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Herk Harvey’s ‘Carnival of Souls’ is not an unequivocal, sanguinary horror as is the contemporary norm, it does not feature a tangible, monstrous entity or knife-wielding maniac and its existential core principles are indirectly conveyed, manifested in the form of an inexplicable evil. There is an insidiously creeping corniness and awkwardness at play akin to 1950s drive-in movies preceding the appearance of the ubiquitous soul, amplifying the notion of the film being a subconscious projection. Dreams in general are improbable or germane, they are decidedly perplexing and elaborate, perhaps even shabby and amiss, however, this surreal suffusion is a paradox; Harvey used newsreel cameras to meet budgetary restraints, and in doing so, inadvertently intensified the film’s spectral qualities and edgy realism. Regarding the story though, it could not be more fictional: focusing on a Kansas woman who is the sole survivor of a fatal car accident in which she was the passenger and emerging from the river with no memory of what transpired, the film is propelled into a heady dichotomous puzzle of banality and absurdity as she starts a new life in Salt Lake City as a church organist. Slowly dismantling any semblance of the intrinsic despite its kitchen sink verisimilitude, Harvey climatically veers the audience into a purgatorial dead-end of doom within the dance hall of a disused lakeside pavilion. In the process, he set the industrial, extemporaneous cinematic template for ‘Eraserhead’ among other experimental, inexpensive midnight movie creepshows that capture the incongruous, abstruse and recondite modulation of nightmares more so than mainstream film.
"Carnival of Souls" is a remarkably condensed, darkly humorous film not quite assured of its legitimacy and brilliance, and yet, by virtue of its gritty look, oddball characters and constructed plot, it is evocative and influential enough to be considered a cult classic. It is an exemplary piece of art that should be reappraised and celebrated, more so for its stark beauty, prevailing mood and the success of it’s authorial, workmanlike intent. In terms of visual palette and caustic cinematography, the dread-laden atmosphere pervading each frame from the outset, all captured with stylistic camera movements and crisp monochromatic photography, but it is the distinctly incoherent, dizzying tonality that truly overwhelms and envelops the viewer within its unprecedented web of existential angst. Raw, haunting and visionary, Harvey’s mesmeric chiller is deeply immersive and lingers in the mind, surrounding the viewer with bizarre apparitions within an incomprehensible narrative that is more effective and indelible if it is deferred from the mind and the strikingly moody visuals, spooky musical score, and appropriately strange locations are resigned to.
