Leading Players: Essie David (Amelia), Noah Wiseman (Samuel), Daniel Henshall (Robbie), Hayley McElhinney (Claire), Barbara West (Mrs Roach), Ben Winspear (Oskar), Chloe Hurn (Ruby), Jacqy Phillips (Beverly), Bridget Walters (Norma).
Main Crew: prod, Kristina Ceyton, Kristian Moliere; dir, Jennifer Kent; writ, Jennifer Kent; dop, Radek Ladczuk; ed, Simon Njoo; mus, Jed Kurzel; prod d, Alex Holmes; art d, Karen Hannaford, Alex Holmes.
I was fortunate enough to see Jennifer Kent's 2014 directorial debut, The Babadook at a premiere screening during the Gold Coast Film Festival, before it had hit the peak of its hype, which made this film's impact all the more startling. Impressively, despite being an inaugural feature, The Babadook established itself as a landmark achievement in post-2000 Australian cinema, and remains a defining work in the contemporary horror genre. Seamlessly blending psychological horror with traditional monster movie tropes, Kent delivers a profoundly layered narrative that explores grief, repression, and the human psyche's fragility. Through its craft elements and intertextual connections to classic horror works, the film transcends the constraints of its genre, becoming a meditation on the relationship between trauma and identity.
At its core, The Babadook is a deeply human story about Amelia (Essie Davis), a widowed mother struggling to cope with the death of her husband and the demands of raising her emotionally troubled son, Samuel (Noah Wiseman). The narrative masterfully builds its tension through an escalating series of events that blur the boundaries between reality and hallucination. Samuel's erratic behavior and obsession with a shadowy monster become the entry point for the titular creature’s arrival, first as an eerie presence in the sinister pop-up book "Mister Babadook" and later as a fully realized metaphor for Amelia's repressed grief. Now, before you switch off, the grief-as-monster trope may have been overdone in recent years, but this was one of the earliest and most effective demonstrations of the concept, and it hits the target soundly. The gradual unraveling of Amelia's mental state parallels the growing threat of the Babadook, culminating in a climactic confrontation that avoids conventional resolutions. [spoiler alert] Instead of vanquishing the monster, Amelia comes to terms with its presence, embodying a profound metaphor for the coexistence with and ongoing management of her inner pain.
Jennifer Kent’s direction is precise and inspired, reflecting her background in theater and a reverence for classic horror cinema, which the director has admitted as being foundational in determining some of the film's stylistic and pacing elements. Her ability to evoke dread without relying on gratuitous violence or cheap jump scares is a testament to her storytelling acumen. Tension emerges organically from mood, character development, and the interplay of sound and visuals (including a masterful prop in the form of the book). By keeping the monster partially obscured for much of the film, Kent amplifies its menace, drawing on the tradition of films like Jaws and Alien, where the unseen is often more terrifying than the explicit. Kent’s approach also echoes the psychological horror of films like Psycho and Repulsion, focusing on the internal rather than the external to generate fear.
Cinematographer Radek Ladczuk enhances the film’s psychological intensity with a muted and desaturated color palette dominated by shades of gray, blue, and black. The use of chiaroscuro lighting, reminiscent of German Expressionism, creates stark contrasts and angular shadows that heighten the film’s visual unease. These techniques, also carried through the aesthetic of the pop-up book, reference works like The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1920), where distorted visuals evoke a dreamlike, unstable world. Ladczuk's use of confined framing and off-kilter camera angles reinforces Amelia's psychological entrapment. Tight close-ups of her face capture her mounting anxiety and paranoia, and the use of light makeup and casual hair styling adds to the sense of authenticity and relatability. In contrast, wide shots of the house’s labyrinthine interiors suggest both the unknowable physical and mental spaces in which she is trapped.
The Babadook's' production design is a triumph of minimalism and atmosphere. Amelia's home, with its creaking floors, peeling wallpaper, insect infestations, and dimly lit corridors, becomes an extension of her psyche. The house feels timeless, existing in a liminal space between reality and fantasy, much like the gothic settings of classic horror literature and cinema. The design of the pop-up book itself is both charming and sinister, its handcrafted aesthetic evoking children’s literature while simultaneously signaling the encroachment of something dark and unnatural. The Babadook creature, with its top hat, elongated fingers, and shadowy visage, directly nods to silent-era horror figures like Cesare from The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari, the vampire from original version of Nosferatu (1922) and the monster from Frankenstein (1931). Its exaggerated features also recall shadow puppetry, cementing its role as an allegorical rather than a literal threat.
Thoughtful, unsettling sound design also plays a critical role in the film’s creation of dread. The Babadook’s guttural growls and whispered incantations are unnervingly primal, contrasting with the otherwise subdued auditory landscape of the film. Sound designer Frank Lipson layers these moments of auditory terror with subtle ambient noises like the creak of a door, scratching of insects, or the shuffle of unseen movement, heightening the film’s sense of unease. The score by Jed Kurzel is equally restrained, relying on dissonant strings and low-frequency hums to underscore the tension. Silence itself becomes a weapon, amplifying the emotional and psychological weight of Amelia’s struggles.
Essie Davis delivers a career-defining performance, embodying the complexities of a mother teetering on the edge of sanity. Her portrayal is layered with vulnerability and resilience, capturing the conflicting emotions of grief, anger, and maternal instinct. Noah Wiseman’s portrayal of Samuel adds to the film’s emotional intensity, balancing the innocence of a child with the unpredictability of his fears and imagination. At times, his character grates on the nerves of the viewer, but that's clearly intentional. This duo's dynamic anchors the story, making the supernatural elements all the more resonant by grounding them in human experience.
Years before the release of Robert Egger's Nosferatu (2024), The Babadook served as a love-letter to the sensibilities of classic horror, particularly in its thematic and aesthetic considerations. The film’s exploration of grief and the ambiguous nature of the monstrous resonates with Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, where the creation of the monster is as much an act of defiance against mortality as it is an embodiment of human failings. Kent’s depiction of the Babadook as a projection of Amelia’s unresolved trauma aligns with the psychological terror of earlier classics while carving a distinctly modern path.
Just as the strength of Kent's direction is impressive for a first-timer, so is the confidence and clarity of her storytelling. She and her team have meticulously crafted a powerful exploration of human emotion, and a bold reinvention of genre conventions. By rooting its terror in the universal experience of grief, The Babadook transcends its supernatural elements, offering a deeply affecting and intellectually engaging cinematic experience. It's no wonder this Aussie work endures as a contemporaneous classic of the genre.
