Down Below: When Basements Become More Than Just Storage
Isn't there something inherently unsettling about basements? I mean, beyond the dampness and potential for spiders (and let’s be honest, who doesn’t have a basement spider story?), they represent a hidden space. A place tucked away from the light, often filled with forgotten memories and… well, secrets. And in film, that inherent unease gets amplified tenfold.
We don't often think of basements as central locations – not like a bustling city square or a grand ballroom. But when filmmakers use them effectively, they become potent symbols, reflecting anxieties about the hidden aspects of ourselves and society. They’re rarely just storage rooms; they’re psychological landscapes.
Take Video Violence Part 2, for example. The idea of serial killers operating out of a basement lair, broadcasting their gruesome hobby on a makeshift TV show? It's darkly comedic, sure, but it also taps into our fascination with the macabre and the unsettling normalization of violence in media. That basement isn’t just a hiding place; it’s a breeding ground for warped ideologies and a distorted sense of community. It feels like a direct response to the anxieties surrounding early internet culture – that feeling of hidden corners where anything can flourish, no matter how disturbing.
The power of the basement lies in its ambiguity. It's both familiar and alienating. No Space Between really leans into this. Parker’s confinement within that claustrophobic space isn’t just about physical imprisonment; it’s a descent into his own subconscious, a visual representation of repressed memories and anxieties bubbling to the surface. It reminds me a little of David Fincher's work – that feeling of something lurking just beneath the veneer of normalcy.
You see this same principle at play in Left Bank, where the basement (or rather, the apartment’s hidden history) becomes a repository for secrets and lies. It’s not literally a basement, but it embodies the same sense of concealed truths waiting to be unearthed. And even films like The Successor, which aren't explicitly about basements, utilize similar imagery – that feeling of digging beneath the surface to uncover uncomfortable family legacies.
What I find particularly fascinating is how the use of basements has evolved. Early horror often used them for straightforward scares - a monster in the shadows! But contemporary filmmakers are using them more subtly, as metaphors for psychological states and societal anxieties. Be My Cat: A Film for Anne might seem like an outlier here, but even its exploration of ambition and obsession feels rooted in that same desire to delve into hidden motivations – a kind of metaphorical basement of the creative process.
So next time you’re watching a film and notice a character descending stairs or lingering near a dark doorway, pay attention. That basement might be telling you more than just where they're going; it might be revealing something profound about their inner world—and our own.
