Interviews
[INTERVIEW] You Can’t Get Rid of ‘The Babadook:’ Jennifer Kent Discusses Her Feature Debut at 10
It’s hard to think of a horror icon from the 2010s that is as instantly recognizable as the eponymous entity in The Babadook, the directorial debut of Aussie filmmaker Jennifer Kent. With his long black coat, top hat, and grinning white face — all styled after Lon Chaney in the lost film London After Midnight — not to mention his memorable name, Mister Babadook is certainly distinctive.
It’s his post-release activities, however, that truly cemented him in the cultural consciousness. After bursting onto the scene at the 2014 Sundance Film Festival, Mister Babadook quickly pivoted from nightmare to meme to LGBTQ+ antihero and then on to Scream(2022) reference, a career trajectory that most horror villains can only dream of.
Yet despite the good fun we’ve had with its big bad over the years, The Babadook still has the power to hold and haunt us. Sitting in a theater in New York City in 2024 watching Amelia (Essie Davis) wrestling with insidious thoughts of murdering her young son, Samuel (Noah Wiseman), I found myself suddenly shifting in my seat, gripped with the same unease that chilled me when I first watched the film in Edinburgh a decade prior. There’s a reason that The Babadook made its way into a Scream film. The shadow it cast is long, and we’re still under it.
Kent herself seems quietly pleased about the lasting mark her film has made. To celebrate the 10th anniversary of The Babadook, I sat down with her at Fantastic Fest 2024 for a conversation about influence, Australianness, and getting audiences to care.
The following interview has been lightly edited for clarity and conciseness.
An Interview with The Babadook Director Jennifer Kent
Samantha McLaren: First off, I wanted to say a personal thank you for giving us a goth gay icon. I was Mister Babadook for Pride in 2017.
Jennifer Kent: Oh, I just love all that! It’s hilarious. I don’t think it’s ever going to go away.
SM: No, he’s in the pantheon of gay icons now; we’ve embraced him as our own.
But on a more serious note, The Babadook has become a kind of cultural milestone. People point to it as being at the start of this new era of horror, an era of — and I hate the term — “elevated” horror. But I’m curious what you view as the film’s greatest legacy.
JK: Wow. I don’t know if I can even answer that! I feel so inside it. I think a legacy is something that other people would perhaps be able to tell me.
I feel it’s influence, as in I feel the love for it. When you make a film and it first comes out, it’s all just such a rush and a blur. But now I can see as the film progresses, I feel really proud that it sits within a canon of films that I absolutely adore. I mean, there was a time when I wanted to make films, I hadn’t made a film, and it wasn’t that long ago. And I feel very proud of it, that it’s been embraced the way it has.
SM: One way you know your horror film has made it is when it’s referenced in a Scream movie. How did you first feel when you heard that?
JK: I mean, Scream I watched as a kid, so to have the film reference my film… it’s surreal. As well as The Simpsons and You’re the Worst and other things that have come up. It always tickles me. It’s a lovely moment.
SM: Australian horror as a whole has a reputation for being very intense, very scary, and often very violent. How do you see your film within the landscape of Aussie horror?
JK: Someone brought up the other day that a lot of Aussie horror is about our environment, because we obviously have cities like everywhere else, and quite populated cities, but we also have what they sometimes call the “dead heart,” which is just this huge expanse of desert. And the nature — you know, there’s the running joke that Australia will kill you, and I think a lot of horror from Australia has utilized that so beautifully.
But I think The Babadook is more interior. It’s what’s inside that will kill you, what’s in the house will kill you. Apart from, like, Lake Mungo, which is also a film that’s interior horror, it’s very different to many Australian horrors, like, say, Wolf Creek.
SM: Drastically different sides of the spectrum.
JK: But still somehow with something similar running through them. The Australianness is there.
SM: It’s a very interior film and a highly emotional film. How did you work with the actors to create a space of psychological safety for them to give such intense performances?
