Hot cider, cider donuts, folk horror

Plus: Remembering Broadway star Gavin Creel

View this email online by Glen Weldon Welcome! It was the week we lost a passel of greats: A deeply principled and charismatic country singer, songwriter and movie star, a veteran of TV and film who created many indelible roles, and, far too soon, a beloved, Tony-winning Broadway performer who richly deserved to be a household name and, in my household at least, very much was. Let's get to it. Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness … and folk horror It's October. Some of your neighbors will spend this, the official first weekend of spooky season, going all-out with inflatable yard skeletons and ghosts. They will embark upon the annual attempt to make candy corn, aka high-fructose ear wax, a thing. They'll adorn their front porches with those cotton spider webs that look nothing like real spider webs and instead just make it look like they went and ritually murdered a white sweater so they could hang its dismembered corpse across their doorway as a grisly warning to all other knitwear. The Wicker Man (1973) is a classic example of folk horror. Archive Photos/Getty Images For me, it's a more simple, elemental formula: Hot cider, cider donuts, folk horror. The appeal of cider and donuts is universal, but folk horror might need some defining. Essentially, it's horror set in remote, isolated areas where nature still holds sway. Well, nature paired with the superstitious beliefs of the locals, who tend to treat unwary outsiders with suspicion (if the outsiders are lucky) or malice (if they're not). The classic example is 1973's The Wicker Man, in which an uptight, devout, and veddy veddy British policeman (Edward Woodward) visits a remote Scottish island to investigate the disappearance of a young girl. Turns out the locals have embraced a form of Celtic paganism, which doesn't sit right with him. He says as much to the island's aristocratic leader, a mysterious and charismatic sort played by Christopher Lee. Things don't end well for our poor British bobby – though presumably the island will enjoy a bountiful harvest, so, you know: Big picture, it's still a win. Other founding classics of the genre include 1968's The Witchfinder General and 1971's The Blood on Satan's Claw, which of the three films has the least going for it, apart from its title, which is, all reasonable people can agree, metal AF. I love me some folk horror, and am never happier than when I can while away a damp, foggy (and thus obligingly atmospheric) October afternoon mainlining new and old examples of the form like Kill List, You Won't Be Alone, Viy, The Ritual, Häxan, The Medium, Apostle, Midsommar, The Witch, Hereditary, Night of the Demon, A Field in England, Robin Redbreast, and Men. (Looking for more examples? Check out the documentary Woodlands Dark and Days Bewitched: A History of Folk Horror.) Some folk horror involves supernatural elements, but I confess a particular fondness for those stories that don't – stories where it's the folk themselves (read: the locals, and their beliefs) who are the true and only source of the horror. (I won't spoil which of the above films traffic in human vs. supernatural evil, in case you haven't seen them.) The Wicker Man was the first folk horror film I saw as a kid, which is maybe why I harbor a deep love of folk horror set in 70's Britain, a time and place when an interest in the occult became faddish, inspiring a wave of folk horror specifically inflected with Satanic panic. Many of these films were set in the past, but those like The Wicker Man were set in the then-present, a time when men wore wavy hair and tight bell bottoms. Christopher Lee's Lord Summerisle, for example, sported a kicky tweed leisure suit topped off by a burnt-orange sweater. It's why I think of this very specific subgenre of '70s folk horror as Talismans and Turtlenecks. I just came across a new-to-me example of T & T last Sunday afternoon, which was suitably cold and wet and misty: 1970's The Dunwich Horror. A stiff-haired Sandra Dee, desperately attempting to shake her goody-goody image, plays a woman who falls under the sway of a young and hilariously intense, wide-eyed Dean Stockwell. (Seriously, you keep waiting for his character to blink, but instead he just keeps goggling fixedly at the world around him. At one point he makes a pot of tea, staring at it so fiercely through every stage of the process you start to wonder if he's trying to convince it to hop into bed with him.) Don't get me wrong: It's a cheesy film, filled with crummy dialogue and hammy acting and cheap sets and one fight scene so wildly inept that has to be seen to be disbelieved. I won't reveal if the threat hanging over the film is human or supernatural (though the fact that it's based on an H.P. Lovecraft short story should tip you off). But I will say that Stockwell sports a thick, curly hairdo, a cravat, two count-em two pinky rings, and a huge mustache that curls under itself at either end, in the process effectively turning my guy's mouth into a parenthetical statement. You can watch it for free, with commercials, on Pluto TV, which I swear is a real streaming service and not something I made up. The Dunwich Horror is not remotely scary, but it does have something