Midnight Mass: What Happens When We Die?
Midnight Mass: What Happens When We Die?
It's a question that's plagued humanity since the dawn of civilization: What happens when we die? While this inquiry into our reality can be framed in sociological or philosophical ways, religion tends to be where most people float to for answers. The afterlife has been a mainstay of human culture for thousands of years, with every civilization to have existed in recorded history believing that, in one way or another, we live long after the "us" on Earth has died. Sometimes this idea is met with exuberance, the promise of an afterlife unalterable to those who believe it exists. Other times, however, death can be rooted in the fear that, one day, everyone will traverse into the great unknown that lays beyond mortality. And sometimes, that fear of not being certain about what happens when you die can lead you to take drastic measures in order to preserve life.
This idea is explored with tact and tremendous production value in horror director Mike Flanagan's latest television project Midnight Mass. A story he's been trying to tell long before his helming of The Haunting of Hill House launched his work into the public spectacle, Midnight Mass opens with former venture capitalist and struggling alcoholic Riley Flynn waking up on the side of the road, surrounded by police cars and officers. In front of him lay a young woman, dead, her life taken by Riley's reckless drunk driving. After serving four years in prison and without anywhere else to go, Riley arrives on Crockett Island (affectionately referred to as "The Crockpot" by its natives), a small town of just over 100 people where he grew up. The town is also majority Catholic, something Riley struggles to adjust to after the crash caused him to question his faith in God. The town appears to be struggling economically, with a recent oil spill having done damage to their once-booming fishing industry--as well as damaging the health of some of the townspeople. True faith, it seems, is not in great abundance in the Crockpot.
That is until one Sunday morning when a stranger arrives to the town. Replacing the congregation's aging leader, Monsignor Pruitt, is Father Paul, a much younger man with a genuine conviction in his voice as he preaches the gospel. Pruitt, it seems, is back on the mainland, recovering from injuries sustained in a trip to Jerusalem. His lack of contact, however, is not seen as that big a deal by Riley and others in the town, including his childhood friend Erin Greene and Sheriff Hassan, the only practicing Muslim on the island. Soon enough, however, Riley spots a man dressed like Pruitt in a storm, but is unable to catch up to him. Things get even stranger as dead animals begin to show up on the island and as Father Paul begins to give performances that start restoring faith amongst his new congregation. And there appears to be something else living on the island, something that hadn't been here before Paul's arrival. This isn't just the story of Riley Flynn and a few islanders. This is the story of a small town looking for something--anything--to believe in.
While framed as a horror story, however, Flanagan has a tendency to utilize horror for more than scaring his audience. Instead, he recognizes horror as a vehicle to tell very human stories that stick with you long after the credits roll. His "style" is to make the audience care about the characters he presents us with and, by extension, to care about what's going on in the story he's telling. It's not something unique to him, and certainly a necessary quality of any good art. But it's in such short supply with modern creations that it stands out, serving to bolster his work above so many others that come and go in the same time period. Midnight Mass is far from an exception to this pursuit of the human condition, but that's also what makes it an exceptional series. The horror story being told here does, of course, take precedence with the plot. But, at the same time, every character has their own arcs that add to the thematic nature of the town's crisis of faith.
That faith, however, is portrayed in a way that feels very different from many other media that utilizes religion as a major part of its story. Oftentimes, the creator takes a specific "side" of sorts, with the work meant to be a direct criticism of religion (something I personally played with in my novel These Stone Walls) or an embracement of everything religion stands for. Flanagan, however, decides to take a hands-off approach to his discussion of religious faith and its role in the world. He doesn't try and preach to the audience that organized religion is a secret evil to the world, nor does he stand aloft a high horse to state that Catholicism is the one true belief system. Instead, he weaves these beliefs into his characters, indicating how faith isn't a two-sided coin, but rather a puzzle with a million little pieces. To speak on this, however, I'm going to have to start delving into spoilers. So, if you haven't seen Midnight Mass yet, go watch it. It is a fantastic horror series and perfect for the current Halloween season. I know this is breaking the flow, but trust me when I say you will regret reading any spoilers about this series. So:
BEGIN SPOILERS
The scene that most exemplifies Flanagan's commentary on faith happens in the fourth episode of the show. After having lost her baby, Erin invites Riley over as a way to emotionally recover from her loss. While spending time together, Erin decides to ask Riley a question: What happens when you die? At this point, it's clear that Erin is a practicing Catholic while Riley doesn't know if he believes in God. When he answers her, however, he doesn't do so with simplicity. Instead, the camera slowly zooms in on him as he explains the scientific function of death: The brain dying, the body shutting down, everything science has told us happens when you die. But then he starts to speculate that maybe, just as the brain shuts down, he gets "one last fireworks display" of his life flashing before his eyes. Slowly, over time, he becomes one with the dirt, the trees, and even the stars as his atoms are spread across the cosmos, becoming everywhere and nowhere without ever realizing it.
