If you are a regular listener to our podcast you probably know that BSG stans Mike Flanagan. We are #FlanaganHive. Just check out our episodes on The Haunting of Bly Manor and Doctor Sleep if you don’t believe me. Anyway, knowing this, you might have been wondering if we were going to talk about Midnight Mass. Herein lies your answer: I, Kelli, am going to be talking about Midnight Mass all by myself, because it’s November already and I can no longer wait for the other members of this operation to catch up with me. I watched this show the weekend it came out, and I have been thinking about it ever since.

(Very minor spoilers to follow)

Ahead of the show’s release, Mike Flanagan released a letter in conjunction with the teaser. In it, he calls Midnight Mass his most personal project to date. Something I love about Flanagan’s work is that he has a very empathetic approach to horror; the stories he tells always feel rooted in the private and the personal, the deep humanity that is inherently at the core of everything horror exploits. Grief is a major theme in his work, particularly in the Haunting series, but we also see addiction crop up time and time again.

In the aforementioned letter, Flanagan mentions that in addition to being a former altar boy, he is celebrating three years of sobriety. His closeness to this project is evident in the way it twists those two themes—religion and addiction—together. (I could write a whole other post about the parallels Midnight Mass draws between alcoholism and the particular subgenre of horror it’s playing with, but I’m trying to keep things spoiler-light here.)

Despite his Catholic upbringing, Flanagan now identifies as an atheist, and it would have been very easy for him to write something far more dismissive of faith than this show is. Of course, I’m sure there’s no shortage of religious zealots who will take offense to the portrayal of the Catholic Church in Midnight Mass, but that’s because the show does not go easy on organized religion. Flanagan strikes a tough balance here, managing to be deeply critical of the way religion operates in terms of power and influence while still respecting the idea of faith itself.

There’s a conversation that takes place between two main characters, Riley (Zach Gilford of Friday Night Lights) and Erin (Kate Siegel, bisexual icon), about what they believe will happen when they die. Erin’s ideas are very traditionally faith-based; she imagines that in heaven, we will see the people we’ve lost, and that we’ll be surrounded forever by love in the afterlife (I’m paraphrasing here). Siegel delivers this with a calm sort of certainty, and we can see how much comfort it brings Erin to think of death like this. Riley offers a more science-based explanation—dirt, worms, his body recycled back into the earth, his energy absorbed by the universe—and although this description is what many people would consider a nightmare, Gilford delivers the monologue to match Siegel’s sense of calm, certainty, and comfort in what death will bring. The performances here are so understated and lovely, and in this way, this fundamental disagreement about the nature of being alive—or dead—becomes a moment of connection. 

This exchange exemplifies the best of what Flanagan’s work has to offer: these small, poignant moments floating amidst a story that is, frankly, horrifying. This kind of optimism offset by the darkest extremes can be a bit like emotional whiplash, but for me, I guess it’s the good kind. 

Another interesting and empathetic exploration of faith comes in the form of Sheriff Hassan, played by Rahul Kohli. 

Okay, I’m sorry, but I have to take a sec to acknowledge something about Rahul Kohli. You know, the whole thing where he is devastatingly attractive. It’s the elephant in the room and I can’t not bring it up, so consider this an acknowledgement: yes, I know, I know.  And rest assured, I only really feel comfortable spending this many words on how fucking hot someone is when I know they’re fine with me doing so, and based on Kohli’s twitter feed, I’m going to guess he is fine with it (and if he’s not, I’m sorry Rahul, I’m so sorry, please forgive me daddy).

Anyway, Hassan and his son, Ali, are the only Muslims in a mostly-white town full of Catholics. Hassan is met with Islamophobia and racism at pretty much every turn, and he is put in the difficult position of having to decide if he should investigate the church after a number of strange and disturbing happenings on Crockett Island, knowing full well that the entire town will probably turn on him if he chooses to do so. Meanwhile, his son is drifting closer and closer to the Catholic church, lured by peer pressure and false promises and the desire to feel like he belongs in this community. The conflict between Hassan and his son is devastating, and it’s one with two sides that are genuinely understandable. Kohli’s performance is layered with frustration and grief and downright weariness, all bound together by Hassan’s faith and the unconditional love he has for Ali.

I am but a white girl, so I’m not going to try to unpack Hassan and Ali’s experiences as Muslims when I obviously don’t know what I’m talking about, but I will say that the inclusion of a Muslim main character in this story was one I wouldn’t have expected and was really glad to see. Kohli has spoken at length about his preparation for this role and what playing Hassan meant to him; I especially recommend his interview with Bustle (but only after you’ve watched the show because spoiliez).  

All in all, I think that what I respect most about Midnight Mass is that it chooses the right times to take pity and have compassion, but in its final moments, it acknowledges that the line does, in fact, exist. As I said before, Flanagan approaches his stories with empathy, but there is a limit, and this show finds that limit and takes a firm step back from the idea that all things and people can be understood, that they should be forgiven. 

I don’t want to say more than that because there are too many people out there who still haven’t watched this show and I’m annoyed about it—so if you haven’t watched and you want to know what the fuck I’m talking about, this is your sign to go do that, please. There are so many things to admire about this show that I haven’t even touched on, including the very cool practical effects and a wealth of wonderful performances from the likes of Hamish Linklater, Samantha Sloyan, Annabeth Gish, and others. Mike Flanagan has delivered once again, and we have no choice but to continue to stan.