Synopsis:
Decades after playing the titular killer in the 80s horror franchise Night of the Reaper, Howard Browning has been reduced to signing autographs for his dwindling fanbase at genre conventions. When the studio announces a series reboot, the aging thespian is crushed to learn he’s being replaced in the iconic role by heartthrob Trevor Mane, a former sitcom child-star who’s fresh out of rehab. Trevor is determined to stay sober and revamp his image while Howard refuses to let go of the character he created, setting the stage for a cross-generational clash over the soul of a monster. But as Howard fights to reclaim his legacy, the sinister alter ego consumes his unraveling mind, pushing him to the brink of violence. Is the method actor succumbing to madness or has the devilish Reaper taken on a life of its own?
Review:
I’m a staunch reader of horror novels year round. Whether I’m lost in the twisted corridors of speculative fiction, stuck in a frigid survival hellscape, or basking myself in the sweet sweet dread of some religious horror, it’s my idea of a good time. Our genre is rich and versatile, but if we’re all brutally honest, nothing really says Halloween like the nostalgic shriek of a chainsaw or the terrifying crunch of gravel beneath a killer’s heavy boots right before the fatal blow, and probably a terrible one-liner is delivered. In “Curse of The Reaper,” Brian McAuley revives the golden age of horror with a wicked grin. This slasher within a slasher (like a scythe-wielding Russian doll) perfectly pairs kills so gloriously corny they could raise the dead with some genuinely chilling psychological terror. Splatter aside, “Curse of The Reaper,” is an unflinching look at legacy, addiction, the steep price of fame, and the gritty reality of Hollywood.
We follow Howard Browning, whose once prosperous career as the actor known for playing the titular role of “The Reaper,” in the “Night of The Reaper,” franchise, has simply fizzled out. Once seen as an icon to thousands of adoring fans, he now spends his days travelling from convention to convention, signing a few autographs, and charging 20 bucks for a selfie in order to get by. His career needs a boost, perhaps a boost that comes in the form of a “Night of The Reaper,” reboot? When the conversation with his insufferable agent begins, it seems that all of his prayers have been answered, but things quickly go south when he learns that Howard Browning, THE Reaper, is being replaced. The sleazy producer that he is, Chuck Slattery has swapped Howie out for a younger model, Trevor Mane, a sitcom star, who following a stint in rehab, is desperate to revive his career. Whilst desperately fighting for his rightful place in the film, we watch Browning, a vegetarian, cat-loving, tea-sipping thespian, slowly transform into something else. As the line between the man and the monster blurs, it seems increasingly likely that The Reaper is staging his return… and why would he limit himself to the silver screen?
This is, at least in the way I interpreted it, largely a novel about the danger of clinging on to what you love, no matter what. Both Trevor and Howard are haunted by their lifelines and crutches, short-term highs, that lead to their lives spiralling out of control. Howard refuses to let go of the reaper, through deprecating and humiliating sequels, and the end of his marriage. He is quite literally obsessed to the point where The Reaper, even 20 years later, has a firm hold on him. Trevor’s addiction is probably something we’re more familiar with. Following multiple visits to rehab, the subsequent blows to his career, and a crash that nearly killed his childhood sweetheart Sophie (who herself, refuses to let go of Trevor) he continues to chase that high. A nasty habit that ultimately arose from his formative years, spent on the set of “Family Genius,” perhaps fame is the drug, addiction the symptom. Howard, on the other hand, is obsessed with his own legacy. He’s tricked himself into thinking that the role of The Reaper needs him, when in actuality it’s very much the other way around. Fame is a fleeting high, but for these two, it’s the only hit that matters, a dangerous path that we helplessly watch them spiral down.
McAuley’s writing oozes with expertise, and a deep, bloody love for horror. He knows his stuff. “Curse of The Reaper,” is chock full of commentary on horror, including some sharp, dark truths about why us Halloween people may choose to expose ourselves to it. Us, the fans, have such a great love for these films, but is there a point today, in which the genuine want to do right by audiences is lost to pure greed? The novel comes with a surgically enhanced, super-wealthy arse of a director, Chuck Slattery, who is a walking caricature of everything that is wrong with Hollywood culture, and allows for plenty of commentary on the poor treatment of actors, writers and artists in the industry. The Reaper reboot under Chuck’s ham-fisted direction, isn’t just an insult to Howard’s legacy, and the fans, who desperately wanted to see him return —but a reflection of Hollywood’s obsession with youth and shiny new faces. Trevor is the fresh-faced model ready to be slapped on posters, but beneath his polished exterior is a man barely holding it together. Howard, meanwhile, is the discarded relic, treated like the last stale popcorn kernel at the bottom of a bucket. Hollywood loves you until it doesn’t, and then, well, good luck clawing your way back from irrelevance. It’s a business built on blood—both literal and metaphorical—and Howard’s fight to reclaim his role feels like the final battle between creativity and marketability, art and commerce… but that’s just show biz right?
For fans of the golden age of horror, Curse of the Reaper is a time capsule filled with all the gory goodness of 80s slasher films. The genre is infamous for its masked maniacs, gratuitous gore, and iconic one-liners—and McAuley delivers on all fronts. From its biting wit, to its sharp commentary on Hollywood, “Curse of the Reaper,” is a love letter to horror, with enough slashing to satisfy even the most bloodthirsty fan. Whether you’re here for the gore, the giggles, or the gut-punching commentary, this book delivers with killer precision.
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