THE STYLIST: SNAPSHOT OF A FEMALE SERIAL KILLER

 

Hair Horror

There is something extremely vulnerable about sitting in the chair of a hairstylist, especially for the first time. You are quite literally putting your head in their hands, trusting that they won’t screw up what is, for many people, one of the most integral parts of their appearance – their hair. With this trust comes an inexplicable intimacy that is unique to the relationship between hairstylist and client, and as a result, the stylist often learns excessively personal details about their client’s lives for the brief amount of time they share. But can the two really know each other? And what happens when the stylist struggles to navigate the bounds of these relationships? What happens when the one behind the chair becomes unhealthily attached to the lives of those that sit in their chair? These are some of the questions that are confronted in the character study of Claire (as played by Najarra Townsend), the eponymous hairstylist and serial killer at the center of Jill “Sixx” Gevargizian’s The Stylist (2020). The peculiar entanglement that comes with doing hair is a fresh, exciting concept for a horror film and as a practicing hairstylist herself, Gevargizian does not disappoint.

At the start of the film, we are immediately thrust into the disorder of Claire's world as it revolves around her work. We see Sarah, a new client, walk into the shop and within minutes of sitting in Claire’s chair she is already spilling her guts to a near stranger. Ever so poignantly, Sarah says to Claire, “You know something? I have a sister, I have two best friends at home, I even have a therapist. And the only two people who know I’m cheating on [my husband] are [my boy toy] and you…You’re a total stranger. You’re outside my actual real life. With you, I trust that it doesn’t matter. I trust I’ll never see you again and my secret just vanishes with you.” Little does she know how unfortunately right she is. The opening credits that follow are simply gorgeous, with slow motion, close-up shots that melt softly into one another – Claire washing Sarah’s hair, Claire’s fingers massaging her scalp meticulously, Sarah’s eyes closed, Sarah drinking a glass of red wine. The scene is backed by a classical music score, and the moment feels almost sensual in its intimacy. Yet the mood is quickly disrupted as the glass of wine slips from Sarah’s hand and shatters on the floor. Claire carefully lays out and caresses her scissors, a moment eerily reminiscent of the scene in which Sweeney Todd is reunited with his razor blades in Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street (2007). Much like Todd, for Claire, these scissors act as an extension of her being—in more ways than one. We are forced to watch, in terror and amazement, as she wields these scissors to remove the scalp and hair of her new client (the imagery and sound effects of which leave little to the imagination), taking her new “wig” home with her and allowing us to fill in the gaps of what has happened to the wig’s original owner.

The dexterity with which Claire removes Sarah’s scalp leads us to assume that this is not her first rodeo. These suspicions are confirmed when we enter Claire’s cellar – a Phantom of the Opera-esque lair, lit by the warm glow of candles, and with a vanity surrounded by countless mannequin heads holding the “wigs” of former clients. This is our first look into Claire’s profoundly damaged psyche. She sits tearfully in front of the mirror, methodically placing Sarah’s scalp over her own hair, and repeating her words – essentially taking on her identity by way of her hair. Gevargizian’s self-proclaimed love for the Texas Chainsaw Massacre films shines through in the selection of Claire’s modus operandi. Her affinity for removing the scalps of her victims and trying them on serves as a darkly feminine twist on Leatherface’s brutal removal of his victims’ faces to be worn as masks. And while Leatherface’s masks work to hide his physical deformities, Claire’s appropriation of her client’s hair allows her (if but for a moment) to hide her internal flaws, to escape the discomfort and torture of existing within her own skin, to be anyone but herself. As the adage goes, we all want what we don’t have.

Underestimating Female Deviance: Woman as Killer and Stalker

As a society, we are accustomed to seeing women as victims rather than perpetrators of violent crime. We collectively consider serial murder and stalking to be distinctly male compulsions. Yet, historians, scholars, and true-crime enthusiasts have unearthed the lives and legacies of female serial killers whose crimes went unnoticed because they were, and still often are, assumed to be incapable of committing such horrors. This is a piece of what makes Claire’s character compelling and thrilling – we rarely get to see and conceptualize female “evil” in such a visceral, real, and nuanced way. And much like other real-world female serial killers and stalkers, it remains difficult for us to fathom that a woman could be capable of these things. Claire is a successful, conventionally attractive, well-dressed young white woman and it is this unassuming nature that allows her to slip through the cracks for so long, even as she continues to select victims from her clientele. It is only once Claire agrees to style Olivia’s (a longtime client of Claire’s, as played by Brea Grant) hair for her upcoming wedding, that she begins to unravel in a conspicuous way.

