Flickering Shadows, Hidden Histories

In 1980s New York, Ellen Kramer, a Jewish film restorer, is reluctantly tasked with restoring "The Baroness," a notorious, long-lost 1930s German film. The film's rediscovery is shrouded in Nazi history, sexual transgression, and occult rumors. Ellen's workplace, the Path Foundation, is on the brink of collapse after a scandal, and the lucrative restoration contract is their last hope. As Ellen watches the degraded footage, she's unsettled by its grotesque, erotic imagery and the sense that something in the film is alive, waiting to be released. The project's origins—rescued from a Nazi official's attic—haunt her, and the film's history of censorship and violence foreshadows the darkness to come.

The Baroness Unveiled

Ellen's personal life is as fractured as the film she restores. Her relationships are strained—her parents push her toward a "normal" life, and her ex, Freddie, lingers in memory. The Baroness's imagery—drag, ritual, and violence—seeps into Ellen's dreams and waking life, blurring boundaries between art and reality. The restoration process becomes a psychological descent, as Ellen's discomfort with the film's queerness and her own sexuality intensifies. The Baroness, both character and director, emerges as a symbol of forbidden desire and transgression, her presence growing more tangible and threatening with each frame Ellen repairs.

Ellen's Fractured Reflections

Ellen's work is her refuge, but the film's disturbing content and her own repressed desires begin to fracture her sense of self. Memories of her relationship with Freddie—her only true love—surface, mingling with guilt, shame, and longing. Ellen's attempts at heterosexual normalcy with Jesse are hollow and painful. The Baroness's imagery triggers erotic and violent fantasies, and Ellen's body becomes a battleground: a cut from the film reel refuses to heal, symbolizing her inability to "fix" herself or her past. The film's ghosts—literal and metaphorical—begin to intrude on her reality.

Ghosts in the Celluloid

The negative of "The Baroness" reveals impossible images: sets that become real, scenes that shift and bleed. Ellen's dreams are invaded by the film's characters—monstrous, seductive, and vengeful. The boundaries between film and life dissolve as Ellen experiences hallucinations and physical symptoms. The film's history—created by queer, Jewish, and marginalized artists, then nearly destroyed by Nazis—echoes Ellen's own sense of erasure and survival. The ghosts of the past demand recognition, and the film becomes a vessel for their rage and longing.

The Negative's Secret

As Ellen works with the negative, her injury worsens, and she experiences visions of the film's creation: Bartok, the director, driven by grief and obsession, performing real violence for art. The negative is not just a record but a curse, binding the suffering of its creators and victims. Ellen's sense of self unravels as she becomes both restorer and participant, haunted by the Baroness and the beautiful boy whose fate is sealed in celluloid. The film's power is not just in its images but in its ability to possess and transform those who touch it.

Haunted by Desire

Ellen's encounters—with Jesse, with Rachel Feldman the critic, with memories of Freddie—are charged with longing and revulsion. The film's erotic violence mirrors Ellen's own conflicted desires. Scenes of queer love and monstrous transformation in "The Baroness" awaken Ellen's suppressed identity, but also her fear of being consumed or destroyed by it. The cut on her hand becomes a site of infection, both literal and symbolic. Ellen's body and mind are invaded by the film's ghosts, and her attempts to find solace in work, family, or sex only deepen her alienation.

Family Ties, Family Lies

Ellen's family history is a labyrinth of secrets: her grandmother's collaboration with Nazis, her father's closeted sexuality, her mother's emotional violence. Family gatherings are fraught with denial, shame, and the pressure to conform. Ellen's Jewishness is both a source of pride and pain, tied to the Holocaust and to her own sense of otherness. The film's history—its cast and crew destroyed by fascism—mirrors Ellen's own inheritance of trauma. Attempts to find connection, whether with her nephew or her dying father, are thwarted by the weight of the past.

The Cut That Won't Heal

Ellen's injury becomes a metaphor for the wounds carried by survivors—of violence, of queerness, of Jewishness. The film's restoration is an act of resurrection, but also of re-opening old scars. Ellen's body is marked by the film, her mind by its horrors. The negative's curse spreads: her coworker Phillip is driven to madness and suicide, and Ellen's own grip on reality falters. The film demands sacrifice, and Ellen is forced to confront the cost of survival—her own and that of those who came before her.