JK: I’m just inherently aware of it as an actor. I had five years of actor training, but I’ve acted since I was a child, unprofessionally and then professionally when I went to drama school. And just as a human, I’m a very sensitive person; I will often feel other people’s feelings for them if they’re not feeling them. So I could no more ignore an actor’s feelings or needs in a scene than fly to the moon, because it’s just so important to me. I work out what kind of actor they are and what they need as an actor — whether they want to talk a lot, not talk a lot; whether they’re a feelings person or more analytical — and then I’ll just keep them safe through lots of preparation.
With Noah, that five-year-old boy who turned six during our shoot — he’s a baby, and this is a scary story, so I needed to educate him and inform him about the story as much as I could, [give him] the child version. And then it’s just about protection and empowerment. And the same with Essie, really. Obviously, she’s not as scared, but it’s still about empowerment and protection.
SM: That really comes through.
JK: I hope so.
SM: You’ve spoken a lot in the past about the reaction toward your mother character who is perhaps not delighted about the joys of motherhood. But then you also have Samuel, this child who is intentionally overwhelming, even annoying, but still sympathetic. Was there any backlash to presenting a child like that?
JK: There was a lot of hatred for that character, which disturbed me, to be honest. I think if you look at the arc of the story, yes he’s annoying and deliberately so, because he’s being harassed and terrified by an entity and he’s the only one that can see it, which brings an enormous amount of frustration and rage in him, and fear.
But once he’s drugged, I fear for him. I don’t hate him, I fear for him, because he was telling the truth all along. So the people who really hate Sam as a character all the way through… I don’t know if I want to go around to their house and have dinner with them. [Laughs.]
The film really requires empathy for that little boy. I feel for him.
SM: You need empathy on both sides. You really feel for Amelia going through all this, but Sam is not to blame.
JK: No, and I think as a writer, I always endeavor to tell a story that has compassion for all the characters, even the ones who are almost irredeemable. I did the Cabinet of Curiosities with Guillermo del Toro recently, and the greatest compliment someone gave me on that was when the couple [in Kent’s episode, “The Murmuring”] were having this argument, this person felt he could understand both sides. It wasn’t like “she’s a bitch” or “he’s a bastard.” It was, “I feel for them both, they’re both lost in this argument.”
SM: I wanted to touch on The Babadook’s aesthetic. I know you were influenced by silent films. Are there any other time periods in horror that influence you or that you’d love to pull from for a future film?
JK: For The Babadook, I was really influenced by the Polanski trilogy of horror films in their design, how spare they are, and how meticulously placed they are. I was also impressed with beautiful films like The Innocents, the Jack Clayton film — I’m always impressed by early horror.
I’m looking to make a fantasy horror coming up next, and what I’ll go to in that is paintings. There’s always an influence waiting to be discovered, and that’s the exciting part of it.
SM: I have one last question for you. We talked a little about The Babadook being part of a new wave of horror. In the 10 years since it came out, are there any trends or movements in horror that you find particularly exciting or inspiring?
JK: I think that what’s exciting about this last decade is that films that have depth and complexity and heart to them are actually being financed. And not just being financed — they’re having money thrown at them for P&A [Prints and Advertising].
When The Babadook came out, it wasn’t in this climate where you could put it on in 500 screens. And now it is on 500 screens 10 years later, when originally, it was on two. I think that reflects the confidence that the powers that be — cinemas and financiers and people with money — have in films in the realm of The Babadook that are maybe a bit more complex and frightening.
Thank you to Jennifer Kent for speaking with us.
If it’s in a word or it’s in a look, you should go rewatch The Babadook.
“I promise, no one’s leaving here smarter tonight,” laughs Frank from the stage as he kicks off Cabane à Sang for its 9th annual trash horror film festival. The programming delivers an eclectic mix of gory, comedic, and bizarre short films from around the globe to a dedicated audience of enthusiastic fans.
What Is Cabane à Sang? A Quebec-Born Underground Horror Festival
Cabane à Sang (which translated to English means “Blood shack”, a play on the Quebecois termphrase cabane à sucre / sugar shack) is a homegrown festival based in Hochelaga, a densely populated working class neighborhood on the east side of Montreal, Québec. For $18 (CA$), you can enjoy hours of meticulously curated madness. A can of local microbrew is $6, a can of soda is $2, and you are guaranteed to see some shit you’ve never seen before in your life.
