I opened my review of The Bad Seed with the following words: “So if further evidence was needed that all children everywhere are evil, enter Rhoda Penmark and The Bad Seed”. I’d intended the quip as a pithy little one, relying more on my curmudgeonly ways than any reflection of actual children, but it was still an easy one to make – do we in fact find children a bit creepy and evil?
It’s a subject that’s considered, addressed, refuted, supported, reinterpreted and discussed all throughout Dominic Lennard’s Bad Seeds and Holy Terrors: The Child Villains of Horror Film. Charting the depictions of delinquent all the way through to monstrous children in film from (roughly) the post-war era to the modern day, Lennard’s work doesn’t so much say “yes” or “no” to the question, but considers all ways of considering it.
He puts forward multiple readings and interpretations of a wide array of iconic child-focussed horror films (The Bad Seed, The Exorcist, The Village of the Damned to name but a few) but also asks the reader to put them in their broader context. Do we actually find children creepy, or is it a reflection of our own assumptions of childhood and societal discourses of innocence that are so easily corrupted and turned against us? Is innocence even a realistic concept, or do we rely on it to channel our own suppositions about childhood into something more meaningful? What is it about a child villain that’s so uniquely unsettling?
Over 9 separate chapters, each with its own focus, Bad Seeds and Holy Terrors presents a multitude of cogent arguments and theories on how we can read child villainy in film, and what our continued fascination with these films might say about us. Lennard takes into account the social context of each film’s creation and release and manages to chart a journey through the last near-century of cinema that not only provides a fascinating insight into the discussed films, but (for me at least) suggests that the social paranoias society has had around its children repeat and take the same form over time.
Of particular note is that this is a piece of academic writing that is incredibly accessible. Although familiarity with the films helps, Lennard is kind enough to provide enough context and synopsis of the films he discusses for the unfamiliar reader. Most importantly though, is that there’s not a wasted word and no needless adjectives to impress. This is not a piece of film writing to prove a point of how good the author is at writing about film – it’s instead a particularly well-written piece about a topic that is normally left to assumptions – either children are creepy or completely innocent. It’s well worth a read for anyone who has even a mild interest in horror cinema, and having waded through impenetrable academia for years, its light touch while still providing a wealth of insight and engaging material is very much welcomed.