The Beautiful Boy's Fate

The story of Ilya, the beautiful boy in the film, becomes central: his seduction, humiliation, and ultimate destruction at the hands of the Baroness. His fate echoes that of queer and Jewish victims of fascism, and of Ellen's own lost love. The film's violence is not just spectacle but a record of real suffering, a demand for witness. Ellen's identification with Ilya—and with the Baroness—blurs the lines between victim and perpetrator, desire and destruction. The film's power is in its refusal to let the dead be forgotten.

Nightmares in the Lab

As the restoration nears completion, Ellen's nightmares intensify. The film's characters appear in her waking life, and the boundaries between past and present, self and other, dissolve. The lab becomes a haunted space, and Ellen's colleagues fall victim to the film's curse. Ellen's own body is invaded by the film, her wound becoming a mouth, her blood mingling with the celluloid. The act of restoration becomes an act of possession, and Ellen is drawn inexorably toward a final confrontation with the Baroness and the ghosts of the past.

The Past Bleeds Through

The film's screening for the Foundation's board becomes a massacre, as the ghosts of the Baroness, the Chamberlain, and the Giantess erupt into reality, slaughtering the audience. Ellen, now fully possessed by the film's power, becomes both witness and executioner. The violence is both retribution and catharsis, a reckoning for the crimes of the past and the complicity of the present. The film's curse is revealed as a demand for memory, for justice, for the acknowledgment of suffering that has been denied and erased.

Molly and the Living

Amid the horror, Ellen's relationship with Molly, a homeless woman she befriends, offers a glimpse of compassion and solidarity. Ellen's decision to care for Molly, to offer shelter and kindness, stands in contrast to the violence and betrayal that dominate her life. Yet even this act is haunted by the film's curse, as Ellen fears she may be offering Molly as a sacrifice to the Baroness. The possibility of redemption is fragile, always threatened by the demands of the past and the hunger of the ghosts.

The Closet Door Opens

Ellen's apartment becomes a site of haunting, the closet a portal to the film's world. The Baroness appears, demanding sacrifice, and Ellen is forced to choose between self-preservation and the lives of others. The closet, symbol of repression and secrecy, becomes the threshold between worlds, and Ellen's decision to offer Jesse to the Baroness is both an act of vengeance and a surrender to the film's power. The personal and the historical, the erotic and the violent, converge in a moment of terrible clarity.

The Baroness Demands

The final screening of "The Baroness" is an apocalypse: the film's ghosts slaughter the audience, and Ellen, now both herself and the vessel of the Baroness, enacts the ritual sacrifice demanded by the past. Jesse, the embodiment of patriarchal violence and denial, is offered up, and Ellen's own identity is transformed. The act is both revenge and liberation, a breaking of the cycle of silence and shame. The film's curse is fulfilled, but at a terrible cost.

Sacrifice and Survival

In the aftermath of the massacre, Ellen is reborn as Benjamin, the name her father would have given her had she been a boy. This transformation is both literal and symbolic: a claiming of self, a rejection of the roles imposed by family and society, and an embrace of the monstrous, the queer, the survivor. The ghosts of the past are not exorcised but acknowledged, their suffering given voice. The cycle of violence is not ended, but its meaning is reclaimed.

The Final Screening

The film's final act is both a reckoning and a release. The Baroness, the Chamberlain, the Giantess, and the beautiful boy are not merely characters but forces of history, demanding witness and justice. Ellen's journey—from restorer to participant, from victim to avenger—culminates in an act of creation and destruction. The film's power is revealed as the power of memory, of art to preserve, to haunt, and to demand reckoning. The survivors are changed, marked by the black flame that burns in the heart of history.

Becoming Benjamin

Ellen's transformation into Benjamin is the culmination of her journey: a rejection of the roles imposed by family, society, and history, and an embrace of the self that has always been denied. The act of sacrifice is both an ending and a beginning, a claiming of power and a refusal to be erased. The ghosts of the past are not laid to rest, but their suffering is given meaning. The black flame burns on, a reminder that survival is both a burden and a gift.

