Burning the Face of the Demon: Trauma, Guilt, and ‘The Vigil’
By Brian Keiper
Warning
This article contains in-depth discussion, including spoilers, of the film The Vigil (2019), written and directed by Keith Thomas.
How thoroughly our past can consume our present. Traumas, griefs, regrets, guilt — vampires all. They drain away the very will to do anything more than merely exist. They feed until we are drained of everything that makes us truly human, the things that allow us to experience happiness, fulfillment, peace, and that most elusive word to truly define, joy. We become mere shells of who we could be. From beginning to end, The Vigil challenges us to let go of our pain, though we cling to it so dearly.
The film follows Yakov (Dave Davis), a former Orthodox Jew who has recently left his insular community. In the opening sequence, we see that he has connected with a group of young people in a similar situation who counsel and support one another through this difficult transition. Still, Yakov lacks simple skills and knows how that hinders him to land or hold down a job, and money is running short. He also suffers from crippling anxiety and depression, which he takes medication for, but he admits to this group that money is so tight that he now has to choose between medication and meals. He then says what they are doubtlessly all feeling: “I just want to be normal.” The advisor of the group, who has apparently gone through all of this ahead of them, answers, “and a big part of that is letting go. Letting go of the pain, the trauma that’s held you back.” Another member of the group speaks up and says, “what matters is we left, right?”
“No, what matters is we’re still moving forward,” the mentor-like leader responds.
In these few lines, the thematic point of the entire film is made and then illustrated like a well-crafted sermon from that point on. This is not to say the film is preachy (it emphatically is not), but in illustration, in structure, in emotional impact, it speaks deeply to the heart. It does not give us all the answers, for that is impossible, but it asks the right questions. In the end, it gives us choices of whether to believe or not. And if we do choose to believe, it gives us a choice of how to believe — within a religious community or outside of one. The film presents us with what it knows and does not pretend or claim to know everything.
As Yakov leaves the meeting, he is met on the street by a ghost from his past, Reb Shulem (Menashe Lustig), a member of his former community who needs a favor. He asks Yakov to sit as Shomer, or watchman, through the night for a recently deceased Holocaust survivor who had become a recluse. The tradition of the vigil is ancient and involves members of the community watching over the body of the recently deceased in shifts, speaking Psalms and prayers. Usually, this is done by family and friends but when that is not possible, paid Shomers can be hired. Shulem, knowing how desperate he is for money, asks Yakov. He also admits to having an ulterior motive — he hopes that sitting vigil will draw Yakov back to the community.
While sitting Shomer, Yakov begins to see strange things. It is soon revealed by Mrs. Litvak (Lynn Cohen), the widow of Rubin who the vigil is for, that Yakov is seeing “memories,” but they are not his own. He learns through a dream, a hallucination, or a message from beyond, the demon called Mazzik, an ancient being that is a kind of parasite. Its most peculiar physical trait is that its head is turned fully around, “damned to looking backwards, to the past.” It latches onto people who have experienced great trauma, forcing them to continually relive it until the host is drained dry and dies. It then latches onto the next tormented soul.
The different ways that Yakov, Mrs. Litvak, and Rubin Litvak deal with the Mazzik reveal different ways that individuals handle traumatic past events. Rubin brought the demon back from Buchenwald, the Nazi death camp where he was forced to commit an unspeakable deed at the hands of guards. He has spent his life learning about the Mazzik, hoping to warn the next host but certain that it is too late for him. Though we only see Rubin in a flashback, a photo, and a video, we deeply feel his pain. We look on from a distance as this human became obsessed with his trauma, his past, and the entity that forces him to relive it constantly. He is convinced that there is only one way to destroy the Mazzik: “burn its true face the first night it appears.” He learned this secret long after it attached itself to him and is convinced that he is doomed to live the rest of his life under this tormenting spirit.
Helplessly looking on is Rubin’s long-suffering wife, Mrs. Litvak, who is tormented by the Mazzik as well but has no power to stop it and no power to convince Rubin that he does. She has been unable to leave her home — — the Mazzik will not allow her. She looks on and wonders what kind of man Rubin might have been, what kind of father he could have been if life had turned out differently. She claims that she was able to live with it though she clearly lost most of her existence to the Mazzik as well. She tells Yakov, “my pain was not his,” and therefore bearable, but as we see this frail, sad woman, we wonder if this is true. When we dearly love someone and are closely connected to them, we carry their burdens too. Their pain becomes ours even if we didn’t experience it first-hand. Her trauma is the trauma of being forced to stand by helplessly as a loved one is consumed by guilt and emptied of life.
Yakov is young. His pain is fresh. He left his Orthodox community because he blames himself for the death of his young brother who was hit by a car after being bullied by a group of antisemitic thugs. Though it remains unspoken, Yakov is also angry with God. He can’t imagine that the just God he was raised with could allow something so cruel and decidedly unjust to happen. As an audience, we see the plain truth that the accident was beyond his control and in no way his fault, but the Mazzik forces him to relive the memory. The demon speaks into his mind, “there’s no point in fighting…you just watched him die.” The agony of these moments played over and over in his psyche is paralyzing.
But somehow, Yakov gathers his strength to face the Mazzik. He puts on an armor of faith; phylacteries containing important scriptures are strapped to his hand and forehead. He arms himself with the only thing that can destroy darkness: light. He carries a candle into battle like a sword. He steps into the darkness to find the Mazzik. It then reveals its true face — Yakov’s own, etched with the sorrow of years of dwelling upon the past.
In reality, it is we ourselves who are the Mazzik. We are the ones who force ourselves to relive and become mired in our own past which inevitably leads us to guilt, pain, depression, and destruction. Though I believe that guilt and regret can be powerful tools of self-improvement, when fixated upon as Rubin and Yakov do, they become weapons of self-destruction. The Mazzik, with its fixation on the past, is doomed to relive its regrets and demands that those who fall prey to it do as well. We have within us the power to burn the face of this demon, to free ourselves of the past. It may take help, be it friends, family, counselors, faith, but all of it demands that we do some of the work ourselves: to face our demon, to burn its face.
I do think that Rubin Litvak got one thing wrong about the Mazzik. I do not believe it was too late for him. Though each passing day makes it harder to burn the face of the demon, it can still be done. After his triumph over the demon, Jakov proves this to be true as he frees both Rubin and his wife of the curse of the Mazzik. Mrs. Litvak loved Rubin dearly but also longs to finally walk outside in the morning sun. It is a beautiful moment in the film when she is finally able to do so. Yakov has had a profound experience with the spiritual, but he chooses to decline an invitation to morning prayers with Reb Shulem. He needs to experience, or perhaps not experience, God on his own terms after this.
Whether you come from a background of faith or not, the specific faith portrayed in the film or not, the power of The Vigil lies in its universal message. It is a bold message about the stranglehold that trauma can place on life — making us fear to really live. I can’t claim that my traumas or regrets are as severe as Rubin or Yakov’s, but I have let them steal my joy, peace, and any number of things that make life worthwhile sometimes. It’s about time I burned the faces of my demons and moved forward. 🩸
About
Brian Keiper is a featured writer for Manor Vellum. Brian’s also written for Bloody Disgusting, Dread Central, F This Movie!, Ghastly Grinning, and others. Follow him on Twitter @Brianwaves42.
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