Merry Anti-Christmas! And god bless us, everyone!
Much these days is made of so-called elevated horror but back in the mid-seventies, The Omen brought us dignified horror, or at least as dignified as a horror which prominently features baboon genitalia during one of its set pieces can be. Versatile director Richard Donner, in his first major directorial effort, expertly harnessed the gravitas of star Gregory Peck to ground the fantastical tale with a sense of rational sobriety, leveraged the unease provided by presence of veteran character actors Patrick Troughton and David Warner and then juxtaposed the wide-eyed innocence of Lee Remick against the improbably terrifying darkness of an implacably sinister little boy, played with perfect innocent malevolence by Harvey Spencer Stephens.
When diplomat Robert Thorn (Gregory Peck) is told his newborn son has died, he secretly adopts an orphaned baby without telling his wife, Katherine (Lee Remick). Named Damien (Harvey Spencer Stephens), the child seems perfect—until strange and deadly events start occurring. As Katherine grows increasingly fearful, Robert is approached by a priest who insists Damien is not just any child, but the Antichrist. With the help of a photographer (David Warner), Robert begins uncovering the dark truth behind Damien’s birth, setting off a desperate race to stop the evil forces that threaten his family and the world.
There’s something about Catechistic horror that works particularly well in film, and like all good fantasy book adaptations, especially when it sticks close to the source material, in this case The Book of Daniel and The Book of Revelation. Part folkloric changeling horror, part ecclesiastical detective story, The Omen may provide a powerful post-natal depression allegory but where David Seltzer’s screenplay really excels is in building a chillingly credible conspiracy, with Peck’s rational scepticism contrasting with Remick’s increasing paranoia as they each try to come to terms with what they’re coming to believe. There’s a sly, ahead-of-its-time metatextual commentary in how both characters are treated. Robert Thorn’s concerns and enquiries merit serious consideration while Katherine’s pleas for assistance are dismissed as anxiety and hysteria.
The Omen has little need of jump scares, and its potent atmosphere is largely intellectual, with most of the film’s major events happening in broad daylight. In creating the palpable doom-laden ambiance Donner is helped enormously by Jerry Goldsmith’s deservedly Oscar-winning score, a relentless cadence of sanctified mantras that seep into your very bones. The choral chants of “Ave Satani,” with their dramatic Latin verses, echo the grandeur of Carl Orff’s “O Fortuna” from Carmina Burana, for which they’re often mistaken. This stylistic resonance isn’t accidental imitation; it’s an invocation of the same primal dread that Orff captured—a sonic tapestry that summons an atmosphere thick with foreboding.
The Omen revels in the spiralling horror of the inevitability of prophecy and we share in the Thorn’s growing realisation that they are powerless to stop what they now realise is to come. It’s the rare horror movie where not only does the villain survive, but there are no final girls or boys at all. For now, at least, it’s the anti-Christ’s world and we’re just living it.
