One Of The Scariest Scenes In Inside Ends With A Red Christmas

(Welcome to Scariest Scene Ever, a column dedicated to the most pulse-pounding moments in horror with your tour guides, horror experts Chris Evangelista and Matt Donato. In this edition, Matt recalls one of his favorite Christmas movies "Inside.")

It's just not Christmas without a repulsively heaping helping of French Extremity horror. Julien Maury and Alexandre Bustillo are absolute savages in their feature debut "Inside," pushing the boundaries of an already boundless international subgenre that includes such titles as "Martyrs" and "High Tension." There's festive Christmas Horror like "Krampus" or "A Christmas Horror Story," and then there's bleak-nasty Christmas Horror like "Inside" and "Night Train Murders." Where the horrors of humanity are front and center — Christmas is in the background, because eviscerating the safety of Christmastime comforts is ten times worse than murders on random days.

"Inside" is a masterclass of performance command on the part of lead actresses Alysson Paradis and Béatrice Dalle. Maury and Bustillo are exceptionally merciless to their characters, which doesn't scare either player away. So, with the seasonal spirit swirling like fresh snowfall, we honor one of the most traumatic and nightmarish scares in all of Christmas Horror. It's not for the faint of heart, easily nauseated, or anyone with extreme parental anxieties that can't imagine the worst tragedies of this world or the next.

Also, be warned: graphic horror movie violence is mentioned in this post.

Paradis stars as expectant mother Sarah Scarangella — the widowed survivor of a car wreck four months prior. It's Christmas Eve, Sarah's inconsolably depressed, and she's supposed to deliver her overdue baby the following day. She's alone — both physically and with her thoughts — on a holiday that's typically celebrated alongside joyful family members. Well, alone until there's a knock on the front door from a woman known only as La Femme (Dalle) who asks to come inside.

Sarah refuses entry to the mystery woman, but it's no use. Dalle's hopeful guest becomes a violent invader, chasing Sarah around her empty home. It's Christmas Eve, so law enforcement is understaffed and neighbors are traveling elsewhere. The woman somehow sneaks into Sarah's bedroom while she slumbers, and prods Sarah's belly bump with a pair of scissors, making her intentions clear — she wants Sarah's unborn baby.

Casualties mount as Sarah fights frantically for her and her soon-to-be newborn's lives. Sarah's mother and employer accidentally intervene, but both are stabbed to death. Police officers check on Sarah's house and the woman almost lies her way to freedom, but they lose their lives along with their prisoner collateral damage. Every chance at escape ends horribly for Sarah, including when one of the officers regains consciousness long enough to bash Sarah in the stomach and break her water despite La Femme intervening to save Sarah — afterward, the scene in question begins.

Sarah's left laying on the staircase, her body dripping with blood, her clothes stained crimson. She's just been bludgeoned and her child's birth has begun, forced by blunt-object trauma. She tries to pull herself upstairs, but the nameless home invader briskly walks towards the wounded homeowner. Sarah finally has no fight left, spitting up blood as she gasps for air.

La Femme approaches Sarah, lays her scissors down, and leans in close to the brutalized mother-to-be. There might be more compassion between the two now, but the context of prior actions cannot be undone.

"The baby's coming," Sarah mutters with acknowledgment of the situation. She never makes eye contact with the woman, looking towards the ceiling or between her legs. This is Sarah's worst frightmare, but no other options exist. "Mommy," Sarah cries out — knowing she killer her mother on accident earlier in the night.

"Shhhh," Dalle's unhinged antagonist whispers to Sarah. "I'm right here." Dalle's hand (in character) runs over Sarah's slathered-red face.

"I think it's stuck," Sarah says in a panic. Her safety no longer matters — it's all about her kin.

Sarah's nemesis has had one motivation all night — steal Sarah's baby. Sarah saying "it's stuck" is a plea for help that La Femme does not hesitate to oblige. She grabs the scissors once again and cuts through both of Sarah's bloodstained shirts. The woman is no nurse, nor does she care about Sarah's well-being. She cuts into Sarah's baby bump at the belly button, performing a makeshift Cesarean section to save the endangered baby.

Maury and Bustillo, the sickos they are, hold the camera on Sarah's operation the whole time. La Femme is quiet; Sarah screams in torturous pain. The woman reaches into Sarah's entry wound with both hands, gaping the hole as Sarah's skin stretches. Sarah calls for "Mommy" again — the woman shushes her with an offputting tone. Blood waterfalls down the staircase like a thick goop as Sarah's cries continue, as we're forced to contemplate the wretched inhumanity that's occurring. Sarah fights like hell all night to protect her soon-to-be child, yet it's all futile — La Femme has all the power, is her only hope, and gets exactly what she wants. Merry Christmas.

I remember the first time I watched "Inside" — I knew nothing about it, I just knew it was a horror movie, and I was fond of buying horror DVDs (this was back when DVDs reigned supreme) on a whim. Little did I know I was in for something truly bonkers, and something that would become one of my favorite horror films. Christmas horror is a special subgenre; I almost always get a kick out of it, even if the film in question is junk. But "Inside" is not junk — it's pretty damn great and pretty damn disturbing. I had seen gore in horror before but I was unprepared for the savagery on display here, and as the film grew progressively more off-the-wall and gory, I could hardly believe what I was seeing. I'm not a squeamish guy — years of horror has desensitized me! — but this movie, and this scene in question, still makes me squirm to the point where I almost come very close to having to look away from the screen. Almost.