The simultaneous tragedy and comedy of growing up is a perfect match for the horror genre. The inherent fear, and liberation, of becoming a different person can be evoked with a lot of power when you pass it through the lens of the violent or the supernatural. Ginger Snaps is the film I’d consider the platonic ideal of exploring that experience, exploring the monstrous nature of change. Director John Fawcett and writer Karen Walton didn’t just make a fun teenage werewolf film where they easily could have; in my eyes, they made about as perfect of a werewolf movie as you can get.
Sisters, Suburbia, and a Savage Werewolf Attack
Brigitte and Ginger are sisters, trapped in the teenage wasteland of an Ontario suburb. Their fascination with death and sticking it to their classmates and family have made them outcasts. But when a revenge plot against a rival puts them in the path of a werewolf attack, Ginger’s mauling at the hands of the beast begins a metamorphosis of mind and body. As she peels away layers of her old self, she replaces them with something far more aggressive, while Brigitte fights to try and save her sister from the new thing she’s becoming.
I was instantly sold on the idea of a grim coming-of-age story, adding lycanthropy to the already mortifying experience of puberty. But it isn’t until about a third of the way through that I realized how layered Ginger Snaps would really be. It buries the lead for the first 20 minutes, feeling more like a spread for a DIY goth photo zine as the plot gets set up. But after the actually horrific and very effective werewolf attack happens, the narrative gets a jumpstart with a pair of fur-covered jumper cables.
Hilarious Double Entendres and Sharp Social Satire in Ginger Snaps
There’s levity in spades thanks to the double entendre that is its whole plot, likening having your first period to a werewolf’s slow and painful transformation by moonlight (the symbolic strawberry shortcake gag that recurs in the film had me actually doubled over laughing when I first saw it). Ginger’s transformation is used for the obvious, to poke fun at teenage angst and the sexism you’re sort of just taught to accept at face value as you become a young adult, but it also cleverly puts some horrifying twists on formative experiences of youth. It also just has such well-rounded and enjoyable characters to spend the runtime watching that you can’t help but actively admire Walton’s writing in the back of your mind as it unfolds.
Obviously, I’m very late to the conversation of Jennifer’s Body being inspired at best and derivative at worst of Ginger Snaps. But in my opinion the tone, the plots, and most importantly the actual directing of the movies are so disparate that you’re likely not going to be bothered seeing the similarities. You might even find it entertaining to spot the parallels, although I felt like a little of the magic from Needy and Jennifer’s dynamic is dampened, knowing Snaps laid the perfect blueprint that Diablo Cody likely built heavily on. I suppose the key strength it has over Body is a script that feels more precise and clever, whereas Kusama’s film is more bluntly funny. Ginger Snaps is a lot subtler in its humor than the dialogue-driven jokes of its successor, relying on little acting quirks and one-liners that are drier than they are quippy.
The Heart of Ginger Snaps
Of course, a great script doesn’t mean great performances. But in a stroke of luck, Emily Perkins and Katherine Isabelle are the perfect fit for their characters. I wouldn’t say they have the best on-screen chemistry the entire film, and some of their lines do come out awkward, but when they’re lashing out at each other as hormones explode and the stress of the dilemma melts their brains, they both play to their roles perfectly. They’re completely believable as sisters who love each other but can’t stand to exist around one another as they realize things aren’t how they used to be. Perkins in particular is wonderfully wide-eyed and insane as she tries to roll with the punches of her sibling getting worse and worse, both physically and emotionally. You can totally understand how they made this a trilogy and instantly get why they are the heart of these movies. Perkins and Isabelle both carry the rare essence of feeling like they were born for their roles.
And despite all of the fun Ginger Snaps brings to the table in their rapport and its more violent and wild moments, it’s a film that plays everything straight. Sincerity abounds, a far cry from a lot of the tongue-in-cheek successors that played off its motifs and style. It has a harrowing ending that just drapes over you heavily as it unfolds. It uncoils and examines the previous hour and a half of wild horror movie you’ve been enjoying with a pure tragedy. It leaves you time to reflect on the dark nature of the absurd ordeal the sisters were put through. You move from a mostly suspenseful, if not lighthearted, movie into a ridiculously sad ending, one with a truly biting final shot that is genuinely as gorgeous as it is depressing.
A Timeless Exploration of Growth and Transformation
Although it seems redundant to say, Ginger Snaps isn’t just a neat film. This isn’t a special effects-driven roller coaster ride, although there is a profoundly talented group of special effects artists and sculptors here who put an immense amount of work into the actual werewolves of the film. Ginger Snaps above all else is a movie that evokes a quintessential feeling of living: the feeling of growth. The trepidation and dread of changing, transforming and looking back at the version of yourself you left behind. It examines what it means to watch those relationships change, struggle, and sometimes die with the person you’re becoming.
When a movie is able to achieve that kind of emotional resonance, I have to give it its flowers. A bouquet of roses (and maybe some monkshood for safety) is the least of the accolades Ginger Snaps deserves.
