Formats: Print, digital
Blurb:
| When a disgruntled adjunct faculty teacher decides to get revenge on the head of her department, she begins a dark (and darkly comic) journey into the cracks between modern society and the secret depravity that lies underneath. She has to navigate the demons of technology, creativity, and Hell itself, but soon she must face the deepest, darkest horror of them all: her own personal failures. |
“Film, of course, is traditionally shown at 24 frames per
second, while video’s electronic fields are refreshed at 23.98, 29.97, or even
59.94 times a second… This microscopic slowdown of frames naturally causes a
disparity between the measurement of real time and video time… To keep it
playing at full speed, there’s a tiny blip in there—two frames every minute get
eaten, dropped, overlooked.”
Hetta Salter teaches film studies for non-majors, and she
hates it. She hates her low-paying adjunct professor job where she barely makes
enough to scrape by, she hates her stultified students, and she especially
hates the head of her department, Hensley. Hensley is the very definition of
privilege. He’s a White, cishet male who comes from a wealthy background with a
perfect family and a perfect home, completely unaware of how lucky he is. To Hetta, Hensley represents everything that
stands in the way of her happiness. If only he were gone she could get a better
paying position, better students, a better apartment, and a better life. But
then her best student, a townie named Tanner, gives her a way out. He sends her
a dark web site called Voodoo Glam where Hetta discovers instructions on
creating a video: a video that must filmed on a 1980s camcorder and last
exactly 8 minutes, 59 seconds, and 29 frames. Whomever watches the video will
be dragged to hell by the demon Andras, a great Marquis of Hell who sows
discord among humans and is known to kill his summoners if they're not
extremely careful. What could possibly go wrong?
Hetta is not an entirely likeable character, but neither is
she entirely unlikeable. She can be an insufferable film snob, but she’s also a
woman from a low-income family who’s been beaten down by the system. Her anger
is justified, but it’s also twisting her into a bitter person. At the same
time, her anger has also made her sympathetic and willing to fight for those
who are marginalized. Not that Hetta recognizes the drawbacks to being angry
all the time. She is a villain protagonist who believes herself to be the hero
fighting against an unjust world. She is as convinced of her own righteousness
as she is of her genius. In short, Hetta is a fascinating character who is both
repulsive and relatable. I found myself cheering for her one moment and horrified
the next.
Schattel has a razor-sharp wit which she uses to poke fun at
film snobs and critique the inequality inherent in academia. An adjunct
professor earns between $20,000 and $25,000 annually, according
to NPR. That’s less than I made working retail in college. For comparison,
notoriously low-paid fast-food workers earn a mean income of $26,060 per year
according the Bureau of
Labor Statistics. But fast food doesn’t require an advanced degree, whereas
being a professor does. Their income is so low that many adjunct professors are
on some
kind of public assistance. No wonder Hetta is pissed. She probably doesn’t
even get benefits. Meanwhile adjunct professors like Hensley earn an annual
salary starting at around $80,000 a year and can go as high as $174,000.
But even tenured, Hetta would likely earn less
than her male counterpart.
While Hetta is at least partially the butt of the joke (she assumes a horror film will be easy to make, ha!) Schattel, a filmmaker herself, also writes 8:59:29 as a love letter to filmmaking. Cleverly combing analog horror with more modern fears like the dark web and social media, Scahttel manages to make the whole “cursed video” plot feel new and unique instead of a Ringu rip-off. 8:59:29 is fun, twisted read perfect for film fans and anyone else who loves a good horror movie.
