Spring is an Illusion

Renewal, Color, and the Lies Horror Tells Us

Spring is treated as renewal. Traditionally, we partake in the whole “spring cleaning” thing, decluttering our homes and deep cleaning our floors in hopes that it’ll bring in a fresh start after the long and dreadful winter. It’s a chance to rid ourselves of what we don’t need, making room for what we desire… or at least, that’s what we tell ourselves.

Horror takes our constant need for renewal and refreshment and completely flips it on its head. There’s no real cleanse being done, but rather an entrapment. Instead of a reset, spring becomes a cycle.

Dusting the blinds and vacuuming the carpet doesn’t clean away our past. A changing of seasons doesn’t just magically fix everything.

In this special edition of Slasher, we’re taking a deeper dive into horror’s manipulation of perception–through our first double issue! First, we’ll explore how horror twists the idea of Spring renewal into something far less welcoming. Then, we’ll dive into how horror uses color to control our fear and emotional reactions before we even realize it.

PART ONE: The Horror of False Renewal

Spring is supposed to be a time of renewal. A second chance for those who let their New Year’s Resolution slip, you could say, offering yet another reset.

You grab the bleach, scrubbing your tiles, imagining those pesky bad habits washing away… down the drain with all the dirt and grime. We celebrate our freshly cleaned homes, the flowers coming to bloom, and seeing the bees buzzing around again.

But this magical reset? It’s all an illusion. Horror understands that time doesn’t reset… it just recycles.

Two films take this illusion and warp it into something even more sinister… making spring into a trap rather than renewal.

Midsommar: Flower Cage

Midsommar starts in the winter. Dani, played by Florence Pugh, is grieving for her recently deceased family. Her mentally ill sister took her own life, along with their parents, in a carbon monoxide-induced murder-suicide. As she grieves, her relationship with her boyfriend, Christian, becomes distant.

Dani is desperate for escape. She needs something to quiet the grief, to make it weaker, if only for a moment in time. When she and her friends are invited to Sweden for a midsummer festival that only happens every 90 years, Dani is given the chance to find a small crumb of refuge.

This is where we see ourselves in Dani. We suffer, we try to deal, and then we jump on the next opportunity to make it all go away. For some of us, that may be a vacation. For others, it may be an attempt at a lifestyle change. When the seasons shift, we convince ourselves that we change with them. But do we?

Finding Community

Dani and her friends go to Harga for the festival. The village welcomes her with open arms, offering a sense of community and acceptance in her time of loss. Harga seems to be exactly what she needed.

It is a place of beauty, love, and warmth. A deceptive practice of family and growth, luring people in with a false sense of security. While Dani may feel like she found her place of renewal, the reality is that she stumbled upon a place of destruction and blood. Harga isn’t about breaking old cycles, it’s about endlessly continuing the trauma.

Perhaps her first sign of this should’ve been when an elderly couple threw themselves off a cliff to commit suicide. Or when one of the elders who survived, had his head beaten in with a mallet by the community members. But it was okay, because everyone in Harga does that at the age of 72.

Dani, although disturbed by the ceremonies, is convinced to stay by her friend, Pelle. He tells her that he was orphaned too, and that the commune became his new family.

Dani hesitates, but Harga’s warm and inviting atmosphere makes her push away the unease. They accepted her, even after the trauma she’s been through.

The sun shines, the flowers blossom, and birds are chirping. Harga is a place of beauty… and yet, there’s blood staining the rocks.

So instead of running, Dani decides to stay. After all, she won’t have to face her problems if she just stays put… in Harga, she isn’t alone.

Spring Isn’t So Fresh

The deception of Harga is what keeps Dani trapt. She believes their festival is of renewal and growth, but the reality is they practice ritual sacrifice. They don’t care about ending cycles, they care about destroying the old to sustain… and that means having to shed blood.

As Dani’s friends are killed off one-by-one, she’s forced to face her past when they get to her boyfriend, Christian. Dressed in a gown of fresh flowers, Dani has to make a choice: Kill someone of Harga or kill her boyfriend?

By this point, the people of Harga had already been brainwashed into believing that she was seen as their family. And, because of this, she chooses Christian to be sacrificed for the cause.

This choice makes Dani believe she finally escaped the trauma of her old life… but she actually dove into the deep end of a much bigger, inescapable system of horror.

The Wicker Man: Burning Dance

While Dani was trapped through the comfort of Harga in Midsommar, The Wicker Man went another route. What happens when you refuse to submit? What happens when the system eats you alive?