Olivia is the polar opposite of Claire, and Gevargizian does an astute job of juxtaposing the two women, often utilizing split screens and mirrored shots to develop this contrast. Where Claire appears timid, socially inept, lonely, and consumed by self-loathing and perfectionism (seen in her panic over deciding which wine to bring to girl’s night or her penchant for recording and obsessing over past conversations), Olivia has no shortage of friends and family, is bubbly, bold, sociable, and engaged to be married. It’s really no wonder that Claire becomes infatuated by Olivia – she possesses everything that Claire so desperately longs for. And by inviting Claire further into her life by way of girl’s nights and bachelorette parties, Olivia unknowingly provides the closeness needed to feed Claire’s dangerous hyper fixation and resentment toward those closest to the object of her obsession. While Claire is trying desperately to placate this compulsion, it seems to bubble up to the surface at the slightest rejection or perceived loss of control. The more access she loses to Olivia’s life, the more she tries and fails desperately to regain it. Townsend plays these two faces of Claire expertly, communicating in equal measures the mild exterior and the cocktail of anxiety, envy, and homicidal tendency that lies beneath. She leaves us wondering with every passing moment whether this will finally be the time that she snaps and violently sabotages her newfound friendship.

The height of Claire’s obsession comes following a painful rejection by Olivia. This portion of the film is arguably where Townsend does best, sending Claire over the brink and creating an atmosphere of tension thick enough to cut (with a pair of shears, of course). Claire breaks into Olivia’s home during her rehearsal dinner, trying on her lingerie, smelling her perfumes, caressing her panties, and pleasuring herself using Olivia’s own vibrator. After nearly being caught and returning home to destroy her lair, it becomes painfully clear that Claire is devolving and losing any semblance of control and organization that she once had. Trying on her “wigs” is no longer enough to soothe her, to quiet the voices in her head, or to satiate the desire to escape from herself. This leaves us with one of the most enduring images of the film – Claire laughing maniacally as she watches television, wearing the scalp of her victim who is bleeding out on the floor below her.

Til Death Do Us Part…

While the ending is foreseeable for most genre lovers, the tragedy and darkness of it all is nonetheless satisfying. In fact, it feels as though there was really no other way for the volatile, obsessive, ticking time bomb of a relationship between Claire and Olivia to end. Yet even as Claire is revealed to be the one under the wedding veil, donning none other than Olivia’s scalp, there remains a deep feeling of sadness for Claire. A deep sadness that remains with you, even after witnessing her blatant overstepping of boundaries and heinous acts of violence. It feels unavoidable and nevertheless, you are left wishing that it could’ve somehow been avoided, that the taste of real human connection could’ve been enough to keep the doors to her lair (both literally and figuratively) barred up. And while this speaks directly to the careful crafting of a complicated and sympathetic villain, I still found myself looking for more development of Claire’s backstory and evolution into serial murderess. Her trauma is vaguely alluded to in bits and pieces, suggesting that she never knew her father and that her relationship with her mother may have been troubled prior to her death. However, the mere abandonment and death of parents does not a serial killer make, especially not one as disturbed as Claire. Perhaps we can hope for a sequel that will delve further into the making and unmaking of our scalping stylist. 

The Thrill of Woman-Made Horror

In terms of its design, The Stylist certainly lives up to its name. It is a beautifully artistic film and pays incredibly close attention to detail. Everything from costume and set design, to lighting, to creative camera work (i.e. close-ups, zooms, split screens, and dream-like slow-motion shots) is masterful. The perpetual use of both close-up and mirror shots of Claire allows us to appreciate the complexities of her varied emotional states and to conceptualize the incessant self-scrutinization that she endures. The use of vivid cool blue and red lighting creates an intriguing contrast with the warm tones of Claire’s wardrobe. Claire’s wardrobe itself adds curious depth to her character, with the warm colors, knee socks, and playful outfits existing in stark contrast to the dark nature of her crimes. Speaking of her crimes – the kills are gory and creative, though as an avowed fan of slashers, I found myself wishing for just a few more. 

Ultimately, it comes as no surprise that Gevargizian’s first feature-length film provides such meticulous care and attention to detail in aesthetics, complex and empathetic character development, genre-blending, and poignant commentary on our broader social world when we consider some of her previous shorts – Call Girl (2014), 42 Counts (2018), and One Last Meal (2019). Across all of her work, Gevargizian’s deep, long-standing love and reverence for the genre is apparent. The Stylist is no exception and yet another killer example of what happens when women who love horror, create horror and embrace the collaboration of other women in the process. 

*Women Involved:

• Jill Sixx Gevargizian (Director; Writer; Actor; Producer)

• Najarra Townsend (Actor; Producer)

• Jennifer Steward (Actor)

• Brea Grant (Actor)

• Sarah McGuire (Actor)

• Millie Milan (Actor)

• Ashley Kukay (Actor)

• Kimberly Igla (Actor)

• Bety Le (Actor)

• Kelsey Nicholes (Actor)

• Jennifer Plas (Actor)

• Dorinda Townsend (Actor)

• Sarah Sharp (Production Design; Producer)

• Chelsea Brown (Associate Producer)

• Elizabeth Gray (Associate Producer)

• Maisy Kay (Executive Producer)

• Amelia Reeves (Art Direction)

• Halley Sharp (Costume Design)

• Courtney Jones (Key Hair & Makeup)

• Colleen May (Special Makeup Effects Artist)

• Lindsay Solomon (Hair Stylist)

• Julia Lauren Stern (Property Master)

• Victoria Salazar (Dialogue Editor)

• Katie Waters (Foley Artist)

• Kelsey Johnson (Costume Supervisor)

• Hana Smith (Script Supervisor)