“We want everyone to be able to come to the fest. Shows for $18 don’t really exist anymore,” insisted organizer Marc-Antoine in a franglais conversation between him, myself and Frank before Saturday’s “Keep It Weird” show (note: some quotes have been translated to English). Frank tells me about the festival’s early days as a road show. “It was a total fucking flop!” he laughs, but the branding was strong, so after taking a year off to regroup, the 2nd edition had people lining up early to attend, surprising even the organizers.
Photo Courtesy of Cabane à Sang
How Cabane à Sang Adapted During COVID and Found a Permanent Home
The pandemic forced the team to adapt again (Quebecers faced some of the harshest COVID restrictions in North America), and they ended up live streaming a jerry-rigged MTV-style projection screen to show the films while audiences participated in the chat. After moving around to a few locations and struggling with a host of technical difficulties, they landed at Productions Jeun’Est, an old church that’s since been turned into an event space. “This year is really next level,” says Marc-Antoine. “We need to highlight the tech crew here, who are just hallucinant (incredible),” as well as the venue, he continued, who’ve “really welcomed us and helped us out.”
This year’s edition features 5 evenings of madness spread out over two weekends. The first weekend hosted the events SCIF’HIGH (promising the “best and worst” of science fiction), RE-Animation (exploring a “wide range of animation styles”), and their signature event, Keep It Weird (a mix of “proudly off-putting short films”). The second weekend will feature Mixed Meats (an “unhinged mix of every corner of horror”) and their infamous 200$ or less film competition – the Party Pooper Spectacular (this year, the theme is Pizza Horror). A $20 virtual pass to the whole fest is available online for those with the misfortune of missing the in person experience.
Why Filmmakers and Fans Take This “Trash” Horror Festival Seriously
Despite the goofy themes, the team of ten-ish organizers take their roles seriously, and are thrilled to have landed in a venue that can give the films the respect they deserve. “Our setup is a bit punk, but I just think about the filmmakers,” insists Marc Antoine. “They put in so much work, it’s normal that we do them justice with a good screening.” Frank echoes this sentiment. “Some stuff [we get] is not necessarily gory or cheap or whatever. They’re just, like, oddities, and they deserve to be seen, you know? And tonight we’re going to see some of them!”
People are already showing up when I arrive an hour early to Saturday’s show (unheard of in a city like Montreal, where showing up 45 min after doors open is the norm). The vibes stay immaculate, thanks to the team’s guiding motto: Don’t be an asshole. “Like legit, this is our only fucking rule here,” laughs Frank, and it applies to everyone, including the filmmakers. “I think we all love this project because it allows us to showcase stuff that we personally like and that we don’t see anywhere else,” says Marc-Antoine.
‘Dom’s Spaghetti’ Courtesy of Cabane à Sang
Weird, Gross, and Brilliant: Inside Cabane à Sang’s Most Bizarre Short Films
True to their words, the evening’s programming features some truly mind bending films, grouped together under ‘themes’ like ‘films that feature bread’ or ‘films that start with the letter D’. For every serious film about war or depression, there are five that are totally absurd. (Frank assures me that they’ve got “plenty of movies with dicks and poop and stuff like that!”) There’s the lesbian eldritch love story inspired by The Thing (The Fling), and there’s a meat-witch orgy movie (Plant Mom). One film is simply about a haunted bidet (Bidet), another features every cinematic iteration of Vin Diesel (Dom’s Spaghetti). Then there’s the mixed media movie Dog Shit, described perfectly as “parfum de caca, marteau dans les couilles” (I’ll leave you all to translate that one yourselves).
As the evening wraps up, Frank reminds the audience to return the following week, before yelling “Shout out bébé Jésus!” to enthusiastic applause, given that we are all sitting in a church. “Over the years, people have come from all over, from Abitibi, from the US,” Marc-Antoine tells me. “Ya, they fly in!!” adds Frank, “we don’t have the money to fucking pay for their flights!” Marc-Antoine continues, saying, “that shows that this really connects with people, locally, yes, but people all over are moved by what we’re doing. We’re going up against some big machines, some big productions, but we’re able to connect with people all the same.”
