The Dark Allure of Violence: A Critique of ‘Faces of Death’ and Our Morbid Fascination
There’s something undeniably provocative about a film that dares to hold a mirror up to society’s darkest corners. Faces of Death, both the original 1978 cult classic and its modern remake, attempts to do just that. But does it succeed? Personally, I think the answer is far more complicated than the filmmakers would have us believe.
The original Faces of Death was a bizarre, low-budget experiment in shock cinema, blending real and staged footage of gruesome deaths into a pseudo-documentary format. It was exploitative, yes, but it also tapped into something primal—our morbid curiosity. What makes this particularly fascinating is how the film became a cultural phenomenon, spawning sequels and cementing its place in horror history. It wasn’t just about the gore; it was about the why behind our fascination with death.
Fast forward to the 2024 remake, and the filmmakers claim they’re tackling weighty themes: desensitization to violence, the ethics of consuming violent media, and the toxic nature of our digital ecosystem. On paper, it sounds ambitious. But in execution? In my opinion, it falls flat. The film tries to be a commentary on modern media but ends up feeling like just another horror flick with a pretentious veneer.
One thing that immediately stands out is the central character, Margo, a content moderator for a YouTube-esque platform. Her job is to sift through graphic videos, deciding what stays and what gets removed. It’s a premise ripe with potential—after all, who hasn’t wondered about the psychological toll of such a job? But the film reduces her to a generic heroine, her backstory and struggles feeling more like plot devices than genuine exploration.
What many people don’t realize is that content moderation is a real, often traumatic job that thousands of people perform daily. The film could have delved into the psychological toll of constantly witnessing humanity’s darkest moments. Instead, it uses Margo’s trauma as a shortcut to establish her as a sympathetic character, missing an opportunity to say something meaningful about the invisible labor that keeps our digital spaces ‘clean.’
The villain, Arthur, is another missed opportunity. Played by Dacre Montgomery, he’s a serial killer who recreates scenes from the original film, uploading them for online fame. His motivation? ‘The attention economy,’ he explains. ‘Business is booming.’ It’s a clever line, but it feels surface-level. If you take a step back and think about it, the idea of a killer exploiting algorithms for notoriety isn’t just chilling—it’s a reflection of our own obsession with virality. Yet, the film never fully explores this. Arthur is more caricature than commentary, his actions reduced to shock value rather than social critique.
This raises a deeper question: Can a film truly critique exploitation while simultaneously exploiting its audience? The original Faces of Death was unapologetically exploitative, but it never pretended to be anything else. The remake, however, tries to have it both ways—it wants to be a thoughtful exploration of violence while delivering the same visceral thrills as its predecessor. The result is a film that feels schizophrenic, unsure of whether it’s a think piece or a slasher flick.
A detail that I find especially interesting is the film’s use of the original Faces of Death footage. Margo discovers the killer’s videos by comparing them to scenes from the 1978 film, which she finds on VHS in her office library. It’s a meta twist, but it also feels like a crutch. The film leans heavily on the original’s notoriety, using it as a shortcut to establish its own credibility. What this really suggests is that the remake lacks the courage of its convictions—it needs the original to give it weight.
From my perspective, the biggest failure of this Faces of Death isn’t its lack of gore or its predictable plot. It’s the missed opportunity to say something profound about our relationship with violence and media. We live in an age where graphic content is just a click away, where algorithms reward shock value, and where the line between reality and entertainment is increasingly blurred. The film gestures at these issues but never fully engages with them.
If the filmmakers truly wanted to ‘hold a mirror up to the toxic media ecosystem,’ they should have looked beyond the surface. They should have asked harder questions: Why do we watch? What does it say about us? And what responsibility do platforms—and creators—have in shaping our consumption habits?
Instead, we get a film that feels like it’s trying to be smarter than it is. It’s not a complete failure—Barbie Ferreira delivers a solid performance, and the tension in the final act is effective. But it’s not enough to elevate the material. As a horror fan and a cultural critic, I can’t help but feel disappointed.
What this remake ultimately reveals is our own complicity. We’re drawn to films like Faces of Death because they promise to confront us with the darkest aspects of humanity. But do they? Or do they simply give us permission to indulge our morbid curiosity under the guise of ‘exploration’?
In the end, Faces of Death isn’t just a film—it’s a reflection of us. And that might be the most unsettling thing of all.
