Years after Jordan Peele’s breakout hit “Get Out,” horror films and programs starring and directed by black people are no longer a novelty, but more box office and streaming given the critical and financial success of the 2017 Oscar-winning film. . But so far, Hollywood participation in such projects has not yielded amazing results. Whether it’s TV shows like the unwavering “Them” and bumbling Lovecraft Country, ill-conceived movies like “Antebellum” and “Bad Hair” or a half-baked 2021 Candyman reboot, this onslaught of new material doesn’t exactly match the broad possibilities. that horror noir has to offer.
That’s why the arrival of a film like The Master, which premiered this year at the Sundance Film Festival and releases Friday on Prime Video, is so exciting. Mariama Diallo’s first feature film stands out as one of the most intellectually ambitious contributions to the horror canon since Get Out of the Black World. Even discussing the film in close proximity to Peel’s directorial debut (which I’ve become less impressed with over time) seems somewhat simplistic, given that the comedian-turned-author didn’t invent the genre. And, given how many black horror filmmakers are waiting to be given ample opportunity, it seems too early to solidify his offerings as the sole benchmark. Diallo’s film proves this as she pushes ideas of race, gender, colourism, representation and exclusivity into fresher and more interesting places and illustrates these grim realities on screen in a way that feels less accessible or even appealing to white viewers.
The 90-minute film follows the parallel narrative of two black women at a prestigious, mostly white college in New England, where they are haunted both physically and emotionally – not only by ghosts and witches, but also by feelings of isolation and the burden of representation. Jasmine Moore, played by Zoe Renee, is a new student whose presence in the cold, inhospitable grounds of Ancaster College immediately causes trouble when she is greeted by a white freshman counselor. “We have a live one!” the counselor squeals, approaching with her clipboard. Most of the interactions we see between Jasmine and white people on campus don’t automatically make us think she’ll be stabbed to death in the dorm shower, as this early remark suggests. Instead, she faces a version of racism that most blacks and people of color would sadly consider mundane, and lacks overtly offensive cartoons to hit us over the head with their ignorance.
However, Diallo manages to build up tension with each of these “chance” encounters and “microaggressions”. The scenes where Jasmine hangs out with her white roommate Amelia (Thalia Ryder) and her white classmates are especially awkward to watch. For the most part, her white “friends”—if they can be called that at all—are not so much openly rude to her as reluctant to tolerate her presence. There’s also a claustrophobic scene at a party where she’s surrounded by grumpy white guys rapping aggressively to Shek Wes’s “Mo Bamba,” which has multiple “N” words. Jasmine’s morbidity about her relationships with her peers is exacerbated by her fear that she will be the ghost’s next target, a woman named Margaret Mittel who is killed during the Salem witch trials. According to Ancaster lore, Margaret returns to campus on the anniversary of her death at 3:33 AM to kill one ill-fated new student.
In the film, which depicts the uneasy relationship between black and white women, it seems clear that the main ghost of the Master is a white victim of gender violence. The type of white feminist advertising the slogan “We are the granddaughters of the witches you couldn’t burn” has become a recognizable, heavily derided archetype in its own right in liberal politics and, in particular, on post-Trump liberal college campuses. The interplay of this story, the imagery of the colonial and modern witch, and the opulent setting of the school are another fascinating and curious aspect of the film.
Meanwhile, Gail Bishop, played by Regina Hall with her usual aplomb, deals with her inner crisis and ongoing suspicions when she accepts a job as Ancaster’s first black caregiver. While at the beginning of the film she displays a proud and enthusiastic personality towards her non-black co-workers, she experiences a growing sense of skepticism and frustration when she alone looks at pictures of white men, likely slave owners, and as she listens to her co-workers discuss variety in the most banal terms. However, because of her own rare history of success in academia, she clings tightly to these empty notions of representation and her proverbial “seat at the table.” When Jasmine seeks Gail’s advice as her time at Ancaster becomes increasingly unsettling, Gail feeds the student these bromine, advice that literally comes back to haunt her.
For me, the most unnerving moments of the Master are not when we see a haggard ghostly hand from under the bed, a hallway flooded with red light, or when Jasmine stands in front of a mirror alone in the bathroom. The visual tricks and audio cues meant to make the audience jump are cool and obvious at times. An understandable concern is the violence against black female protagonists throughout the film, especially at a time when these images are mindlessly circulating. So The Master succeeds more as a psychological thriller, or maybe a more dated “suspense” movie, rather than something built around visual scares. Diallo creates a more tense atmosphere, enjoying moments of questioning, doubt and nagging certainty that we can feel but never perceive with our eyes.
“Diallo creates a more tense atmosphere, enjoying moments of questioning, doubt and aching certainty that we can feel but never perceive with our eyes.”
Speaking of the Master’s ambiguity, there’s another black woman, a professor named Liv (Amber Grey), who appears in the margins later in the film in an unexpected twist, making a compelling final act and perhaps providing some missing mystery. PCS. It feels risky, including a plot point that’s so timely and right out of the headlines. But Diallo’s “show, don’t tell” approach, with much of the film’s political commentary, allows the moment to play out organically, uncontrived.
Overall, The Master creates an immersive, intellectual viewing experience that stays with you after watching and evokes intriguing, detailed conversations rather than just awareness of the realities it portrays, like many of these recent horror films and TV shows seem to , created for this.
And if it weren’t for the obvious factors hurting this film’s chances of being a serious contender for awards next year, Hall would have had a strong Best Actress nomination. With her role as Gail, she once again proves that she is a real Hollywood chameleon with an endless source of inspiration and vulnerability. Over the past few years, it’s been exciting to watch the 51-year-old acting veteran jump from 2018 indie comedy Cheer Up the Girls to Showtime’s already canceled Black Monday to become one of the few good roles on Hulu’s Nine Perfect Strangers, and is even set to co-host the Oscars later this month. But, as the Master reminds viewers, the rise in visibility does not always match the level of praise and recognition that society bestows on white people. I hope this performance sees a different result.