Creep 2: The Final Girl That Wasn’t Having Any of It
Camilla Peeters writes about the surprisingly subversive take on 'the final girl' trope in Creep 2.
Note: this article contains spoilers for Creep and Creep 2
Some film critics and entire film festivals agonise over Netflix. When mentioned along with the involvement of Blumhouse Productions, an itch creeps across the skin of cine-purists. But, as extraordinary times call on cinephiles to put our trust in the online streaming services as the (temporarily) sole remaining hope for a cinematic experience of some kind, experimental horror can be found in such unlikely places.
The sequel to Creep (2014), Creep 2 (2017) is a fine example of a sequel that does not give into the bigger-and-better promise of so many contemporary Hollywood Blockbusters, and it stands proudly among the growing catalogue of enjoyable Netflix horror productions and/or distributed films (honourable mentions here include The Ritual (2017), and The Invitation (2015).
The scenario was co-written with mumblecore actor and filmmaker Mark Duplass (The Puffy Chair, 2005, Baghead, 2008) and stars actress and filmmaker Desiree Akhavan (Appropriate Behaviour, 2014, The Miseducation of Cameron Post, 2018) with a knowing nod to the process of filmmaking very much at the palpitating heart of this film. With very few classic horror tropes: no family with a dark secret, no ghosts in the hall, no trace of paranormal activity or jump scares that lead nowhere, Creep 2 uses convention sparingly and as a wink to the genre’s reputation. The spectacle is kept off-screen: the final confrontation in the forest is cleverly obscured by surrounding trees and a scene with requested nudity is circumvented, because Aaron (Mark Duplass), now feeling ashamed of his own preceding request and surprised by Sara’s (Desiree Akhavan) audacity, only dares to film her head. Even director Patrick Brice has said he is fine with the film being marketed as a horror, but fundamentally it is closer to a romantic comedy . Clearly, subversion is an important part of this film’s success.
In Creep, we encounter Josef (Mark Duplass), a serial killer and generally strange man, who invites Aaron (Patrick Brice), camera man, to film him for a day for the agreeable sum of a thousand dollars. The film unravels as the audience and Aaron alike question Josef’s behaviour, culminating in that question being answered with Aaron violently murdered with an axe. What remains of that story, in Creep 2, is Josef. Still very much a serial killer, possibly even stranger, and now assuming Aaron’s name, attracts the attention of Sara in an online ad asking to “dive deep” into his process, for that same sum of a thousand dollars. Formally, Creep and Creep 2 are the same. Both embrace the low budget found footage premise, with its now eerily familiar low quality and Blair Witchy feeling of being pursued to convince the audience that this might really have happened.
What is different is that the central question is already answered: we know Josef is a pitiless murderer. This time, though, Sara—final girl in situ—is just not having any of it. Where the dynamic in Creep was between two men, Creep 2 takes on the genre’s history with gender roles. Brice further commented on the difficulty of developing female characters in horror films, “Once you put a woman in a horror movie, there are all of these tropes and all this history you’re kind of fighting against, or hopefully considering when you make that decision, especially when the killer is a man and the protagonist is a woman.”
Certainly, the film lives up to its generic aesthetic in that its characters are attractive. But Brice uses dialogue to create tone so that Creep 2 is ingeniously light, without resorting to irony, as with the bombastically genius Cabin In The Woods (2012). While fitting into the horror genre, and with a wry sense of humour, it is also definitively not a horror comedy, steering far away from Shaun of the Dead (2004) and What We Do in the Shadows (2014) style fun. It is easily the biggest achievement of Creep 2 that, through dialogue and the subversion of overused horror tropes, it tops up the appeal of the characters to such a degree that it leaves Creep behind. The question goes from “What are you?”, to “Why are you?”
There are no typical heroes or villains in Creep 2. This is simply because what Sara and Aaron initially unite over are their shared doubts over the roles they are supposed to be playing. Aaron, whose ego makes him tower over his victims—crowning himself as “the most prolific serial killer that was never caught”—is suffering a midlife crisis. Re-watching his homemade videos of his killings, he asks himself, almost with tears in his eyes, “What is happening to me?” The worst tragedy has befallen him: the killer does not enjoy killing anymore. It is in this state that he finds Sara, choosing her to partake in his final project, because her name reminds him of his favourite song, Sara loves her juicy fruit.
Sara, for her part, does seem to love juicy fruit. In her web series Encounters she visits the homes of isolated, lonely men, in (a near obsessive) pursuit of the weird. Having lost confidence—her last episode was viewed a mere nine times—she decides to go out with a bang and chooses Aaron to be her last subject, in what she plans as her final episode. The majority of the film, their meeting, which lasts an entire day, is a cat and mouse game in which Aaron and Sara mercilessly pile up provocations against each other and build mutual suspense until one of them must either bend or break.