Cabane à Sang Proves That Micro-Budget Horror is More Important Than Ever
“People are fed up also, and I don’t want to get into the whole fucking AI thing,” Frank adds, “but I think a lot of people are irritated about it. We’re sitting in a great position right now.” When talking about the upcoming film competition on May 9th, I learned that they’ve got 22 unique micro budget works lined up, with an additional slate of films that will soon be on their streaming site, Caban à Sang TV. “AI cannot fucking make this shit up,” Frank says. “This is honest, this is real.”
If you’re having a conversation about contemporary queer horror and the other person hasn’t heard of Alice Maio Mackay, it’s time to stop talking, sit them down, and introduce them to one of the most interesting filmmakers operating in the space right now. At just 21, this Aussie powerhouse has a staggering six feature films under her belt, including the goopy T-Blockers (2023) and holiday horror Carnage for Christmas (2024). Her most recent, The Serpent’s Skin (read our review here), just hit VOD platforms following a successful festival run and limited theatrical release, delivering a soft, sensual sapphic love story—and a snake demon unleashed via a tattoo.
To celebrate the film’s release, I connected with Mackay to learn more about her influences, the collaborations that brought The Serpent’s Skin to life, and her advice for other queer storytellers. The following interview has been lightly edited for conciseness (aka removing the parts where I gushed over one of my favorite filmmakers).
Alice Maio Mackay on Queer Joy, Magnetic Chemistry, and a Touch of Horror Wish Fulfilment
Samantha McLaren: All your films center on queer and trans characters, but this one more than any other radiates with queer joy and euphoria. I’m curious if that was a conscious decision going into The Serpent’s Skin—to center that while still acknowledging trauma.
Alice Maio Mackay: Yeah, I think the way that I wanted to portray trauma was very different in this one. The trauma that both queer people go through is kind of like trauma bonding, bringing them together. It’s more of like past issues, whereas in my previous films, it’s very much been political, a bit angry, like these characters are dealing with bigotry on a daily basis. In this film, I’m not ignoring the issues that trans people face, but it’s more brief and lighter, and that’s not the focus of the film. I really wanted to show that trans people can love, and their love is magic in a sense.
SM: I wanted to talk about the tattoo in the film, because tattoos are such a big part of queer culture. Where did the idea of a tattoo gone wrong come from?
AMM: There’s a couple of different places. I really wanted to, especially with Danny, evoke 2000s gamer culture. That was always a big part, because I wanted to explore how those men who seem performatively woke can be toxic under the surface. Also, I grew up watching and reading The Mortal Instruments and things like that, where tattoos play a big part. And as you mentioned, tattoos are in the queer culture quite a bit. So it’s just a combination of all these things and I thought it was the perfect plot device as well.
SM: This movie centers on a psychic powers narrative, and I think for a lot of queer people, that’s a very wish fulfillment genre of horror. I’d love to hear about your own relationship with it and the influences it had on The Serpent’s Skin.
AMM: I loved Carrie growing up, albeit the remake with Chloë Grace Moretz, which is not a popular opinion. That came out when I was a child, and I read the book as well and really fell in love with that. Anything, as a queer kid, relating to the other and seeing people get their comeuppance, albeit in messed-up ways, is interesting.
And then Charmed was a really big part of my childhood, and Buffy [the Vampire Slayer], which both incorporate witchiness into everyday adolescent issues. The blend of those things has always been very interesting to me as a filmmaker because I feel like those shows weren’t trying to be necessarily scary or have horror at the forefront. It was more about the three women, or the Scooby Gang, and then the horror was propelling the story forward, but it was focused on character development, and their personal lives, which I was drawn to.
SM: Let’s talk about your characters, because the chemistry between the actors feels so sweet and natural. What was the casting process like for The Serpent’s Skin, and how did you work with Alexandra [McVicker] and Avalon [Fast] to build that chemistry?
AMM: So Alex, I was a fan of her work. I’d seen her in Vice Principals [2017] and some other stuff she’d done, and she was just a friend of a friend who I’d kind of got to know. And then Avalon, I was a fan of their work and thought they’re really cool. They said they wanted to get into acting, and the timing just worked out perfectly when they sent me a self tape.
