The Architectural Replica in Horror Films

For film buffs, The Shining is especially sacred because it introduced the Steadicam, which allows us to fluidly follow little Danny as he pedals his tricycle down the hallways of the Overlook hotel. For me, one of the film’s most visceral delights is when Jack Torrance, Danny’s increasingly unhinged dad, peers over a replica of the maze on the hotel grounds – and it morphs into the real thing, his wife and son obliviously traipsing around its hedges. The metaphysical aspect of that uncanny transmogrification, which was achieved by combining two filmed images using matte plates, is always a thrill. It reminds the viewer that they too are peering over an unfolding narrative – their observation a mechanism in the engine of horror that ensues.

Ari Aster’s Hereditary goes further. Annie Graham (played by Toni Collette) is an artist who painstakingly recreates her traumatic lived experiences, including her late mother’s deathbed, in miniature. And, as in The Shining, the model she’s built of her home comes alive; the layers of the dollhouse in section fill the screen to become the rooms embodied by Annie and her family. As they move into these spaces, the camera dissolves the distinction between the “real” house and its doppelganger (doppelgangers, cloning and unencumbered replication all being hallmarks of horror.) The miniatures, which were built by Toronto artist Steve Newburn and his team at Applied Arts FX Studio, are symbolic of the dark arts at play in the central plot – the main characters are like dolls being controlled by unseen forces much bigger than them.

The allegory pops up again in Heretic, out in theatres in November, where Hugh Grant’s character uses a replica of his house of horrors in order to script a game of cat and mouse with two missionaries who’ve come knocking at his door – he’s the director of a film within the film, and like him, we’re watching the movie and his own perspective simultaneously, while being aware of ourselves as complicit in our viewing, if not exactly pulling the strings and calling the shots. But how can we resist? Like our childhood dollhouses, architectural models tap into the part of us that loves to play God (or devil): Pluck the roof off and you can see the entire layout and orchestrate how people, our own doppelgängers, will use it. Zoom out and you shudder at the possibilities. The dystopian idea of the panopticon, and its corollary of having one’s agency obliterated by arbitrary and evil powers, endures as a narrative because of very real historical precedents. It’s far scarier than any coven. — Elizabeth Pagliacolo

The Cinematic Enchantments of Roman and Williams

While Practical Magic follows a family of witches facing off against ancient curses and evil spirits, the most enchanting aspect of the film doesn’t actually involve any supernatural forces — just good old-fashioned residential design. Set in New England, the movie is anchored by a cliffside Victorian that cast such a spell that Barbra Streisand immediately set out to buy it. The only problem: it didn’t exist. The exterior was a temporary structure built solely for the production on an island in Washington, while the interiors were constructed on Los Angeles soundstages. Both were dreamed up by production designers Robin Standefer and Stephen Alesch, who were friends with Practical Magic director Griffin Dunne — and would later go on to launch the architecture and design studio now known as Roman and Williams.

These days, their firm is best known for their sumptuous interiors — including the Ace Hotels in Manhattan, Brooklyn, and New Orleans — and the Roman and Williams Guild, a moody NYC emporium filled with elaborate floral arrangements and beautiful trinkets tucked under large glass cloches. Anyone who has visited the shop will recognize the same sense of rich atmosphere throughout Practical Magic’s sets. Inside the Owens family kitchen, for example, a long wooden table leads to a cream-coloured Aga range surrounded by oversized tiles, with an enviable assortment of antique brass pots and pans stacked on shelves in one corner and a built-in plate rack in another. Filled with time-worn texture, the space celebrates the alchemy of cooking. In one scene, the Owens gang gather around the stovetop to prepare an elaborate potion designed to vanquish Gillian’s abusive ex-boyfriend once and for all. But in another, they put the kitchen to use for a far more relatable project: mixing a blender full of midnight margaritas. By creating a beautiful backdrop for domestic life, the set achieves exactly what the movie’s title promises: practical magic. No wonder it continues to inspire all manner of kitchen renovations.

This summer, Warner Brothers announced that it was developing a sequel to Practical Magic, with both Sandra Bullock and Nicole Kidman on board to return. Roman and Williams Instagrammed the news alongside a selection of production photos, yet remained coy on their involvement in a recent AD interview about the original film’s design. Here’s hoping they still have a few magic tricks up their sleeves. — Eric Mutrie

Toronto Through the Looking Glass

The darkest horrors lurk within. Whether it’s a killer hiding in the attic or an unspeakable urge buried deep within the psyche, some of the biggest cinematic scares linger just beyond the doorways of perception, unsettling an ordinary — even idyllic — setting with only the faintest whisper of a much darker reality. For residents of Canada’s largest city, however, it’s all just a part of everyday life. Through the strength of American culture and the weakness of the Canadian dollar, the city has become a hub of film production — though one that rarely plays itself on the big screen.

