The Cutprice Guignol

It’s spooky season officially, whether you like it or not, which means it is time for me to talk about a bit of high-quality fucking horror.

And that particular bit of horror, at least to kick us off this month, is Little Marvin’s horror anthology THEM. I’ve finally caught up on the first couple of seasons – Covenant and The Scare, respectively – and I really think it’s one of the most interesting pieces of TV horror I’ve come across in the last few years. Balancing brutality and actual purpose (unlike some), it’s an unremitting ride but a rewarding one – especially that superb second season, which is what I’d like to talk about today.

I mean, for a moment, let me get into just how fucking great this season is as a piece of horror television. In an era of anthology horror both brilliant and terrible, The Scare stands as one of the most accomplished, nuanced, and genuinely unsettling examples of the genre. The way it spans genres – procedural, supernatural, serial killer, psychological, generational, social – and takes them all on with such confidence and control to deliver this incredibly effective and utterly riveting story has pretty much set a new gold-standard for me in what can be achieved in these kind of anthologies. The interlacing of real-life racism and the backdrop of systemic abuse with this eerie, painful story of loss and fear is fucking sumptuous, and, if you’ve got the stomach for it, it’s a fantastic addition to your Halloween watchlist.

But with that said, I would like to talk a little about Edmund Gaines (Luke James), who serves as the main character of one of the major storylines of The Scare. Because, truly, I have not been able to stop thinking about him since I finished the season a couple of weeks ago – he’s a character of pure, fascinating tragedy, and one whose characterization throughout the show is a pretty incredible blend of performance from James, and direction and writing from the excellent production team behind the show.

Edmund is introduced to us as an actor – and a bad one, at that. He struggles to so much as get through the door for auditions, and when he does, he’s frequently stuck with stereotypical roles that he struggles to embody. At his day job, he performs in costume for kids at a Chuck-E-Cheese-esque eatery, only able to entertain when he’s hidden behind a mask and the weight of responsibility to be himself has been lifted.

At first, I thought the show was going for a sort of Dandy Mott-like story of a failed actor, someone with a craving for fame and notoriety who is willing to do anything he can to get it. But, instead, as the show goes on, it becomes clear that Edmund isn’t searching so much for fame as he is for a version of himself that’s palatable to the people around him, and the way The Scare teases out where this came from and how it eventually manifests is downright horrifying.

Edmund was a child who, due to a variety of failed adoptions, never felt as though he truly belonged anywhere – who saw his fundamental being as counterintuitive to his need to be loved, to feel accepted, to feel cared-for, communicated with an almost painful vulnerability via James’ performance. Bad luck and behavioural issues made it impossible for him to get that ground beneath him, a deliberate irony given that one of his one-time adoptive parents is a well-respected self-help author known for his focus on the vitality of a safe, supportive childhood. At every turn, Edmund was met with the reminder that he, inherently, is not enough, and he turns to creating different versions of himself in the hopes that one of them will be enough.

Edmund is consistently shown to be a liar, not so much out of malice, but out of what he sees as necessity – when he’s offered a role that he can slip into, a role he thinks will satisfy the people he happens to find himself around, he’ll take it, even when he doesn’t need to. He jumps on the offhanded suggestion that he moved into the neighbourhood recently when meeting with a member of his lost family, even though honesty likely would have gotten him through the door; when a date offhandedly suggests that he should audition for the role of a slasher villain, he ends up petrifying her by playing out the role while she visits his home, and is later kicked out of an audition for slipping too far into character and disturbing the rest of production. The way James delivers his lines as he is asked to leave – you told me I’d be good – are downright crushing, a testament to how badly he just wants to be good enough for someone, no matter the mask he has to wear to make it happen.

Perhaps my favourite version of this in the show, though, comes after the audition, when he terrifies a sex worker and gets arrested and questioned in relation to a serial killer who has been terrorizing the neighbourhood. Edmund, seeing a chance to be someone who is worthy of the attention these people are giving to him, starts reciting a monologue from his slasher-movie practice tapes, willing to let them see him as this murderer if it means that he can fulfil the role that has been thrust upon him. James even reaches for the actual, in-production camera, and brings the lens on to himself, addressing the audience directly – almost as though Edmund is auditioning not just for them, but for us, asking if he’s good enough to play the role of villain in this very show. It’s a big swing, and one that could go so wrong if the meta-textual elements wound up getting out of hand, but as it stands, it’s one of the most chilling and discomforting scenes in the entire thing. He wants to know if this mask is good enough for us – maybe, even, that it’s the one we as the audience want him to wear.

And it’s that mask that eventually leads him down the path that leads to his reincarnation as the Red-Haired Man who serves as the main antagonist for the series. While the specifics of how he becomes what he does aren’t exactly made clear, his motivations for accepting such a change couldn’t be more blatant – the monster might not be the role he first wanted, but it’s one where he feels accepted and seen.

I’m obsessed with the way Edmund is created as a character over the course of this season – the way the writing, production, and performance come together to create something truly unique, I could talk about it for pages upon pages more, but I’m honestly more interested in hearing your takes below. I would love to hear your opinions on THEM and especially this second season, so jump into the comments and let’s scare the shit out of each other!

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(header image via USA Today)