Editor’s Notes: Ouija: Origin of Evil is currently out in wide theatrical release.
Two years ago, directing hatred toward Ouija was practically a communal exercise within the moviegoing public. It was only natural, then, to see the same behavior resurface this year as we approached its follow-up’s release. And poor Ouija: Origin of Evil, this aforementioned follow-up, the prequel (not sequel) to an ostracized failure; all signs, from day one, pointed to more public battery. Imagine the chances of something like this, brought into existence just to explain the events of a predecessor as maligned as Ouija was, standing on its own. Tricky. A gamble like that would generally be a slim one with hope only vested in a nameless, wandering miracle worker with no inclination for good deeds. Difference here is, Origin of Evil’s miracle worker has a name.
Being a horror sequel/prequel inherently provokes doubt in the moviegoing public, so of all possibilities, the last thing anyone expected Origin of Evil to have was deeper, thematic purpose.
Mike Flanagan might not strike onlookers as an obvious worker of miracles, but his desire to create them is clear in the films he’s directed. Oculus and Hush are proof enough that he can wring innovation out of familiar horror concepts while giving his themes extensive attention. Unexpected significance really is the first ingredient on this man’s spice rack. As luck would have it, that’s what Origin of Evil needed in order to thrive, and Mike Flanagan delivered. This is a horror film intent on putting itself out there, the kind which scares us by promising the arrival of something threatening, not by shocking mercilessly. Each unapologetic cut, visual, and design choice is just off-kilter enough to make us feel suspicious of a setting we think of as dreamlike; we’re in a picture-perfect ‘60s household, and we know what’s really underneath the polished floorboards. That’s what plenty of good horror is defined by: Supposed goodness lying through its own teeth.
Familiar territory, yes, but as we know by now, Mike Flanagan’s mastered the art of breathing life into tradition.
Sure, sticking to horror standards like that can be dangerous, but you’ll find plenty of trademark significance within as a result of how, and when, Mike Flanagan gives us his unsettling eye candy. He and the film both know a possessed child acting composed isn’t a new sight; nothing you see here will claim to be revolutionary. It’s all shown to us with a sort-of sarcastic glee; Flanagan acknowledges that Ouija boards are stupid, useless objects, and patiently forces us to take our time watching an idyllic (and very well-acted) family so disrupting that image will feel sweeter. To similar effect, he delights in drawing out suspense during post-possession scenes; take for example a bit in which a possessed Doris (masterfully played by Lulu Wilson) tries luring another character into a basement while he only stares, aware of her intentions, eventually complying. Scenes like these are when Origin of Evil, even if directly correlated with Ouija, feels like a warm-blooded defamation of that first installment. One has more on its mind than horror; one knows to have a sense of humor instead of bone-dry self-seriousness; most notably, one uses its Ouija board as a conduit for smart narrative progression and observations of grief rather than for scares.
Being a horror sequel/prequel inherently provokes doubt in the moviegoing public, so of all possibilities, the last thing anyone expected Origin of Evil to have was deeper, thematic purpose. And of course, Mike Flanagan made that a top priority. This is, more than anything, an exploration of the ways in which we allow histories to gain new life and define us; how, if given easy opportunities, we’ll hold the dead right alongside us, and potentially suffer, burden, or bleed to keep them close by. We may ignore the therapeutic actions suggested to us, act blindly, and instead dig up more than we bargained for. Here, Doris and her family do this to such extents as to unknowingly push themselves into the narrative of a gruesome history they had no part in. And it’s here where we’re told the past is a violent beast, easy shaken and susceptible to mutation. For all time, that’s what ghosts and spirits have embodied as metaphors; the wrongly awoken dead. Familiar territory, yes, but as we know by now, Mike Flanagan’s mastered the art of breathing life into tradition.
Ouija: Origin of Evil may be one of Hollywood’s greatest modern anomalies. Months ago, it was a clearly doomed project, designed to fail. Now it’s destined to soar, and show its brilliant craft to the world. Congratulations, Mike Flanagan; you’ve proved everyone wrong.
Ouija: Origin of Evil may be one of Hollywood’s greatest modern anomalies. Months ago, it was a clearly doomed project, designed to fail. Now it’s destined to soar, and show its brilliant craft to the world. Congratulations, Mike Flanagan; you’ve proved everyone wrong.
