Ginger Snaps: Still Biting 20 Years Later

Werewolves are back in the public imagination after Universal announced an upcoming Wolfman feature to follow up on the success of this year’s The Invisible Man.  Unfortunately, production on Wolfman is up in the air due to COVID-19 so we might not get a new werewolf movie for some time.  But if you’re like me and hunger for those hairy monsters, Ginger Snaps-- written by Karen Walton and directed by John Fawcett-- turns 20 this year and is worth a watch (or rewatch).  Its cult status cements it as a new classic, and it should be recognized as an example of excellent monster storytelling.  

Monsters have always served a purpose in mythology: to give a face to our abstract fears.  On the surface, Ginger Snaps is a uniquely feminine twist on the quintessential werewolf tale that uses lycanthropy as a metaphor for the confusion, pain, and horror experienced in puberty.  But it’s more than just body horror and cool practical effects-- it’s a compelling character study of two sisters ensnared in a toxic relationship who struggle to maintain their bond after one of them becomes undeniably monstrous. 

The lycanthrope mythos is centuries-old and we’ve had werewolf movies almost as long as we’ve had movies themselves.  Werewolf of London (1935) popularized the beats of the familiar tale and its archetypal themes: a brutal attack infects an unsuspecting victim, causing them to physically transform under the light of the full moon, targeting innocent people and even loved ones as they’re overpowered by the animal instinct to hunt and kill.  The body horror elements and violence associated with the archetype are terrifying, but I believe what really strikes a chord with audiences in the werewolf’s story is the tragedy of their helpless loved ones, who are often eventually driven to destroy them after they suddenly become unrecognizable and dangerous.  Zombie narratives like Night of the Living Dead (1990) create similar tension when survivors are forced to kill infected neighbors and loved ones-- we’ve all wondered: “What would I do in that situation?”  Would you really have the strength to pull the trigger in order to be free of a monster?  Ginger Snaps is about coming to terms with the fact that rejecting a monster is harder than you think when that monster is someone you love.  

Emily Perkins and Katharine Isabelle give distinct performances as the shy, sensitive Brigitte and the rebellious, cheeky Ginger, sisters who are two sides of the same bitter coin.  You’ll be strapped to find a review of this film that doesn’t praise Katharine Isabelle for her beauty and edge, but Emily Perkins is under-appreciated for her striking looks and convincing performance as a scream queen.  The girls are moody and deliver biting wit, especially directed at their overly-eager mother, played in good humor by Mimi Rogers.  We still get the body horror and special effects we love about werewolf movies, but Ginger Snaps also pays special attention to the relationship angle of the werewolf story and uses it to illustrate the complexities of toxic relationships. 

Karen Walton’s writing takes time to establish the girls’ misanthropic outlook on life, as well as the severity of their alienation and codependence, setting up tension that only grows as Ginger’s personality shifts and their relationship starts to change.  Much like Brian de Palma’s titular Carrie, Ginger’s transformation coincides with the late onset of her first period, and just as Margaret White warned, the dogs came sniffing for her.  When the mysterious beast responsible slaughtering a slew of neighborhood pets attacks Ginger, her sister Brigitte is the only witness and her only hope of survival.  On top of the guilt and obligation that Ginger already imposed on Brigitte by constantly tearing down her self-esteem and disregarding her feelings, this traumatic experience intensifies their attachment and Brigitte becomes protective of her older sister, desperate to find a cure that Ginger isn’t convinced she needs.  By the time Ginger sprouts her first suspicious shoulder hairs, we’ve established compelling emotional stakes that make the horror elements topping on the cake.  The performances are also served by the use of practical effects, which were on their way out of the mainstream at the time.  

A modest Canadian indie budget of $4.5 million restricted the production from using the innovative CGI effects enjoyed by big-budget horror like The Cell and Final Destination (which both came out the same year) but traditionalists will enjoy the borderline camp of Ginger Snaps.  Practical effects and makeup are a staple of werewolf movies-- from the yak hair and hard rubber of The Wolf Man (1941) to the eurothane plastimer face mold used in An American Werewolf in London (1981), there’s a lot of pressure to create an iconic beast, while keeping the transformation cinematic.  Ginger Snaps faced its own challenges in its quest to deliver a distinct monster using traditional techniques.  Unlike the typical werewolf archetype who appears totally human until the moment of their full-moon transformation, Ginger morphs gradually-- fans of monster babes will be glad to see Katherine Isabelle in a variety of progressively anthropomorphic looks as her bloodlust intensifies, coming to a climax in her final, gruesome form.  In an interview with Scream Factory TV, makeup artist Paul Jones stated that he was challenged by John Fawcett’s unique vision of a hairless werewolf.  He explained that he was discouraged from using a puppet and the production required a suited performance.  The long, hairy history of werewolves on-screen has largely depended on one reliable fact: fur will cover the seams and zippers. 

Not wanting to suffocate the performer, Jones was forced to use a few strategic patches of hair, but the end result is a nevertheless horrifying, naked, sickly, four-legged beast.  Another unique aspect of this design is the inclusion of grotesque, unsexualized breasts, a callback to Ginger’s once-feminine form.  Ginger Snaps is more than just a werewolf movie with boobs but if that’s what you’re into, you’ll certainly be satisfied.  

Twenty years ago when Ginger Snaps came on the scene, it sadly made back only about 10% of its budget at the box office.  Fortunately, it’s found modern success as a cult classic and is reaching new audiences every day via streaming.   It’s always been a good movie, and to this day it’s a refreshing chapter in the werewolf myth that’s worth checking out if you’re looking for something old while still being new.  This movie reminds me a lot about Carrie-- it centers around girls and their anxieties about relationships and growing up, as well as the very real, very suppressed medical struggles that they deal with.  Anybody who’s ever menstruated has been told in a patronizing tone that “all of this is perfectly normal,” the same way that Ginger was told by the school nurse, when she is so weak that she can hardly stand.  This mentality can result in unchecked, abnormal conditions like polycystic ovary syndrome that cause chronic pain and reproductive harm for many people.  Even healthy symptoms elicit pain, confusion, and fear, but the message is clear: “Don’t complain, this is the appropriate amount of suffering.  This is the new baseline, just get used to it.”  Female viewers find catharsis and validation from this particular brand of body horror and Ginger’s brand of rage. 

But what about the boys?  A 2000 film review from Empire claims: “this may be an educationally uneasy watch for the teenage boy genre fanbase.  But the girls will love it.”  That could be true, but I would argue that an effective horror film should make the viewer “uneasy” and horror fans of all genders can appreciate a good, squirmy gorefest, no matter where the blood is coming from.  It’s technically about a female experience but it has the teeth to appeal to a wider audience and enjoy the status of a classic.