Editorials
Examining Satanic Panic in ‘Stranger Things’, and the Real-Life Tragedy that Inspired Eddie Munson
Warning: Stranger Things 4 Spoilers Ahead! Wearing black, listening to metal, and having dyed-black hair are all indicative of cult activity and devil worship. Of course, sound minds immediately see this fallacy for what it is, but that didn’t stop it from being the conclusion many reached during the Satanic Panic of the 1980s and 1990s.
As Netflix’s Stranger Things takes place in the middle of this paranoia-fueled era, Panic’s influence on the show is true to history.
Flayed by The Church of Satan
Beginning in 1980 with the book Michelle Remembers by Lawrence Pazder and Michelle Smith, society quickly became fearful of a global satanic cult that was believed to be intent on hurting children. Luckily, some of these murderous members could be quickly identified due to their fashion choices, musical taste, or general interests (/s).
This global cult allegedly headed by the Church of Satan was widely believed to be committing “ritualistic assaults” on children.
One belief was that this nefarious cult could create an alternate personality within a victim embedded deep within their subconscious. This was believed so much so, that Catherine Gould and Louis Cozolino published in the Journal of Psychology and Theology in 1992 that victims of ritualistic abuse may “maintain cult contact unbeknownst to either the host personality or the treating therapist.”
Catherine Gould also published a highly criticized list of “indicators” that someone had been a victim of Satanic ritual abuse. The list is comprised of run-of-the-mill symptoms typically experienced by those enduring any manner of stress.
To put this concept into Stranger Things terminology: Victims of ritualistic abuse were believed to be like Will when he was flayed in Stranger Things 2… a spy for the Mindflayer. In this case, the Mindflayer was The Church of Satan, and those who wore black and liked rock music were believed to be a part of the Mindflayer’s army. The way to tell if someone was flayed or not was if they appeared stressed. Color me flayed.
During this panic-filled era, “over 12,000 unsubstantiated cases” were brought forth. From these cases, sprangnumerous false convictions. Now, Stranger Things’ already-beloved newcomer Eddie Munson (Joseph Quinn) seems poised to be the next casualty of the times.
Stranger Things 4 Set the Stage for Satanic Panic
The fate of Eddie seemed to be set from his first appearance on the show as he dramatically reads aloud a Newsweek article about Dungeons and Dragons:
“The Devil has come to America. At first regarded as a harmless game of make-believe, Dungeons and Dragons now has both parents and psychologists concerned. Studies have linked violent behavior to the game, saying it promotes satanic worship, ritual sacrifice, sodomy, suicide, and even murder.”
The negative outlook society held at the time was demonstrated again in the first episode of ST4 as Mike (Finn Wolfhard) sought to find a replacement player for Lucas (Caleb McLaughlin). One student replied that D&D“promotes Satanism and animal cruelty.” When Mike objects to this outlandish claim, the student retorts that “60 Minutes begs to differ.”
From there, how this town must view someone like Eddie Munson was loud and clear. Then a twist of fate made things much worse for him.
Demonizing Eddie Munson
When cheerleading classmate Chrissy Cunningham (Grace Van Dien) is found murdered in Eddie’s trailer, the police and Hawkins alike do not take long to point the finger at the long-haired, drug-dealing, two-time-flunking rocker. As for the motive, they needn’t look any further than his Hellfire Club, with a name and logo meant clearly to honor Satan.
The answers to common sense questions that would exclude Eddie as a suspect did not matter. The lack of blood at the crime scene, the multitude of broken bones, and the imprint on the ceiling all indicate that this was not the work of a teenage boy, and yet he appears to be the only suspect.
If any of this rings a bell, it was intended to. As confirmed by Netflix Geeked on Twitter, Eddie Munson is “loosely based” on an actual individual: the wrongfully convicted Damien Echols of the West Memphis 3, who infamously found himself up against Satanic Panic.
Who is Damien Echols?
For those unfamiliar with the case, Echols and two of his close friends were arrested, tried, and convicted for the horrific murder of three 8-year-old children in West Memphis, Arkansas, in 1993.
The case gathered nationwide attention and criticism because, as portrayed by the HBO documentary Paradise Lost, all three teenagers were convicted without a single shred of tangible evidence linking them to the crime.
Trial By Fire, Satan’s to Blame
Echols and company were tried in the court of public opinion before the murder trial ever began. Known for their all-black style and interest in bands like Metallica and Megadeath, the town in Arkansas very quickly accepted the finger pointed at the goth teens.
