A WRITER, HER MUSE, AND HER MURDEROUS ALTER EGO WALK INTO A COUNTRY HOUSE…
If you’ve ever had a bad case of writer’s block, spare a thought for poor Paula Martin in Stalker (a.k.a. Exposé), a 2010 British psychological horror film that takes the phrase “the creative process is killing me” and makes it disturbingly literal. Directed by Martin Kemp — yes, that Martin Kemp, from Spandau Ballet — this movie is proof that sometimes, you don’t need ghosts, demons, or cursed videotapes to make a good horror flick. Sometimes, all you need is a big creepy mansion, a typewriter, and a severe case of multiple personality disorder.
Stalker isn’t perfect — it’s campy, over-the-top, and sometimes behaves like a Victorian fever dream that got lost in the 21st century — but it’s gloriously twisted and self-aware. This is the kind of movie that looks you dead in the eye and says, “Yes, I’m ripping off Misery, Single White Female, and Psycho — but I’m doing it in a nightgown with better lighting.”
CROW’S HALL: WHERE INSPIRATION GOES TO DIE
Our story begins with Paula Martin (Anna Brecon), a novelist riding high on her previous bestseller but now spiraling into creative paralysis and emotional ruin. To recover her sanity and work on her next book, she retreats to Crow’s Hall, a countryside estate that looks like it was designed by Edgar Allan Poe’s interior decorator.
Paula is plagued by nightmares, insomnia, and repressed memories of a less-than-idyllic childhood. So naturally, she hires a new assistant — Linda (Jane March) — who looks like a Vogue model but radiates enough menace to make Norman Bates take up crocheting instead of killing.
At first, Linda seems like the perfect companion: organized, supportive, and more than willing to let Paula cry in her bed. But soon, Paula notices that Linda is taking a few creative liberties — not just with her manuscript, but with her sanity. One minute she’s editing Paula’s novel, the next she’s editing Paula’s life. The tension simmers, the cat dies (RIP Mr. Whiskers, the film’s most innocent victim), and Paula descends into full-blown panic as Linda starts behaving like she’s auditioning for Fatal Attraction: The Writer’s Cut.
THE TWIST: “I’M NOT CRAZY, YOU’RE JUST ME”
Without spoiling the obvious, let’s just say things take a psychologically interesting turn. Linda, as it turns out, is not exactly real. She’s Paula’s alter ego — a split personality born out of childhood trauma. Which means all those murders? The cat, the critic, the housekeeper? Yeah, Paula did it.
And somehow, that makes it even better.
Where most horror movies throw supernatural nonsense at the screen, Stalker sticks to old-fashioned mental breakdowns and repressed guilt. Paula isn’t haunted by ghosts; she is the ghost. She’s a writer so consumed by her own characters that she becomes one of them. Freud would’ve had a field day with this — and then probably asked for royalties.
By the time Paula (or Linda, depending on who’s in control) starts slicing, stabbing, and screaming her way through Crow’s Hall, the movie becomes an absurd ballet of blood, identity, and bad decisions. And then, just when you think it can’t get darker, her publicist Sara (Jennifer Matter) steals Paula’s manuscript and passes it off as her own — because apparently, plagiarism is the ultimate revenge.
It’s the perfect ending for a film about artistic exploitation: everyone’s insane, everyone’s dead, and someone else gets rich.
THE PERFORMANCES: A SYMPHONY OF STIFF UPPER LIPS AND UNHINGED GIGGLES
Anna Brecon gives a wonderfully deranged performance as Paula, channeling equal parts fragility and full-throttle mania. She plays Paula like a woman permanently five minutes away from throwing a typewriter out the window. When she breaks down, it’s not melodramatic — it’s artistic.
Jane March (yes, from The Lover and Color of Night) is deliciously cold as Linda, playing the “devoted assistant turned lunatic” with a calm precision that’s somehow both sexy and terrifying. When she purrs lines like “Let me write for you,” it sounds like both a flirtation and a death sentence.
The chemistry between the two is electric — a twisted pas de deux of mutual dependence and buried resentment. You half-expect them to start kissing one minute and murdering each other the next. And sometimes, they do both.
THE DIRECTION: CAMP GOTHIC MEETS MADE-FOR-TV MADNESS
Martin Kemp’s direction is surprisingly confident for a debut — which is saying a lot, since he could’ve just as easily turned this into an unwatchable ITV2 After Dark special. Instead, he delivers a claustrophobic, dreamlike atmosphere filled with moody lighting, cracked mirrors, and shots that linger on flickering candles like they’re auditioning for The Others.
The pacing has the deliberate crawl of a fever dream. You’re never quite sure if you’re watching real events or Paula’s deteriorating mind projecting its own horror novel back at her. The line between fantasy and reality dissolves — sometimes beautifully, sometimes confusingly, but always with a sense of purpose.
This isn’t just a slasher in a stately home. It’s a gothic psychodrama in which the house, the characters, and the very scriptseem to be conspiring against you.
THE VIOLENCE: ELEGANTLY AWKWARD
There’s something oddly polite about the film’s violence. Every stabbing, every scream feels like it was choreographed at finishing school. Even when Linda slits someone’s throat, she does it with the grace of someone pouring afternoon tea. It’s British horror at its most civilized — proper posture, plenty of blood, and absolutely no emotional stability.
The most disturbing sequence involves Paula waking up covered in blood, having unknowingly cut her own wrist. It’s grim, it’s raw, and it’s handled with enough restraint that it’s genuinely unnerving. But then, a few scenes later, you’ll have Linda having a chatty wine-and-cheese session before murdering a journalist — so it balances out the misery with a nice touch of absurdity.
THE THEME: ART, IDENTITY, AND THE DANGERS OF DIY THERAPY
At its core, Stalker is about the struggle between creativity and madness. Paula wants to create something brilliant, but her creative process literally eats her alive. Linda represents the dark side of artistic ambition — the part that says, “Sleep is for cowards, your therapist is lying, and blood is an acceptable ink substitute.”
The film is also a wickedly funny jab at the publishing industry. Paula bleeds for her art — literally — and in the end, someone else cashes the check. It’s the ultimate dark joke: you can pour your soul into your masterpiece, but your publicist will still find a way to sell it under her own name.
THE VERDICT: CRAZY, CAMP, AND KIND OF BRILLIANT
Is Stalker a masterpiece? Not quite. Is it entertaining, creepy, and weirdly fun? Absolutely. It’s the cinematic equivalent of a feverish gothic novel — full of stormy nights, hysterical women, and one very unfortunate cat.
Jane March and Anna Brecon give performances that teeter between tragedy and dark comedy, while Martin Kemp directs like a man who’s been locked in a haunted house with a bottle of absinthe and a production grant.
The film revels in its absurdity — and that’s exactly what makes it work. It’s self-aware enough to know it’s over the top but confident enough not to apologize.
So, if you’re in the mood for psychological horror that mixes Rebecca, Black Swan, and What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? into one deranged cocktail, Stalker might just be your poison.
Rating: 4 out of 5 Dead Cats.
Because writer’s block is scary — but discovering your imaginary friend has editorial control is terrifying. 🖋️💀📚
