But it's only now, reflecting on Blackcoat's Daughter in light of We Are What We Are and various other films, that I've been able to put my finger on exactly what characterises Arthouse Bullshit Horror for me, and why it's so immediately recognisable as a filmtype to avoid:
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I was a geek then and am a geek now, but even if I was to describe the type-A, queen bee popular girls I went to school with, the type of girls I suspect ABH films and Hollywood types would claim to be describing, they all still had the kind of individuality these films deny.
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The point being, I don't know when the pseudo-intellectual manbun fedoratypes of the film world decided to make the jump from drama to horror so that their nubile mannequin women could murder each other instead of pining after their English professors, but I wish they'd Stop.
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All of which is a way of saying: if a horror film that's meant to focus on women starts with a haunted, skinny white girl posing listlessly in a setting that tells you nothing about her character, exchanging nothing dialogue with an older dude, with lots of Slow Quiet Shots? RUN.
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