While most will assert that the crime scene does not suggest an occult-style killing whatsoever, Paradise Lostexhibited the State arguing otherwise. The fact that the killings happened on the night of a full moon, as well as the murders taking place days after the pagan holidays Beltane and Walpurgisnacht, were presented by the court to determine occult activity was the motivating factor.
Damien Echols rejected this idea himself, proclaiming that people would rather believe this to be the work of an evil satanist than to be a crime perpetrated by someone close to one of the victims (Paradise Lost 2).
After all, it is more comfortable an idea that monsters would adhere to a certain uniform. That way, society can tell who the monsters are by simply looking at them, and one couldn’t possibly be hiding amongst them in plain sight.
Pursuant Outrage
Upon the release of the documentary Paradise Lost, detailing the court proceedings and Damien Echols’ journey into the criminal justice system, large swaths of society were quickly outraged. Johnny Depp, Winona Ryder, and Sir Peter Jackson were among the celebrities who came forward with an outpouring of support for Echols and his two friends.
Having an interest in the darker facets of life does not equate with being a murderer, and proving someone’s interest in magick is not proof of guilt. Furthermore, the police department proved negligent in collecting real evidence to secure their convictions for the crime. Despite all of this, all three defendants were found guilty.
There was nothing tangible that linked Echols to the murders. The state failed to prove its burden of motive or means as having an interest in Aleister Crowley is not cause for murder. Despite this, the state’s secured conviction of the goth troubled teen who doodled pentagrams made a loud and clear statement on how society viewed guilt:
If someone’s innocence is in question, look no further than the shirts they wear.
Nearly twenty years after their conviction, each member of the West Memphis 3 trio was released from prison on an Alford plea. This sort of plea amounts to a compromise in the legal justice system. It allowed them to proclaim their innocence while acknowledging that they’re still considered guilty.
Although it has been over ten years since his release, Damien Echols is still fighting today to prove his innocence once and for all.
“Welcome to Where Time Stands Still”
Between being hunted by Hawkins and plunged into the Upside Down, the plight of the Hellfire Club founder, Eddie Munson, is a suspenseful one. Will he join the ranks of those wrongfully convicted during Satanic Panic? Or will he find an even worse fate at the hands of season 4’s villain, Vecna? Only time will tell.
The United States spent most of this year celebrating its 250th anniversary. There have been parades, fireworks, and endless reminders of what the nation wants us to think are its founding ideals. Yet anniversaries are as much about what we choose to remember as they are about what we choose to forget. There is another anniversary this year. Five years ago this month, Candyman was released. The fact that both that film and America are sharing an anniversary this year may have been an accident, but that makes it no less significant.
Released amid another national reckoning over race, Nia DaCosta’s film asks a question that every celebration of America ought to confront: Is it possible to commemorate this nation without fully reckoning with the violence woven into its history? More than a sequel to a horror classic, Candyman is a meditation on the ghosts that haunt America because it has never fully reckoned with the past that created them.
How the Original Candyman Confronted America’s Racial History
The original Candyman understood this. Released in 1992 and set in the almost post-apocalyptic urban decay that was Chicago’s Cabrini-Green housing projects, Bernard Rose’s film arrived only months after the L.A. Race Riots, a moment when this country was coming to terms with the way the country’s relationship with Black folks was shaped by decades of segregation and racism.
Most audiences saw a supernatural slasher about a hook-handed killer summoned by saying his name five times into a mirror. But beneath the horror was a far more unsettling story. Candyman was about the lingering consequences of America’s racial history and the way white America has sometimes turned Black suffering into myth instead of confronting the systems that produced it.
The film’s true horror was never simply Candyman. It was the realization that monsters can be born from histories a nation refuses to face. That is exactly where the 2021 film expands the original’s vision.
Nia DaCosta’s Candyman Turns One Ghost Into Many
Bernard Rose’s Candyman explored the legacy of a single act of racist terror. Nia DaCosta’s film argues that the tragedy wasn’t confined to Daniel Robitaille, the man who became the monster. The 2021 film posits that Candyman is not one man but many.
