The Midnight Club review: The horrors of finality
As we turn to the next chapter in Mike Flanagan's Netflix adaptations of cult horror classics, our focus shifts from Hill House and Bly Manor, towards Brightcliffe Manor, a hospice for terminally ill youths.
Every night at Brightcliffe, its seven patients meet at midnight to tell each other scary stories and vow that the first one to succumb to their disease is responsible for communicating with the others from beyond the grave. Here's the trailer for the series:
With each passing production, Flanagan cements himself as one of the foremost voices in horror television and his latest collaboration with Netflix is no exception to his distinct creative vision.
We follow the story of Ilonka, a bright, young woman who, having been diagnosed with terminal thyroid cancer, moves to the Brightcliffe hospice in the hopes of uncovering the secrets to beating her illness. Brightcliffe features the series’ fantastic ensemble of terminally-ill characters and their mysterious host, Dr Stanton; each of whom have more to them than meets the eye.
Through a series of campfire-like stories the group of teenagers told each other every night, Flanagan and series co-creator Leah Fong, try to better understand the value of life and the finality of death; each character’s story a beautiful reflection of their troubled pasts, riddled with insecurities and their apprehensions for the future.
Each narrative is personal, telling and rough around the edges, lending to their raw, unadulterated and often campy feel. The stories attribute the fear of being forgotten, the sheer dread of being but a distant memory in the minds of others to the truest, most undeniable horror of the series.
Though the club features a complex set of characters from diverse backgrounds and circumstances, the heart of the series remains Ilonka’s wheelchair-using roommate Anya, a hot-tempered Irish teen, ready to take on the world. Played by the remarkable Ruth Codd, Anya’s sarcastic one-liners and snappy retorts gave away her immeasurable resilience in the face of the most trying circumstances, making her the most instantly likable characters in the series; a piece praise that would ironically piss her off in all likelihood.
Over the span of 10 episodes, Anya, Ilonka and the rest of the club raise questions on the fleeting nature of existence masked under the themes of depression, homophobia and substance abuse that do a better job at keeping one awake at night than its Guinness World record breaking number of scares, which is pretty on-brand for a Flanagan production.
Flanagan's filmography is a beacon, a shining light that serves as a reminder that there is hope yet for the genre. There is a means to end the curse that is overused horror tropes, desperate jump scares and flimsy, slipshod writing at the expense of narrative integrity.
His manner is artful, his direction poignant and his writing style so incredibly intimate. The genre-blending narrative techniques set him apart from commercial horror as he persistently riots against the confines of the idea that something cannot claim to be a part of the true canon of horror if it fails to frighten, to scare or to induce cheap bursts of adrenaline within its audience.
Flanagan effectively frees himself from the shackles of popular opinion and transgresses the limits of what horror constitutes traditionally. Through the many creative stories that manifest themselves out of the mind’s of the Midnight Club, waiting to be told, waiting to be heard, Flanagan shines brightest in his storytelling capacity.
What really sets The Midnight Club apart from the rest of Flanagan’s work is the ingenious use of red herrings. While each of the teens incorporate a number of throw-offs within their own stories, the series serves as a metanarrative to these many scattered bits of hope that the club clings to, only for the facade of hope to be shattered and dealt with head-on towards the end.
It’s difficult for these kids to come to terms with death and the finality of their circumstances. And even more painful for us to watch them inch towards acceptance. It’s a bittersweet sensation knowing that although their stories get more and more hopeful nearing the end, they remain bound to their fate.
And though it may not pack quite as much of punch as its predecessors, The Midnight Club is a somber reminder of how grief and horror are inextricably linked; both embodying the most remarkable scope for intimate storytelling.
We're going with 3.5 out of 5 stars for The Midnight Club.
The Midnight Club is available to stream on Netflix.