Illusion of Authority

Sergeant Howie arrives at Summerisle to investigate the disappearance of a missing girl named Rowan. As a devout Christian and police officer, he believes that justice and order are on his side. When he arrives, he’s wary of the islanders.

The islanders practice pagan traditions… something that Howie believes is merely superstition.

Nevertheless, Howie believes he’s above getting sucked into the islanders’ ways. He’s strong in his faith and in the law. The islanders’ traditions are merely foolish, and their beliefs are nothing compared to his authority.

Howie believes he’s in control. He never was.

Howie finds out that Rowan is alive, and he believes that he rescues her. He believes that he won the game, but the reality is that he was caught in their trap.

Rowan was never in danger… but Howie was.

Rituals and Sacrifice

The villagers of Summerisle are dedicated to one another. To them, the gods come first. When the crops fail, blood must be spilled.

Howie was chosen because he fit their criteria: he was a virgin, he came willingly, he represented authority and was ultimately a fool in believing he was above them in any capacity. Howie was only led to believe he was ahead of the game–his faith was decided as soon as he stepped foot on the island.

Just like in Midsommar, a sacrifice is needed for renewal. While Dani submitted to her group for acceptance, Howie’s fight against the islanders leads to his demise. They’re both ultimately victims of cycles, though shown in completely opposite sides of the spectrum.

Howie is placed within the giant Wicker Man statue, set ablaze as the islanders joyfully sing and dance around the murder. His screams ring out into the flame of the fire, drowned out by the singing, for nobody to hear but the birds that chirp in the distance.

The Rising Sun

In both films, sunlight horror is used to avert the audience’s expectations. Most horror films rely on darkness for fear. These films strip that away, using daylight to trap both the characters and the audience in the horror.

Horror set in the daytime removes any illusion of safety. No longer do you wait for the sun to come up to signal the terror is over. Instead, these films demand that you watch what they put in front of you.

In Midsommar, where the sun never sets, the sunlight is inescapable. Dani is drenched in the warmth of the sun, and therefore the commune, until she finally embraces it and surrenders.

In The Wicker Man, the sunlight represents the lies of the village. The island seems idyllic, hiding the true horror beneath.

The light should be seen as safe, but in both of these films, it’s a trap.

Conclusion

Spring should be a time of new beginnings. A season of fresh ideas, buds blossoming, and bees buzzing. But in Midsommar and The Wicker Man, renewal isn’t about moving forward in growth. It’s about destroying the past.

The concept of destruction, in horror and in life, never really works. You can’t destroy who you are without first understanding who you are. To grow, you have to dig deep within yourself. If you want a fresh start, you can’t just forget who you were, but rather you have to keep that past version with you.

The past has to remain in the light, because the moment we look away, it takes control again. Just as these films use the sunlight to strip away comfort, we must keep our past in our sight… even when it’s easier to look away.

As the seasons change, we tell ourselves we’re starting fresh. But real renewal doesn’t happen just because we leave winter–it happens because we choose to break free from the cycle.

PART TWO: The Colors of Fear

When we think of horror, we don’t often think about color. But we should. We tend to associate stunning cinematography and coloring with films outside of horror–think movies like Barbie, Blade Runner 2049, or The Wizard of Oz. These are movies that, if heard, are immediately thought of for their beautiful color schemes.

In Barbie, different shades of pink bring the plastic world to life. Once Barbie and Ken step into the real world, the pink disappears. The colors become faded, dull, and stripped of childhood wonder, representing the struggles of growing up.

An even better example? The Wizard of Oz. This film starts out in black and white, showcasing the real world as the “less interesting” counterpart to Oz. When Dorothy steps onto the yellow brick road, the beautiful Technicolors burst onto our screens, and we’re met with a world of whimsy. No longer does it feel dull and unfulfilling, but rather exciting and full of wonder.

What I’m getting at here is that film loves using colors to manipulate the audience’s perception. Even recently, the meme of how film has long portrayed Mexico has come into play, typically overlaying the scenes with a yellow filter to make the area seem… Uninviting? Different? I’m not really sure why they do that actually.

Horror uses these tactics just like any other genre… though much more intense.

In horror, color isn’t just a tool, but rather a weapon to manipulate the audience’s fear. Color controls fear itself, guiding our emotions before we even realize it.

In some horror films, the colors are drained away, leaving a lifeless and cold corpse of a movie behind. Others assault us with neon chaos or oversaturated worlds that are impossible to ignore.

SAW

The world of Saw isn’t exactly welcoming. From Jigsaw’s eerie vocal instructions to nearly impossible traps to escape from, you’re not really wanting a ticket to visit.