Yet, while it’s one thing to see the corner of Roncesvalles and Dundas West dressed up as mid-century Baltimore in Hairspray (2007), the game of doubles and impostors takes on more unnerving ramifications in the horror genre. While the banal, vampiric evils of Bay Street reveal a more red-blooded Wall Street guise in American Psycho, Etobicoke’s Islington Avenue makes a surprising metamorphosis into Satanic small-town Maine in the 2013 remake of Stephen King’s Carrie. These are quiet, convincing transformations, which pass by even the most perceptive Torontonians with blink-and-you’ll-miss-it subtlety. But they leave their traces — and burrow their way into our consciousness. The seamless Janus face invites us to question just how well we really know ourselves. Is the Canadian financial system just a more polite version of its ruthless American counterpart? Is there something fundamentally small-minded and provincial behind Toronto’s veneer of cosmopolitanism? And it doesn’t stop at the city limits, with quaint Port Hope becoming a den of evil in the two-part film adaptation of It, another foray into rustic Stephen King Maine.

But it’s not all bad news. Sometimes, even the most dystopian art teaches us to see our surroundings in a more optimistic light. Consider the imperilled Ontario Science Centre transformed into a stylish apocalyptic refuge — and a haven of humanity — in Station Eleven, a recent TV adaptation of an eponymous Canadian novel. And while the book was primarily set in Toronto, the series moves the action to Chicago and Michigan — while COVID delays saw the American production (if not the setting) relocated north of the border. And just like our cinematically fluid national border, the line between horror and comedy often blurs. In M. Night Shyamalan’s Trap, the unmistakable exterior of the SkyDome offers a delightfully unconvincing simulacrum of Philadelphia. Don’t try to tell me that’s not Toronto. — Stefan Novakovic

Monster House Makeover

Everybody wants a monster house. And I’m not talking about a mega-mansion. The yearly Halloween trend of decorating your home with plastic horns, bloodshot eyeballs and the signature giant fangs that frame the front door, is a tried-and-true ritual of October festivities. This tradition is perhaps thanks to the animated 2006 film — and instant Halloween classic — Monster House, directed by Gil Kenan. In this chilling story, two teenagers discover their neighbour’s home, incidentally the creepiest place on the block, is much more than its brick-and-mortar foundation. In the words of Frankenstein, it’s alive!

To defeat the spirit that’s holding the townhouse hostage, our protagonists learn they must destroy the heart of the house: the furnace. Although interior designers may disagree (is the heart of the home not the kitchen?), this proves key to the home’s later collapse — architects, take note in case of future residential hauntings. So, this October 31, if you want to infuse some extra flair into your facade while teaching trick-or-treaters a thing or two about architectural design, give your home a Monster House makeover. And don’t forget to include the red tongue carpet! — Sophie Sobol

Designing Tension: How ‘Cross’ Creates Atmosphere Through Set Design

Premiering November 14 on Amazon Prime, a few weeks shy of spooky season, “Cross,” based on James Patterson’s novels, follows the eponymous detective and forensic psychologist Alex Cross (played by Aldis Hodge) as he works to track down serial killers. Though set in Washington D.C., the show was primarily shot across Southern Ontario, at locations including Brantford City Hall, Brampton Cemetery and downtown Oshawa. These sites were artfully transformed courtesy of production designer, Elisa Sauvé, who conducted a research trip to D.C. to determine the best shooting locations north of the border. In addition to giving new life to these existing sites, she also recreated iconic D.C. institutions like Ben’s Chili Bowl — a landmark that is particularly relevant to Black culture and American Civil Rights — on a Toronto sound stage. 

Throughout the series, Sauvé plays with contrast. The Cross family home is warm, layered and integrated into its community, in keeping with the identity of the heroic titular character. The world of villain Ed Ramsey (Ryan Eggold), meanwhile, is more complex. Despite its shiny exterior, his home is filled with hidden rooms that take on an edgier, utilitarian aesthetic. Yet even with their moodiness and drama, Sauvé wanted to ensure the spaces felt very much part of the real world. After all, believability is part of what makes a thriller, well, thrilling. As for how design influences the rest of the narrative, we’ll have to tune in to find out. — Sydney Shilling

Looking for more spooky architectural entertainment?

• Redecorating? Consider these 8 modern furniture designs fit for a haunted mansion.
• From our archives, a roundup of 10 modernist houses in scary movies.
• More afraid of heights? Read our recap of the horror genre’s top 10 skyscrapers.
• Explore this roundup of shows and movies about being watched.
• We’ve also unpacked 10 other architectural tropes that pop-up repeatedly in spine-tingling films, and explored 10 spooky films where architecture plays a leading role.
• Look back at our conversation with the set designer of The Fall of the House of Usher.
• Or read our report about an even more concerning horror: the annual spike in road deaths on October 31. (Stay safe out there!)