Black Flame, Black Sun

The novel ends with the image of the black flame, burning in the darkness, a symbol of the persistence of memory, desire, and resistance. The film's curse is not broken, but its meaning is reclaimed: the dead demand witness, the survivors demand justice, and the cycle of violence and survival continues. Ellen—now Benjamin—stands at the threshold of a new life, marked by the scars of the past but no longer defined by them. The black sun rises, and the story ends in fire and blood, but also in the possibility of transformation.

Characters

Ellen Kramer

Ellen is a Jewish film restorer in 1980s New York, marked by generational trauma, internalized shame, and a desperate longing for connection. Her life is defined by repression: of her queerness, her Jewishness, and her own desires. Ellen's relationships—with her family, with her ex Freddie, with her colleague Jesse—are fraught with guilt, longing, and self-loathing. The act of restoring "The Baroness" becomes a journey into her own haunted psyche, as the film's ghosts force her to confront the wounds she has tried to hide. Ellen's development is a painful process of self-recognition, culminating in her transformation into Benjamin—a claiming of identity and power, but also an acceptance of the monstrous and the survivor within.

The Baroness (Karla Bartok)

The Baroness is both the central figure of the film and its creator, Karla Bartok—a queer, Jewish artist destroyed by fascism. In life, Bartok was a visionary, obsessed with art, desire, and the occult; in death, the Baroness becomes a force of vengeance and transformation, haunting the film and those who touch it. The Baroness embodies forbidden desire, transgression, and the rage of the oppressed. Her relationship to Ellen is both seductive and terrifying: she is mentor, lover, and executioner, demanding sacrifice and offering the possibility of rebirth. The Baroness's presence blurs the line between art and reality, past and present, victim and avenger.

Jesse Cavill

Jesse is Ellen's would-be suitor, a symbol of the "normal" life her family demands. His relationship with Ellen is marked by awkwardness, neediness, and ultimately violence—he rapes Ellen while she is ill, embodying the entitlement and denial of patriarchal power. Jesse's fate—offered as a sacrifice to the Baroness—serves as both retribution and catharsis, a breaking of the cycle of silence and complicity. Jesse is less a fully realized character than a symbol of the forces that have shaped and wounded Ellen's life.

Rachel Feldman

Rachel is a film critic and fellow Jew, whose brashness and unapologetic queerness both attract and terrify Ellen. Rachel's pursuit of "The Baroness" is driven by a hunger for truth, justice, and the reclamation of lost queer and Jewish history. Her relationship with Ellen is fraught with tension, desire, and the possibility of solidarity. Rachel serves as a mirror for Ellen's own suppressed identity, challenging her to confront the truths she has denied. Their eventual intimacy is both a moment of liberation and a recognition of shared trauma.

Freddie Fernandes

Freddie is Ellen's ex-girlfriend, the only person with whom she has experienced true intimacy and joy. Their relationship, destroyed by Ellen's fear and internalized shame, haunts Ellen throughout the novel. Freddie represents the life Ellen might have had—the possibility of love, community, and self-acceptance. Her reappearance forces Ellen to confront the consequences of her choices and the cost of survival. Freddie's presence is a reminder that the past cannot be undone, but its meaning can be reclaimed.

Molly

Molly is a homeless woman whom Ellen befriends and cares for. Their relationship offers a rare moment of compassion and connection in a world defined by violence and betrayal. Molly's vulnerability and resilience mirror Ellen's own, and her survival becomes a test of Ellen's capacity for care. Molly is both a living witness to the horrors of the present and a reminder that acts of kindness, however small, matter.

Phillip

Phillip is Ellen's coworker, a petty and insecure man whose fate is sealed by the film's curse. His descent into madness and suicide is both a warning and a reflection of the film's power to destroy those who refuse to see or acknowledge the truth. Phillip's relationship with Ellen is marked by rivalry, resentment, and a shared sense of alienation. His death is a turning point, signaling the escalation of the film's haunting.

The Chamberlain (János Varga)

The Chamberlain is a central figure in "The Baroness", both in the film and as a ghost haunting Ellen's reality. He embodies the violence of complicity, the willingness to serve power at the expense of the vulnerable. His appearances are marked by menace and the threat of violence, and his relationship to Ellen is that of both tormentor and warning. The Chamberlain's presence is a reminder that survival often comes at the cost of others.

