.
So I was thinking about the similarities between these movies and how they are different from the typical horror movie of yore. The final girl has always been victimized and abused and terrorized, but she is stronger and smarter than the men. Of course she is; she has had to be from the beginning of time in order to survive. But this latest crop of final girl films have added the message we have learned over these past few years with the Me Too movement, which is that when a woman tells you something is wrong, something is dangerous, something terrible is going on, she is right. So fucking listen to her.