to say, I suppose, about the madness of crowds and what, back in grad school, we used to call "othering." (The Stockwell character is the scion of an eccentric family that the local community has shunned for generations, you see.) And that, of course, is the abiding appeal of folk horror: It takes those universal feelings of alienation and isolation that make us all feel like outsiders in our own communities and gives them flesh. When the supernatural is involved, sometimes that flesh pulses and oozes. Sometimes it's furry and clawed. But whenever the story is about our collective tendency to cling to belief in the supernatural, the flesh involved is all too human, and probably gets stabbed with a sacrificial dagger in the final reel. Happy spooky season, y'all. Newsletter continues after sponsor message We Recommend Muffin Time is a very dumb, very silly card game where you play a series of very dumb, very silly cards against your friends. The idea is to collect exactly 10 cards in your hand – no more, no less. As soon as you do, you shout "It's Muffin Time!" to warn the other players that your win is imminent. They, of course, may be holding cards that can force you to discard or draw many cards at once, prolonging the game. Other cards can be laid as traps, and played only once someone around the table does something specific like checks the rules, or complains about someone taking too long, or sneezes. The game rewards sneakiness, like the time I idly asked a friend I was playing with where she got her necklace, causing her to "recall an event from over a year ago" and thus discard three cards. HA! The fool! Like I would ever manifest sincere interest in another person! HA HA HA HA HA! "Lights Camera Action" is Kylie Minogue's latest club banger, and attention must be paid, even if you do not find yourself, as I do, firmly and comfortably ensconced within the cohort of middle-aged queer men determined to shake Americans out of their willful, soporific Kylie ignorance. What's the song about, you ask? Five things, basically. 1. Telling someone who is currently in the nightclub that you're about to join them at the nightclub ("I'm two seconds away/I'm right around the corner now"). 2. Informing said someone what you look like, so they can hold the door of the nightclub open for you ("I got shades on my face and I'm looking/Like Lagerfelds in Vogue"). 3. Noting that the music in this particular nightclub is being played at a high volume ("Tuning in, tuning out/All I want is the noise"). 4. Inquiring if they agree with you on this last point ("Tell me, can you feel it?"). 5. Lights, camera, action – that's it ("Lights, camera action/That's it"). Which is to say, it's about Kylie. I mentioned this week's shocking death of Broadway performer Gavin Creel up top, but that doesn't capture the full scope of what we've lost. To get a sense of that, type his name into the social media platform of your choice to see his fellow performers celebrating his life and talent by posting clip after clip after clip. I started on YouTube, where this 2016 duet with Aaron Tveit was the first thing to pop up. But then I let the algorithm send me down a Gavin Creel rabbit hole, and I urge you to do the same. Listen to the Podcast Sponsor-Free Support your favorite pop culture junkies AND listen without sponsor interruptions with a subscription to Pop Culture Happy Hour+! Learn more and sign up at plus.npr.org/happy. Learn More What We Did This Week Myha’la as Harper in Industry. Simon Ridgway/HBO On Sunday, Aisha reviewed the latest season of Industry on HBO – and that season finale. And then on Monday, she talked about it with Ryan Mitchell and Shamira Ibrahim. On Tuesday, Linda talked with NPR’s Sarah Ventre about the misleadingly titled rom-com Nobody Wants This. On Wednesday, Stephen talked with NPR’s Nikki Birch and PCHH’s own Liz Metzger about The Wild Robot. On Friday, I was joined by Joelle Monique and Chris Klimek to dissect Joker: Folie a Deux. Also on Friday, I talked with A Martinez on Morning Edition about the puzzling but persistent Batman-Without-Batman phenomenon in pop culture. What's Making Us Happy Every week on the show, we talk about some other things out in the world that have been giving us joy lately. Here they are: Joelle Monique: The AMC series Interview with the Vampire, the first season of which is now streaming on Netflix. (Here’s our PCHH episode about it.) Chris Klimek: The documentary Hearts of Darkness. Glen Weldon: Two audiobooks by David Mitchell: Unruly and Back Story. Listen to your local NPR station. Visit NPR.org to hear live radio from Central Florida Public Media (edit station). Subscribe to Pop Culture Happy Hour+. Your support helps make our show possible and unlocks access to our sponsor-free episodes. What do you think of today's email? We'd love to hear your thoughts, questions and feedback: pchh@npr.org Enjoying this newsletter? Forward to a friend! They can sign up here. Looking for more great content? Check out all of our newsletter offerings — including Music, Books, Daily News and more! You received this message because you're subscribed to Pop Culture Happy Hour emails. This email was sent by National Public Radio, Inc., 1111 North Capitol Street NE, Washington, DC 20002 Unsubscribe  |  Privacy Policy