‘Our experiences are horror’: Why Aussie women make killer psychological horror movies

Kate Separovich never liked horror. As a self-proclaimed “scaredy-cat”, the Australian producer chose to steer clear of the genre for most of her career. That is, until she suddenly found herself smack-bang in the middle of producing one.

She had been pitched the idea for Proclivitas, a female-centred psychological horror, by her friend, writer-director Miley Tunnecliffe (Calling; 100% Wolf). Instead of running for the hills, Separovich decided to see what the genre was all about.

“Before making the film I didn’t really understand what horror was – what a broad genre definition it has and all its subgenres,” says Separovich, who was an associate producer on 2019’s Dirt Music. “There’s a stigma around horror, a lot of which comes from the slashers and ‘torture porn’. So I forced myself to learn about it in a very compressed period of time. I quickly realised how much I love psychological horror.”

She isn’t the only Australian woman to become enamoured by the unsettling subgenre. In fact, there’s something of a trend of female filmmakers Down Under killing it in this space. This spans all the way back to the 1980s and Ann Turner’s Celia, a deeply disturbing film about a young girl in the 1950s navigating the paranoia of the Red Scare.

Then, of course, came Jennifer Kent’s The Babadook (2014), a movie exploring the horrors of motherhood and grief, and Natalie Erika James’ Relic (2020), a petrifying examination of dementia and ageing. Elsewhere there have been Daina Reid’s Run Rabbit Run, Kitty Green’s The Royal Hotel and Tracey Moffatt’s Bedevil anthology.

Aussie women have time and again found themselves at the forefront of terrifyingly effective psychological horror. This is especially impressive considering how male-dominated the broader horror industry is, and the small number of local productions that receive funding in Australia (investment in local feature films and TV dramas dropped nearly 30 per cent in the 2023-24 financial year).

So what is it about female filmmakers, particularly Australian ones, that makes them perfect for these types of movies?

“A lot of our actual experiences are psychological horror,” Tunnecliffe says. “We live in a patriarchal society where our true natures are denied a lot of the time. The term ‘gaslighting’ has become so popular now but that was a common state for many women, especially of our parents’ generation. To be able to bring those experiences through the medium of film just feels really cathartic … A lot of female horror gets through the gates and tends to be deeply, deeply personal.”

Granted, horrors created by men have also been profoundly personal – Zach Cregger recently spoke about how Weapons felt almost autobiographical for him. But Separovich says there does still seem to be a marked difference between the energies on screen.

“Masculine energy is generally your experience on top of the other person’s experience, whereas the matriarchal energy and feminine energy is ‘I hear you, I see you, I share that experience with you, and here’s my version of that experience’ … Those stories stay with you.”

Proclivitas follows Clare, a recovering addict who returns to her rural home town following her mother’s death. A reunion with her teenage sweetheart triggers the resurfacing of all sorts of traumatic memories, as well as a demonic presence that lures her back towards old vices.

This required a deeply vulnerable performance from its leading star Rose Riley, a performance that Separovich says was made possible by the female-dominated work environment of the film.

“A matriarchal film environment, rather than patriarchal, really helps create a space where people feel vulnerable and can be safe, and generally makes everyone’s work better,” she says, noting both she and Tunnecliffe know how it can feel to be the only woman in the room.

Tunnecliffe says a significant reason why they’re able to wade confidently into the psychological horror space now is because of the legacy of Australian women, including Kent and James, excelling in the subgenre. They painstakingly carved out pathways for fellow female creatives to follow.

In fact, Tunnecliffe says it’s now arguably easier to pitch a horror in Australia than any other genre film, particularly comedy (in which she has a background).

“The funding to make a professional film is so limited in this country,” Separovich adds. “Horror films are always more commercial than a straight drama, so that makes them slightly easier to make. But it’s whether we can keep doing it. I hope we can … I’ve got a drama I’m trying to get made but it looks like the next horror film I’m working on is going to happen faster than the drama.”

This isn’t just happening in Australia. We’re currently experiencing a global golden age in horror, a period in which movies like Sinners were in the running for best picture at the Academy Awards. Tunnecliffe says this is largely because of how universal horror themes are, the experimental freedom horror filmmakers are more often afforded, and the real-life horrors many of us are currently witnessing around the world.

“I don’t want to watch something that doesn’t acknowledge my anxiety and stress of what the world is right now. I want something that acknowledges it, that makes me feel seen and a little bit better because I’m not imagining things,” she says. “The world’s in really terrible shape. That’s why horror is my comfort zone.”

Proclivitas is in cinemas.

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