Daniel Robitaille was lynched for loving a white woman. Sherman Fields takes on the mantle of the supernatural slasher because he was beaten to death by police after being falsely accused of harming a child. Anthony McCoy ultimately becomes part of the same legend. Their stories span generations, but they are connected by a nation that repeatedly produces the same injustice under different names at different points in history. The genius of the sequel is that it transforms Candyman from an individual ghost into a symbol of America’s recurring racial violence.
Candyman Shows How History Repeats Itself
History, the film suggests, is not something that happened once. It is something that keeps happening. That is why Candyman is one of my favorite films to teach in my Film and Philosophy course.
Students walk into class expecting a horror movie. They leave wrestling with questions about history, memory, and justice. We spend little time talking about jump scares or gore. (Because, let’s be honest, there is not much of that in the film.) Instead, we ask why some histories become legends while others are forgotten, what societies owe their victims, and whether a nation can ever move forward without honestly confronting the violence that shaped it.
The Horror of Remembering What America Wants to Forget
A good horror film reveals what we fear. What makes Candyman great is how it reveals what we would rather not remember. That is what haunted me the first time I saw it, long after the credits had rolled.
Five years after its release, Candyman remains one of the most unsettling movies in recent years because the history it confronts is not safely behind us. The original film understood that America’s racial violence could not simply be buried, while the 2021 film showed how easily that violence can be reproduced across generations.
Its Unquestionable Legacy in Horror
As America celebrates 250 years, Candyman reminds us that commemorating the nation’s founding requires remembering all this country’s history, including the parts that make the celebration uncomfortable.
We cannot exorcise a ghost by refusing to acknowledge why it exists. Perhaps that is the film’s most important lesson. The past does not haunt us because we remember it. It haunts us because we don’t.
Sometimes it feels borderline ridiculous to gush about John Carpenter’s The Thing as much as I do. It’s gotten to the point where when I’m asked about my favorite horror film by both friends and strangers, a little bit of embarrassment tinges my expression as I answer; it feels so obvious and rarely surprises anyone. Saying I love The Thing when people expect me to bust out an obscure foreign horror film or a cerebral thriller makes me feel like a rosy cheeked child with a propeller hat and a giant lollipop. “Wow, you love one of the most popular horror films of all time, congrats!”
But it’s just the truth. The first film of John Carpenter’s “Apocalypse Trilogy”, all three of its films are among my favorites. But The Thing has a special place in my heart. It shaped my taste in horror, my taste in most media in general, to be honest. It’s become the gold standard, 10/10 baseline test for the vast majority of my reviews; it is a perfect film, so I judge other films against it. And it’s one of the few movies I have to run back to and watch yearly like clockwork (usually when I’m spending a part of winter tied to the couch). It is, in all regards, the perfect film. If it isn’t the perfect film, then it is at the very least the perfect sci-fi horror film.
So, what exactly qualifies The Thing for literal perfection? It’s a high bar to clear. This article, as informal as it is compared to most of my editorials, is an attempt to explain it.
Even if Carpenter Isn’t the Goat, His Team for The Thing Was
As far as crews go, John Carpenter’s The Thing had the cinematic equivalent of the ’96 Chicago Bulls behind it. We’re talking about an amalgam of some of the most talented people to ever grace the silver screens with their work, boasting alongside John Carpenter two of the heaviest hitters in all of cinematic history: Dean Cundey, and Rob Bottin. Now, we can debate all day about whether John Carpenter is the greatest of all time when it comes to horror directors. Personally, I’m just as liable to say Cronenberg, Del Toro, or Hooper as I am to say Carpenter.
But the key factor to remember here is that Carpenter is the coach, not the star player; the Phil Jackson, if you will. Yes, he is the visionary who directed a near perfect cast of players and composed a tale of pure, apocalyptic paranoia. More importantly, he put together and coordinated the team that would make his vision manifest as reality. And if Carpenter is Phil Jackson, Rob Bottin is the team’s Michael Jordan here, the greatest of all time.
(And to all my Lebron fans, I love you, but you have to sit down for this analogy.)
The Legend of Rob Bottin
Bottin’s story is borderline unbelievable, but it’s the best way to explain how abnormally skilled he is and what he brought to the table for Carpenter. At age 14, Bottin became an apprentice to the at-the-time GOAT Rick Baker after sending him a letter seeking an autograph while sharing his creature designs. He was a quick study under Baker, joining him on the ’76 King Kong and Star Wars, before bouncing to Carpenter’s The Fog and then iconic werewolf picture The Howling.
