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Rachel (she/her) is a freelancer and contributer to Polygon. A writer from the time she could pick up a pen, she also works on short fiction. She currently lives in Brooklyn with her cats Carla and Thorin Oakenshield but is a Midwesterner at heart. She is also a tried and true emo kid and the epitome of "it was never a phase, Mom," but with a dual affinity for dad rock.
The world Flanagan created never abandons its emotion
Long before he was at the helm of the Prime Video adaptation of Stephen King's Carrie, Mike Flanagan made waves for himself with his trilogy of Netflix TV miniseries. His ability to helm works that combine horror and genuine human exploration. Recently, The Fall of the House of Usher reimagined classic Edgar Allan Poe tales to terrifying success, with each episode adapting a different story.
Before that, however, one Flanagan project stuck with fans and viewers in ways a showrunner can only ever dream of. In a change of pace, this project stepped back from house-haunting and moved on to something bigger: faith. When faith is involved, the structure of the story changes.
Midnight Massseems, on the surface, like a show about vampires. And while it is, the heart of it is something much more human than that. Allegorical for emotions like grief and loss,Midnight Masspushes viewers to understand their own issues. It keeps the monsters out of sight for as long as possible, and once they are visible it's difficult to ever imagine having not seen them for what they are in the first place — much like in real life.
What happens when faith isn't everything?
Set in Crockett Island, a tiny fishing community that has long since fallen into disrepair, the show follows Riley Flynn (Zach Gilford) as he moves back to the island after being released from prison. Things have changed for the worse since he was there last, and it doesn't seem like the community has much time left due to its dwindling population and fishing prospects.
Riley, of course, is far from the only one struggling. Sheriff Hassan (Rahul Kohli) is the island's only Muslim resident, and the community's predominant Catholic faith puts him at odds with his neighbors. Bev Keane (Samantha Sloyan) is the town's religious zealot who is desperately clinging to her faith amidst the suffocating despair of the remaining citizens. When Father Paul Hill (Hamish Linklater) arrives to replace the aging priest, it seems as if there is finally something good within reach.
Once religion enters the equation, things shift. The scared townspeople immediately cling to him, and their blind faith starts to lead them down dark paths. However, like most miracles, Father Paul's miracle comes with a price, one that his congregation cannot currently fathom. Cloaked in charisma and wearing it like a priest's robe, Father Paul keeps his true, terrible secret hidden.
When faith simply isn't enough
Flanagan takes viewers on an emotional ride; like his previous work, the show is heavy with dialogue, and much of its emotional strength comes from those moments. Beyond questioning blind faith, the show also explores the consequences. The townspeople latch onto Father Paul because of the hope he represents after all of their longstanding struggles. What they don't know is how temporary that hope will be. In a way, it's beautiful — hope and faith are often some of the few things people can cling to. But viewers know that the peace will not last, and it is that anticipation and expectation that heightens the poignancy of the story.
Midnight Mass falls squarely into the realm of horror, but there are layers to it that make it more than the sum of its monsters. Humans make choices, and they make mistakes, and they are afraid of what happens after death. These are the themes Flanagan explores deftly, which is why the show has cemented itself as his best work.