Haunt Season

Whether you’re an exhibitionist or former theater kid, you have an outlet at the “Realm of Terror” haunted house experience, just outside of Chicago. There, you can join a band of outcasts and wannabe actors who don ghoulish makeup and rubber masks nightly to scare paying customers. It’s a tight-knit group of performers—a career for some, a pitstop before Hollywood for others, and a weekend lark for a select few. But for one of them, scaring people for Halloween is an almost religious experience, not to be taken lightly. So they take it upon themselves to slay their coworkers for not taking the ritualistic scares seriously and providing an alternative to the commercial haunted house down the street. “The haunt” is sacred. And all these people who treat the responsibility with a sense of levity, well, they don’t belong in the business, nor do they deserve to live. That’s the twisted logic of the killer in Haunt Season, a clunky low-budget independent horror production in which performance bleeds into reality, resulting in some C-grade fun. 

Sarah Elizabeth plays Matilda, whose first night working at the “Realm of Terror” as a screaming scalping victim becomes our entry point to the vibe behind the scenes. It’s a scrappy production, populated by DIYers who have modest resources, which they put to use in some creepily themed rooms. One performer supports herself with an online profile rooted in sex-positive Instagram posts and an OnlyFans page. Another is a nudist whose hopes to “reclaim the penis” for public view result in eye rolls from his fellow performers. Everyone does their own makeup and follows the tone set by their fearless leader Bradford (Stephen Kristof). And there’s a quietly funny, likable quality to these characters, even if many of them prove unmemorable. But when people begin to disappear, the cast and crew believe it’s due to the inherently nomadic existence of a haunted house performer. Likewise, when dead bodies of their disappeared friends appear in the house, they assume it’s part of the show. 

Art imitates art with Haunt Season, which clearly operates on a shoestring budget yet manages to look slick with some credible sets, production design, and makeup effects—approximating the look of a haunted theme park. If the cinematography and some of the acting have the quality of unsanded wood, the movie, written and directed by Jake Jarvi, also reminded me of watching Kevin Smith’s Clerks (1994) for the first time. Sure, it’s a little rough around the edges and unwieldy at times, but there is a vision at work. The tools (actors, editing, lensing, etc.) aren’t always put to the best use to achieve that vision, but there’s something behind it that kept me watching. Everything onscreen has potential, including the actors. I like newcomer Sarah Elizabeth’s unassuming and unflashy performance. The quirky supporting players, including a couple of popular YouTubers, add much of the flavor to the proceedings. And the kills don’t skimp on the blood and gore, if you’re into that sort of thing. 

Running a mere 81 minutes with credits, including a couple of slow-motion montages that feel designed to pad the runtime, Haunt Season passes by with a low-key energy. The movie casually unfolds in the same manner as its characters, who float through life, finding their way by spending weeks leading up to All Hallow’s Eve at an out-of-the-way theme park. There’s a lack of momentum for much of the movie, despite the body count steadily rising. Rasheed Thomas’ synth score reaches for a throwback ‘80s sound, while Jarvi deploys dramatic irony for the first three-fourths, keeping his characters unaware that their missing or unresponsive friends and coworkers have become victims. This might translate to unbearable suspense in another movie, but not here. Still, there’s just enough dread to maintain interest until the finale, which manages a few effective scares and memorable kills on top of a predictable reveal. 

Haunt Season is slated for a limited weekend run in theaters, just at the start of Spooky Season, followed by a VOD debut a few days later from Epic Pictures’ horror label, Dread. It’s the time of year when this sort of production earns a pass. After all, the notion of a haunted house or horror theme park turning into an ironic site for a bloodbath isn’t a new angle. Tobe Hooper’s The Funhouse (1981) preceded House of 1000 Corpses (2003), The Houses October Built (2014), Hell House LLC (2015), Hell Fest (2018), and Haunt (2018), and all approached this subject with varying degrees of success. Haunt Season isn’t a landmark entry or even among the better examples of this trend. But admittedly, this is a subgenre that fascinates and scares me, and leaves me dreading my next visit to a haunted house, hayride, or theme park. Fans of this sort of thing may enjoy its modest pleasures.