When he reunited with Carpenter in 1982, he now had 6 classic films under his belt and was moving like an FX bullet train. From ages 22 to 23, he worked on The Thing for 57 weeks in both pre-production and on set. Nearly 24/7 for 400 days, Bottin’s all-gas no-brakes work ethic made The Thing at the cost of his own health, and it resulted in him being hospitalized with pneumonia. He survived and went on to make Robocop. And at least one of your favorite films.
Because no conventional disease or weaponry can kill Rob Bottin.
The Thing Still Features Horror’s Best Practical Effects
Okay, that last bit might be hyperbolic, but the man sincerely put his life on the line to make special effects that haven’t been topped since. Not the best effects in just horror history, or science fiction history, but effects that haven’t been topped in any genre for over 44 years. Not by his mentor Rick Baker, not by Screaming Mad George, not by Alec Gillis (though shoutout to him for his criminally scrapped work on The Thing (2011), and even more criminally ignored work on Harbinger Down). I love Dawn of the Dead, believe me, I do, but he certainly isn’t being beaten out by Tom Savini’s body of work. And that isn’t to disrespect and say that all of the artists that I just mentioned are bad, they’re the best in the game! But Rob Bottin was just that much better.
This inevitably invites the counterpoint: “But it wasn’t just Bottin! Stan Winston and his people were the ones who worked on the Dog Thing to give Bottin’s crew a break, and that’s the best monster in the movie!”. To which I say: look me in the eye and tell me the Dog Thing sequence is better than the Palmer Thing sequence. That’s not even counting the Norwegian Thing, both Norris Things, and the absolutely masterful final creature work that was the Blair Thing. The only reason Bottin and his people didn’t win Academy Awards for their work was because they got jumped by E.T., The Dark Crystal, Conan the Barbarian, and Blade Runner all at the same time at the Oscars. It’s just a consequence of being released during the best year for movies ever.
Okay, Now We Can Talk About Dean Cundey
But of course, these effects are then supported by another true legend: Dean Cundey. Selling people on Rob Bottin being the greatest effects artist of all time, isn’t nearly as difficult as advocating for Cundey, who despite an impressive catalog of filmography, slowed down in the back half of his career. He’s often overshadowed in conversations when it comes to The Thing; it’s always talk of Carpenter’s directing, Bottin’s effects, and Ennio Morricone’s incredible soundtrack up front, and rarely any of Cundey’s work. He isn’t spoken about in the same breath as John Alcott or Michael Ballhaus, cinematographers whose work is associated with prestigious cinema because of their proximity to great directors.
Cundey might not be the director of photography your Martin Scorsese’s or Paul Thomas Anderson’s went running to, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t think he was the most important cinematographer in horror history, just for his work with Carpenter and Spielberg. He helmed three of the most influential films in all of horror with his lighting and camera operating: The Thing, Halloween, and Jurassic Park. The man’s fingerprints are automatically on the cultural DNA of all slashers, most practical effects-driven horror films, and the biggest gateway horror franchise in film history.
The Dream Team That Made The Thing Perfection
Cundey has gone on record saying that despite Carpenter’s input, he was effectively given free rein to light and frame The Thing. The man didn’t just know how to shoot effects to make them evoke true disgust from the audience, he was able to manipulate every aspect of the shot to terrify. His sixth sense cinematography wasn’t just for lighting and playing with shadows, but for the speed of camera movement, the power of his blocking, and for having a complete grasp of communicating texture and temperature.
And temperature is the soul of The Thing. John J. Lloyd’s production design of the research station and the great white expanse around it feels just as bone chilling as the film’s antagonist, thanks to Cundey. There isn’t a single flat shot in the thing, not a moment that doesn’t feel dynamic, and it’s because of Dean Cundey.
Now, all this being said about Bottin and Cundey, they are far from the only ones who synthesized this structurally perfect organism of a movie. Every bit of Todd C. Ramsay’s editing splices the film’s scenes together to move perfectly in-time. David Lewis Yewdall’s sound design and how it gave a voice to the horrors on screen will be etched into people’s brains forever. The point is that everyone, every single person who had a hand in making the film, helped make the movie flawless.
Like the cells of the thing from another world, each crew member on John Carpenter’s The Thing moved in concert with the next, in unison, to create the greatest sci-fi horror of all time. So, is it any wonder why 40 some years later, the film still has us all captured?
