issue no. 38

spoiler alert

backrooms

I intended to write about the importance and evolution of the third space….buuuut then I took my teen to see Backrooms.

If you haven’t seen it, I’ll try not to give anything away, but I will say that I absolutely LOVED this movie. It checked so many boxes: horror, therapy, secret spaces, 1990, and of course, a failed architect as the protagonist. What more could a girl want?

I went into this movie blind, requesting my son conceal the history behind it. However, I did get the gist -someone stumbles upon a hidden room- sold. Ever since I can recall, I’ve had a recurring dream about discovering vast spaces hidden in various homes. Some of the homes were familiar- current apartments + houses- others were completely foreign.

It went like this: I’d be walking through the apartment/house, open a closet or turn a corner, and voila! A series of very large, very empty, poorly arranged rooms appeared before me. I may be out of the norm here, but with space, bigger is not always better. And while I felt immense joy in having discovered this abundant square footage, there was an underlying sense of burden.

The spaces were large and so awkward in their arrangement. Corridors that were far too wide, bathrooms that felt like institutions, and living spaces that were 4x as long as they were wide (and sloped aggressively). There were giant rooms lined with king-sized beds and bedrooms spread so far apart it felt unsafe. I spent what felt like hours walking through, attempting unsuccessful furniture placements before telling anyone of my discovery.

The one that haunts me most felt like a riddle. I moved up stairs and down, climbing up studio sets of lofted rooms, countered by ornate living spaces, all set up in a maze where I could never get to where I needed to go - out.

Some spaces had memorable details: small rectangles of stained glass casting colorful shadows on an otherwise dark wood room. I still recall the sticky feel of the bar height ledge that ran the length of the back wall. There was the pink corner bathtub with a black + white tile floor, and my favorite, the rust carpeted dining room that separated two opposing bedrooms, one wall lined with mirrored glass and the other with vertical blinds.

Most of the spaces repeated themselves with 3-4 interiors replaying at random. But as I have gotten older, not only do they come less often, but their proximity moves further away. Where they used to be in the home I inhabited, they began to drift. First was an apartment below my own that I didn’t know was there, and eventually offsite to a vacant ultra-modern house in a sprawling, typical suburban neighborhood that I unknowingly already owned.

And while the story evolved from a YouTube sensation, it all started with one photo.

As I sat in the dark theater watching the story unfold, I felt seen, but I also felt uneasy and disturbed. And I realized just how dependent on interior design this movie was. While many horror films rely on a location to support their impact, they can usually be interchangeable – a remote house with lots of windows, a giant mansion, a campground, or an old hotel. But this was specific, non-negotiable.

Low ceilings, harsh fluorescent lighting, lack of wayfinding, and claustrophobic corridors juxtaposed with expansive monochromatic spaces all inform a feeling of disorientation. There is nothing to give a sense of scale or purpose. A space with no purpose is scary. It feels lost, abandoned, and discarded, which is perhaps the greatest human fear.

Randomly placed partial-height walls, dead-end + infinite pathways, doors that vary in size, and a repetition of sameness that feels almost hostile. When there is nothing to ground us, we can feel afraid to move forward or to grow, afraid of getting lost or left behind. Without our visual cues we are doomed to wander directionless.

The palette representing the backrooms is heavily yellow, contrasting the primarily blue tones used in the real-world scenes. Oppressively bright rooms contradict the common use of darkness to elicit fear. As though allowing us to see the full breadth of the expanse creates more disturbance.

There was no gratuitous gore or jump scares - just our own response to and interaction with this very evocative space.

An entire subculture, genre, lore, and now a feature A24 release, all inspired by one interior image.

Did you see it? What did you think?