Raven Deshay Carter Talks No-See-Ums, Female Rage, and Reclaiming Space in Black Horror
- Horror Movies Uncut
- 5 hours ago
- 3 min read
Raven Deshay Carter on No-See-Ums, Female Rage, and Reclaiming Space in Black Horror
There’s something powerful about realizing a space has existed the whole time — and you just weren’t fully tapped into it.
That was my experience speaking with filmmaker Raven Deshay Carter about her feature debut No-See-Ums, which screened at the Pan African Film Festival. After nearly two decades covering horror, I’ll admit it: I wasn’t as locked in on that festival circuit as I should’ve been. That changes now. Films like Noseeums don’t just demand coverage — they demand presence.
Carter’s film has already been labeled “Get Out meets Candyman,” the shorthand comparison that seems to follow any Black-led social horror with bite. But Carter is clear about that framing.
“Even in preproduction, I was telling everybody — this is not Get Out,” she said. “I love Get Out. It carved a path for Black social horror. But I do think it’s usually non-Black people making that comparison.”
Her own description? “Get Out meets Mean Girls.”
And that’s the nuance critics sometimes miss.
Because while No-See-Ums absolutely carries supernatural energy and reclamation horror undertones, much of its tension is grounded in something painfully recognizable: social warfare in predominantly white spaces. Passive aggression masked as humor. Microaggressions disguised as curiosity. Gaslighting that builds long before anything paranormal appears.
The dinner scene alone is horror — no monster required.
Carter grew up in Bastrop, Texas, near Austin, in a predominantly white environment. That upbringing shaped her artistic lens in ways she didn’t initially realize.
“When I went to film school, I noticed a lot of my films were about race — subconsciously,” she explained. “I didn’t even know how much I was processing.”
That processing becomes Ember, the film’s protagonist — a young Black woman caught between friend groups, navigating heartbreak, questionable decisions, and disconnection from ancestral lineage. Ember isn’t framed as flawless. She’s human. She’s figuring it out.
And Carter made this film with intention.
“I made this for Black women. All ages,” she said. “And especially for Black people who feel disconnected from their lineage. Which is a lot of us.”
The reclamation horror wave feels urgent right now, and while Noseeums originated from a concept by Jason Michael Anthony (initially titled Biting Midges), the metaphor evolved through collaboration. What began as a symbolic juxtaposition — Black people compared to a bug that makes others vacate spaces — became more literal once producers leaned into the idea.
It’s bold. It’s layered. It’s uncomfortable.
And then there’s Tilly.
Tilly doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to.
She represents female rage — generational rage. The kind that doesn’t disappear just because time passes. Carter and her collaborators even referenced Beloved in discussions around the character.
“We wanted her to feel broken and angry,” Carter said. “Because that’s honest.”
The horror in No-See-Ums doesn’t rush. It simmers. Carter cited Barry Jenkins’ If Beale Street Could Talk as inspiration for how conversation itself can be filmed as tension. The goal was to make viewers uneasy before the supernatural escalates.
That dinner scene? Carter has lived it.
And she fought for key moments in the film. The classroom scene early on — direct, educational, explicitly stating the subject matter — wasn’t originally in the cut. Carter wrote it during pickups, brought actors back, and shot it with a skeletal crew.
“I knew we needed something that felt educational,” she said. “So no one could question what this film is about. It’s about Black land.”
That clarity matters.
So does discipline. Carter approached her first feature with self-awareness — identifying her stress tendencies, leaning on prayer, preparing her support system for the grind of overnight shoots. She describes the experience as precious. Intentional.
“People will only take you as seriously as you take yourself,” she said.
For a first feature made largely by first-timers, No-See-Ums doesn’t feel timid. It feels deliberate. It understands its audience. It understands its purpose.
This isn’t horror built solely for jump scares or aesthetic trend cycles.
It’s horror rooted in social survival. In lineage. In rage. In the feeling of being stuck in between spaces.
And as one of the few Black voices in horror journalism for over two decades, I’ll say this plainly: we need more filmmakers like Raven Deshay Carter. More Black women directing horror that speaks from lived experience. More films that make you uncomfortable at the dinner table before they make you uncomfortable in the dark.
No-See-Ums isn’t chasing comparison.
It’s carving its own space — and daring you not to look away.
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