If it's in a word or it's in a look, you can't get rid of the Babadook.
"I've never seen a more terrifying film than the Babadook, it will scare the hell out of you". Not my words, they're those of William Friedkin, the director of The Exorcist (1973) - a film that is certain to give you a case of urinary incontinence. The Babadook is a special film, indeed. The psychological thriller is directed by Jennifer Kent - a once apprentice of the interesting insular insane infamous Lars von Trier. The film follows Amelia and her six year old son, Sam. His obsession with monsters and increasingly disruptive behaviour both at home and at school forces her to withdraw him, at least until she can deal with the cause of his issues. As she tucks him in one night, he asks his mother to read him a book. The eerie pop-up is a tale about, you guessed it, the Babadook. This rake-thin, Papa Lazarou-like figure is the worst type of monster to be told a story about. He's what you imagine lurking in the darkest corner of your room at night. He's the reason you have those nightmares in which you can't move a single inch of your body. He's everything you fear, and yet he's so much more than that. He's also who Tim Burton hired for his kid's birthday party. As you can imagine, this doesn't do her boy any good. Sam becomes convinced not only of the Babadook's existence, but of his presence in their home - repeatedly shouting "Don't let it in!" The Babadook himself is an embodiment of the fears that children have, and we see how, and to what end, a mother tries to control not only her son's state of mind, but also her own. That's the distinguishing element. That's what makes it different to clichéd, nightcrawlers such as the Boogeyman, where a thing surfaces in the middle of the night and picks them off one by one for no true purpose. What's most appealing about the Babadook is its focus on the relationship between a mother and her child. Her concern for his welfare is what drives her to the edge of insanity, and what makes you wish for her to drive back. Amelia's journey is a long and arduous one; her initial concern slowly becomes frustration, and then manifests into pure, cold, chilling fear. The additional grief and depression and insomnia is what she must endure to ultimately save her son from his trauma. That is the essence of the film. It is not dependent on moments that give you that brief cardiac arrest sensation, for there actually exists a message within the plot. The viewer is allowed to envisage whatever his/her imagination conjures. Whatever it is that you think, it will leave you aghast, of that there's no doubt. Ultimately, what you take from and understand of Amelia and Sam's experiences is what will really scare you. There are clues in the film's conclusion that suggest the ending you see isn't necessarily the one you should accept. It comes naturally that this interpretation is far less relieving and far more sinister than its alternative.
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