Cullen Bunn teams up with Danny Luckert and Marie Enger to bring us another unsettling, creepy and downright gross horror, this time tackling past-life regression and extreme body shock nightmares. Read on for our review, which contains some spoilers
Written by Cullen Bunn
Illustrated by Danny Luckert and Marie EngerAdrian is plagued by ghastly waking nightmares. To understand and possibly treat these awful visions, Adrian reluctantly agrees to past life regression hypnotherapy. As his consciousness is cast back through time, Adrian witnesses a scene of horrific debauchery and diabolism. Waking, he is more unsettled than before, and with good reason – something has followed him back. Adrian descends into a world of occult conspiracy, mystery, reincarnation, and insanity from which there is no escape. Presented by CULLEN BUNN (Harrow County, The Sixth Gun, The Empty Man), DANNY LUCKERT (Haunted), and MARIE ENGER (Pistolwhip, 2 Sisters), REGRESSION is a tale of supernatural terror and intrigue unlike any horror comic you’ve ever experienced.
The usage of insects in horror, even the mention of them, is enough to make most people squirm. There’s something viscerally primal about our aversion to them, and “Regression” is a book that pulls on that thread so hard that even the most hardened insect-lovers would unravel. All credit to the art team of Luckert and Enger that manage to consistently and effectively evoke such extreme reactions with their graphic, disturbing artwork. Credit should also go to Bunn, for crafting a world that permits such disgusting body horror.
Centered around an ordinary man plagued by extraordinary visions, “Regression” makes no effort to ease you into the horror gently. The opening page, with (appropriately) surgical precision, depicts the hands of an unknown malevolent force slicing through the belly of their victim. Out of the cavity pours a festering pile of maggots and flies, and the almost gothic framing gives way to clean panel lines in contrast to a scene descending into madness. Over the top of this, the narrative talks of pain, fear and a longing for awakening, the lettering an unsettlingly scratchy font floating in bile-green speech bubbles. It’s hard to imagine things getting worse, but that was merely the warm-up.
From there we’re whisked fairly swiftly through the story of Adrian, who’s suffering from these explicit hallucinations, and his friend Molly convincing him that it’s not a doctor he needs but a hypnotist. This presents the first narrative hurdle that the reader is expected to jump, as we’re not given any indication that Adrian has tried every rational, scientific avenue to cure his ailment, and we’re presented with a character that continually resists the idea of hypnotherapy, so you’d think he’d go straight to a hospital with such staggeringly horrific visions. Except this is a horror story, and logic doesn’t always work the way it should in horror, and Bunn knows that.
Instead, “Regression” takes us to a sensationalist showman of a hypnotist, one that has ‘risque late shows’ promising titillating hypnosis shenanigans. He provides the regression of the title, dragging Adrian through his past lives and back to the present, unknowingly bringing something demonic along for the ride. There’s a two-page spread depicting this journey of Adrian’s, and it’s truly a highlight of the issue. Merging Adrian with the lives he lived previously, Luckert and Enger present a confused and confusing figure of a man with two beings inside him, framed by both graphic violence and mundane activities; a snapshot of lives that were lived and that possibly ended too soon.
The scene directly following this is the only other narrative hurdle to jump. To Adrian, all of this felt like seconds, so when he’s told that not only did the hypnosis work but that he’s a ‘real natural,’ he asks no follow-up questions other than “did we learn anything?” This once again feels like the narrative leading the plot rather than the characters doing so (wouldn’t you want to know every detail?) which, once again, is a fairly standard trope for a horror, except it leads to characters that don’t feel fully formed. We know next to nothing about Adrian apart from what’s happening to him, and that can reduce any empathy felt for the character.
Continued belowThere are two more moments in this issue, full-page spreads, that are visually shocking, graphic and disturbing, neither of which will be spoiled here except to say that they involve gross body horror in two very different ways. The fine detail of the art is perfect for not only depicting such gore but for drawing you into the minutiae of the world; early scenes at a barbecue tell a story more than any of the words on the page.
Throughout “Regression”, Bunn makes it clear that his focus, for this issue at least if not the whole series, is less on character and more on evoking specific reactions from the reader. There’s an almost Cronenburg-esque slant to the grotesquery on display and that’s something that’s always welcome in comics. A silent, personal medium where the reader controls the pace must be a frustrating space to craft affecting horror, and to the credit of Bunn, Luckert and Enger there are numerous moments throughout “Regression” that repulse, unnerve and genuinely horrify. There are hints throughout of a grander conspiracy pulling the strings, and a sense that Adrian is only just beginning to tumble down the rabbit hole. With more time spent on character development, this could be a deeply engaging horror that grips the reader on every level.
Final verdict: 7.8 – Light on character but heavy on visceral gore, “Regression” thrusts you deep into it world of body-horror, and hardly ever slows down.