Aaron and Sara double each other’s actions in many ways. Their characters seem to follow the same curve for a large part of the film. Early on, they are miserable and tired of their work, which once meant everything to them. Both appear to believe that they might save what they have lost—for Aaron, the joy of killing, and for Sara, the joy of putting social outcasts on the internet as a form of entertainment. It is not surprising that the dubious nature of their work makes it easy for them both to set up traps for the other to fall into. Even more, deceiving the other is an implicit and important part of their job, as their ultimate goals are to use each other for personal gain. Though murder and scapegoating are hardly comparable, neither are true villains. Though they might wish they were, Creep 2 will not let them, leaving both with the frustration and self-doubt that so deliciously subverts and engages an audience.
These characterisations, in the place of stereotypes, are where Creep 2 truly diverges from the genre’s conventions. Not for the ever more yawn-inducing plot of the evil killer hunting down the innocent, helpless (and often clueless) girl, it’s even less far down the road of the badass chick who outbrains the villain yet is somehow still more valued for wearing a tight outfit than for her wits. Instead, here, we have two flawed weirdos, awkwardly stumbling around in a dark night of manipulation, continuously trying to trick each other, failing, then succeeding, and then failing again. This is what great identifiable character building is all about: avoiding extremes. To make a character— especially a female character in a horror movie—attractive, there is no inherent need to elevate them from a foundation of an unfortunate stereotype such as the screaming victim (think final girls in such classics as Halloween (1978), A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) and most memorably Scream (1996)), into a feminist and omniscient superbeing. This is not to say that there is no pleasure to be found in watching evil women slaying the men that once felt so superior to them, with many thanks to films like The Beguiled (2017), A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night (2014) or more recently I Blame Society (2020), a one-woman-project that could possibly be the bloodier, more outrageous antagonist to Creep 2. While there is much delight to take in these characters, it is not necessarily possible to empathise with them.
But in comes Sara, whose character is incredibly rich and convincing, not only because of Akhavan’s performance, but also because of a great nuance. In many ways, she is like anyone else you might randomly meet. In fact, she is exactly that, having met Aaron randomly through an advertisement. She is likeable for her dry humour - calling Aaron a “drama queen” after an outburst of aggression - her straightforwardness, “Did you want to scare me?” effectively downsizing Aaron’s ego after he provocatively asked her if he scared her, and also for her mistakes. Her character is never reduced to being only this or that, which, in the face of being in the company of a socio-pathological liar, makes her all the more sensible, though she is also the one who eventually breaks. Even then, even when we must face that this “strong”, daring female character fell into a man’s trap after all, her strength is never reduced. She was never invincible, nor was she naïve, she was, remarkably for any genre, all too human, experiencing and being moved by emotions.
This is ultimately where Aaron and Sara diverge. And when Sara cannot maintain her careless attitude and disbelief of Aaron’s occupation anymore - realising he, in spite of his almost adorable creepiness, might actually be dangerous, when she has to let go of her audacity to save Aaron from a (faked) suicide attempt, when she finally realises that there was a fault in her objectifying and collecting humans for her own valorisation and that the person, who would be her biggest trophy yet, turns out to be deeply traumatised and mentally compromised - she will not be saved by some transcendental force, but will have to face the consequences.
This is the true horror of Creep 2. Keeping visual excess and violence under wraps, the film touches on a different, particularly contemporary fear: that strength might be useless, when a bond of trust established between two people can lead to very grave consequences – something as simple and earnest as giving away personal information or meeting someone you’ve only otherwise encountered online. Creep 2 reflects the dangers of a highly individualised society, with its focus specifically on internet culture. In a world where it is becoming ever more difficult to find meaningful connections, there are many Saras looking for personal validation in creating online content (that is often based in making a spectacle either of themselves or of others), and many isolated Aarons, who are already prone to being socially excluded.
In its final scene, a rather out of place and highly unlikely outcome, Creep 2 allows metaphorical intention to take the place of an otherwise highly realistic pursuit. It might serve as a reminder that that which we encounter online is never truly deleted or defeated – these things linger somewhere and the data, the algorithms, they continue to haunt us. Or it might suggest that the internet has a love for the unconventional and weird, but has trouble walking the line between newfound pride for subculture and apologising for outright creep culture. With hate crime and hate culture more easily accessible to susceptible persons than ever before - the first teenage boy to be charged with an “incel” inspired terror attack after stabbing a woman to death occurred in February - and in light of the extraordinary situation of the moment, there seems to have never been a more appropriate time to reconsider how to stay close to those we care for.
Perhaps no one working on Creep 2 gave any thought to this back when they were making the film but my brain—though thankful for our global village whose borders are only defined by the edges of the computer screen and whose forecast is measured in Blue Light – is also absolutely overexposed to the flaws and extremities of social media and endless Zoom-meetings. Not to mention that creeping itch to go to the cinema while another stream loads on screen. In any case, the look on Sara’s face horrified me more than any blood-gurgling horned demon ever could.
Camilla Peeters studies film, theatre, literature and English. She has written for MOOOV film festival in Bruges, has given performances in Antwerp, participated in the Filmkrant Lab in Amsterdam and the Cinema Rediscovered Film critics workshop in Bristol. She also writes music reviews for Dansende Beren.
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