I felt like I was really lucky with the chemistry because we didn’t have a lot of pre-production time. There were a few meetings with the intimacy coordinator before, but I think everyone got here like two days before we started shooting, and Alex got here the night before, so I don’t think they had met in person up until their first scene. The chemistry was just really natural—from the moment they had their first Zoom, it was electric. I think that’s a testament to their willingness to commit to the roles, and their talent.
SM: Such a big part of the sensuality in the film comes from the score, which is so dreamy. When you were working with the composers, what guidance did you give them around what you wanted The Serpent’s Skin to feel like?
AMM: I’ve been working with Alexander Taylor for a while. He brought a co-composer on for this one as well. And I love having a lot of types of music when we’re editing—we have a lot of different ideas about what we want it to sound like sonically, inspiration-wise. We’ve been working together for a really long time, so he kind of just knows what would click. And working with Vera [Drew] as well as an editor, she’s big into temp music, so all three of us were into shaping the score and the movement as early as possible, and then you take it from there.
SM: You mentioned working with Vera Drew of The People’s Joker. This is the second time she’s edited one of your films. How did that relationship come about, and what kind of energy did she bring to your films when she came on board?
AMM: It’s always been really special working with Vera because I looked up to her, and then she was a friend, and getting to work with a friend is always really special. I’ve said this a couple of times, but I think we’re very similar and really inspired by a lot of the same things. She very much understands my reference pool and the world that I want to create. So rather than having a stock edit from the footage, she would be like “oh, this is how you shot it—this is the order?”
She understands my vision, but crafts the footage through her own mind. Especially with the montages and overlays, she’s creating like other-wordly dream sequences through the footage we created, which is kind of like adding to my vision in a separate way I wouldn’t have maybe thought of from the get-go. It’s been a really valuable experience.
Unpacking the Challenges and Triumphs of Getting Queer Horror Made
SM: One thing I love about your films is that they’re so specific to the queer community, yet so accessible. There’s no need to over-explain things. Does that come naturally to you or are you thinking about a straight cis audience at all when you’re writing?
AMM: Maybe this is a bad thing to say, but I never think about an audience in general—especially with these films where there’s pretty much no money involved and you’re shooting in 12 days. I care about the story so much, and at the end of the day, I’m fighting so hard to even get these movies made, so I’m making the story and the vision that everyone on set wants to make.
I feel very lucky that people have been interested in these films. When I started, I never thought people would want to watch them, let alone come back for a few more. It’s a weird thing where it’s so hard to make these films that I just make them for myself, and that’s kind of it, and people seemingly want to see that, which is really nice.
SM: You started making films when you were very young, and you now have six features under your belt. How do you feel you’ve grown as a filmmaker?
AMM: I mean, I was like 14 when I made my first proper short film and 16 when I shot So Vam, so it has been a little while. I feel I’ve definitely become more confident and assured, just trusting people and collaborating, and not letting people speak over me—I know what I want artistically now. Maybe on So Vam, I wouldn’t nitpick or be as specific as I am now.
Working with Aaron [Schuppan, cinematographer] and Astra [Vadoulis, first camera assistant] since day one, almost, we’ve kind of grown up together and that’s been really special. We kind of have a hive mind now and can communicate in our own different ways. It’s been really beautiful and special.
SM: All your films are a little DIY, and I mean that as a compliment—it’s clear you’re getting out and making the things you want to make. But in an ideal world, if you had all the resources and time you wanted, what is your dream project?
AMM: I’m actually writing it at the moment. I hopefully will get it made at some point. The scope is grander; it’s a bit of a period piece, a little bit set in the 70s, a little bit in the future. It’s just this epic melodrama horror-romance about being doomed… We’ll see what happens.
SM: Fingers crossed, because I want to see that. If you had one piece of advice for other queer people who want to break into the film industry but are not sure where to get started, what would you say to them?
AMM: Corny as it sounds, start to tell a story that is accessible to you at the moment. It’s hard for people in general to break into the film industry, let alone queer people, and there’s no one way to do it. So just write that story, start making things with your friends, and then build up from there. That’s how I managed to start things.
The Serpent’s Skin is now available to watch on demand.