Then he asks Erin the same question: What happens when you die? Erin frames her response in her faith, particularly in the way of the daughter she's lost. She describes how, when her daughter died, she must have been taken up to heaven to see God. That God kissed her on the head, making her grow up, and introduced her to all the family members she never knew existed. Family members that name her and then tell her all about her mother down on Earth, reassuring her that, someday, the two of them will be reunited. Just like with Riley, the camera slowly zooms in on Erin as she explains her belief in a genuine, conscious afterlife, just as religion has promised her. When she's finished, Riley respectfully nods and replies: "I really hope you're right."
In framing this particular scene, Flanagan never tries to take either Riley or Erin's side regarding their speculations on death. Their opposing viewpoints are seen as on equal ground with one another, since neither of them truly knows what happens when they die. But what I also liked was how their viewpoints, opposite as they were, never tried to antagonize the other's. They are both seen as "right" because of how impossible it is to learn what it's like for someone to experience death without having died themselves. Flanagan gives a respectful amount of time to both viewpoints on death, portraying them as equals and doing so in a way that manages to underscore how claiming to know for sure what happens when we die is foolish--but doesn't mean you shouldn't have the right to speculate.
In a similar vein, Flanagan doesn't try to portray Father Paul as a villainous figure. As the first few episodes indicate, Paul has been granted some level of supernatural power, allowing him to perform "miracles," from making it so a woman no longer needs her glasses to helping a paralyzed girl walk again. But, as is revealed at the end of Episode 3, this was not just Paul's doing. The end of the series' third episode reveals that Paul is the former Monsignor Pruitt. While in Jerusalem, the ailing Monsignor became lost in a sandstorm, finding shelter in a cave. But another being was also in that cave, a blood-sucking creature that Pruitt refers to as "the angel." Upon drinking the angel's blood, Pruitt became young again, bestowing upon him a renewed sense of responsibility for his congregation back home. He steals the angel away in a wooden box--it can't traverse in sunlight or its skin will burn--and takes it back to the Crockpot, where he has been using its blood as communion, feeding it regularly to the congregation. This has allowed miracles to take shape, yes, but there is one problem Pruitt did not foresee: When someone who has partaken of the blood dies, they come back with similar attributes as the angel--and a need to feed on blood.
Paul takes almost everything that happens, even his own eventual bloodlust, as a sign from that God this is a specific path he is supposed to walk upon. The Jonestown-like air of the community grows continually, with Paul putting his faith less in the intangible works of God and more in the claws of the angel he returned home with. The angel, it seems, is a representation of how organized religion can become corrupted by a rigidity of faith not seen in holy scriptures, instead by man's greed for the preservation of power and life. But Paul is never portrayed as a villain for his actions; he is a devout man who, seeing God in even the most clearly wicked of beasts, sought to bring those God-like ideas into his congregation. What he didn't realize, however, was just how demonic his plans were, blinded by the notion that his personal righteousness and trust in the angel was not a corruptive force, but instead what God wants. In portraying Paul and the angel in this way, Flanagan creates a story that critiques the corruption of religion by both outside and inside forces. It's not religious belief that is evil. It's the way man uses that belief for his own self-benefit.
END SPOILERS
Every detail of the show exemplifies the themes it plays with. Heavy on dialogue, many of the show's less cinematically-impressive scenes end up being the ones that leave the most impact. Interactions between characters who have meaningfully tense relationships are interwoven by major plot developments, creating memorable scenes amplified by incredible acting from everyone in the cast. Hamish Linklater steals the show in every scene he's in as Paul, even when he's not at the podium preaching to his congregation. The convictions that drive Paul as a character are in even his mannerisms, making the performance and the subsequent story all the more engaging. And this can be said for every cast member that brings the Crockpot to life, creating a religious tale that explores crises of faith while also telling a fantastic horror story. This is the kind of show whose details--from writing to acting--will stick with you long after you've finished watching it.
Midnight Mass is a phenomenal horror series whose religious undertones and discussions of faith are handled in a mature, thoughtful way. Time and time again, Mike Flanagan has showcased himself to be a talented director and writer whose grasp of the horror genre leads to strong, well-crafted stories that deserve to be recognized as modern works of great artistic merit. I don't mean to set the bar too high, but thematically, Midnight Mass is a masterful series and a breath of fresh air when it comes to the way religion is handled in horror settings. If you haven't seen it yet, you can find it streaming on Netflix. It's not only perfect for the Halloween season, but also fantastic for anyone looking for a religious backdrop to their horror--with a few unexpected surprises that will stick with you for a long time to come.
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