The Giantess

The Giantess is another figure from the film, a symbol of overwhelming, destructive femininity and the hunger of the oppressed. Her scenes—erotic, violent, and grotesque—mirror Ellen's own fears of desire and consumption. The Giantess's presence in Ellen's visions and in the final massacre is both terrifying and cathartic, a force of nature that cannot be denied or controlled.

Ilya Kapfelberg (The Beautiful Boy)

Ilya is the beautiful boy at the heart of "The Baroness", whose seduction, humiliation, and death are both spectacle and tragedy. His fate echoes that of countless queer and Jewish victims of fascism, and his presence haunts Ellen as both object of desire and symbol of loss. Ilya's story is a demand for witness, a refusal to let the dead be forgotten. His ultimate sacrifice is both a warning and a call to memory.

Plot Devices

Film as Haunted Object

"The Baroness" is not merely a movie but a haunted, cursed object—a vessel for the suffering, rage, and longing of its creators and victims. The negative is both a record and a wound, binding the past to the present and demanding recognition. The act of restoration becomes an act of resurrection, possession, and vengeance. The film's power is in its ability to blur the boundaries between art and reality, to possess those who touch it, and to demand sacrifice. This device allows the novel to explore the persistence of trauma, the hunger of the dead for justice, and the power of art to both heal and destroy.

Blurring of Reality and Fantasy

The novel employs a narrative structure that constantly blurs the line between reality and fantasy, dream and waking, past and present. Ellen's experiences—visions, hauntings, physical symptoms—are both psychological and supernatural, reflecting the ways in which trauma and desire disrupt the boundaries of the self. The film's imagery invades Ellen's life, and the ghosts of the past become indistinguishable from the horrors of the present. This device heightens the sense of dread and disorientation, forcing the reader to question what is real and what is imagined.

Generational Trauma and Repetition

The novel's structure is cyclical, with the traumas of the past repeating in the present: the Holocaust, family secrets, sexual violence, and the erasure of queer and Jewish lives. Ellen's journey mirrors that of the film's creators and victims, and her transformation into Benjamin is both a breaking and a continuation of the cycle. The use of family history, flashbacks, and dreams reinforces the sense that the past is never truly past, and that survival is always marked by loss and longing.

Sacrifice and Transformation

The novel's climax is structured as a ritual sacrifice, with Ellen offering Jesse to the Baroness and being reborn as Benjamin. This device draws on mythic and religious imagery—Passover, the Akedah, the Golem legend—to explore themes of identity, power, and the cost of survival. The act of sacrifice is both an ending and a beginning, a claiming of agency and a reckoning with the violence that underlies all acts of creation and memory.

Metafiction and Self-Reflexivity

The novel is deeply self-reflexive, using the restoration of "The Baroness" as a metaphor for the act of storytelling itself. The film is both subject and object, a mirror in which Ellen—and the reader—must confront the horrors and desires that shape history. The act of watching, restoring, and screening the film becomes an act of witness, a demand for justice, and a refusal to let the dead be forgotten. The novel's structure—fragmented, recursive, haunted by its own images—reinforces its themes of memory, trauma, and the power of art.

Analysis

"Black Flame" is a searing, hallucinatory exploration of trauma, identity, and the power of art to both preserve and destroy. At its core, the novel is about the persistence of the past: the way history's wounds—personal, familial, and collective—continue to shape the present. Through the metaphor of a haunted film, Felker-Martin interrogates the legacy of fascism, the erasure of queer and Jewish lives, and the violence of conformity. Ellen's journey is both deeply personal and profoundly political: her struggle to reclaim her identity, to bear witness to the suffering of the dead, and to break the cycle of silence and complicity is mirrored in the film's demand for recognition and justice. The novel's horror is not just in its supernatural elements, but in its unflinching portrayal of the costs of survival—the ways in which the oppressed are forced to become monstrous in order to endure. "Black Flame" ultimately insists that memory is both a burden and a gift, that the dead demand witness, and that the act of telling the truth—however painful—is itself a form of resistance.

Last updated: January 29, 2026