The Saw franchise is already disturbing, but its color palette takes it further, tricking our brains into immediate revulsion. The Saw films drown themselves in a sickly green hue, triggering our brains to associate the movies with things like disease, radiation, or infection.

This isn’t just a trick done in horror–this is the same psychological marketing brands use to make you want to buy more.

For example, McDonald’s uses red and yellow in their logo to promote hunger. Red is known for stimulating your appetite, while yellow is associated with happiness, thus creating the perfect combination to attract customers.

Our brains actually process color before anything else, which is why getting the colors just right is so important.

Saw uses this idea but for the opposite effect: They want you to feel absolutely disgusted.

The harsh lighting and grimy rooms can only do so much, but once you slap on a green filter, it suddenly becomes much more terrifying. The environment itself feels infected–like the horror is spreading, a sickness you can’t escape from.

SUSPIRIA

If Saw drowns you in green, Suspiria smothers you in neon. In the world of Suspiria, you’re drowned in the unnatural colors of red, making it feel more like a fever dream than anything else.

Red is the prominent color of Suspiria, although the film itself is filled with beautifully lit sets. Pinks, purples, and deep blues paint the film, solidifying its place as one of horror’s most visually beautiful pieces.

The red in the film is made to draw you in. The color seduces you, suffocates you, and consumes you all in one go. The human brain is wired to be seduced by the color, as red demands attention and triggers our desires. Horror filmmakers understand this psychology, and Suspiria uses it to its full advantage.

But this film is also able to use red in a multipurpose manner. While, yes, red is purposefully used to indicate seduction, it’s also used in a more traditional way of horror: blood.

Even in a world oversaturated with red, Suspiria’s kills stand out. The blood violently contrast against the backdrop, refusing to blend in. With such striking imagery, the violence can’t be ignored.

US

When it comes to bringing up red in horror, Us is impossible to skip over.

Us is a film about doppelgängers, using an evil twin horror story to expose the horrors of classism. In the film, the lookalikes are called the Tethered, who all wear matching red jumpsuits.

Their red clothing is meant to represent danger first and foremost, but also rebellion and revolution. The Tethered didn’t just come out to kill people for no reason, they came out to live the lives they never were given the chance to have.

Their choice of color is meant to stand out against the world they invaded, proving to us that they will not be ignored.

But Us doesn’t just use red. One of its most pivotal scenes—the mirror maze—drenches the audience in something entirely different.

A young Adelaide is lost within the depths of the mirror maze, swallowed by deep blues and shadows. The deep blue isn’t just creepy… it mirrors the Tethered’s existence. They’re trapped underground, forgotten as they live in the shadows.

The scene is meant to connect the Tethered to the human. The deep blue makes us feel their isolation and suffering. For a moment, we’re not made to be afraid of the Tethered… but possibly understand them.

MANDY

Mandy is more of a violent fever dream than a film. The best way to describe it would be as an experience, as watching it feels hallucinatory.

Its aesthetics are drowned in fantastical neon lighting, featuring beautiful hues of reds, purples, and blues.

The lighting and color grading are meant to feel as though they are distorting reality, almost like a drug trip of sorts. As Nicholas Cage’s character descends into violent revenge, horror exist in a neon glow of blood splatter.

The coloring for this movie isn’t just to look cool, but to make the audience feel just as unhinged as Cage.

BEETLEJUICE

In Beetlejuice, color isn’t used to create fear, but rather to make the afterlife feel alive.

The film embraces bold and unnatural color palettes to make the afterlife feel chaotic and wacky rather than dreadful, leaning into its comedic elements.

It feels theatrical, with its exaggerated aesthetics leaning on its clashing color palette to create a world of eerie whimsy. The Deetz family’s world is muted and dull, but the afterlife is full of energy that makes death seem far more fun.

Of course, this isn’t just for style. It reflects Lydia’s desires to die and join the Maitlands. Lydia sees more life in death than the world around her, and the film’s vibrant colors reflect exactly why.

Conclusion

Horror doesn’t just use monsters and sound to terrify us anymore—it uses color. Color can control our emotions before we even realize it. From marketing campaigns in branding to horrifying scenes in film, color is one of the most powerful tools out there.

These films are able to use color as a weapon against their audiences, manipulating our emotions to get the reaction they want. Whether that be from Saw’s sickly greens or Suspiria’s seductive reds, these studios know exactly what they’re up to.

In horror, color doesn’t just decorate a scene… it controls it. Whether we like it or not, color has the power to make us feel something. Fear included.