Somewhat curiously, Greg reveals to Jay three days after their rather underwhelming roll in the hay that he has yet to see the entity. Of course, as hinted in a brief scene where he is depicted shamelessly flirting with another girl at a table in a cafeteria, it is assumed that Greg has foolishly passed on the curse to some unwitting victim(s). Naturally, as a firm non-believer in the entity, Greg does not think anything of it when his ostensible mother bangs on his door while he is asleep and then appears to him topless with her silicone breast implants hanging out of her robe, thus resulting in the inordinately stoic stoner being killed without even putting up a fight. Indeed, when Greg answers too door and sees the entity in the form of his topless mother, her responds by telling, “What the fuck, Mom?” and thus is completely unprepared when the salacious specter more or less dives pussy-first onto his dick. Somewhat provocatively, the celestial curse adds insult to injury by fucking Greg to death while in the form of his silicone-injected progenitor. While Jay witnesses the entity in the form of Greg breaking into Greg’s house and attempts to warn him by unsuccessfully trying to call him and then subsequently running to his house, the heroine find herself completely helpless while witnessing the deadly supernatural rape. After witnessing deadly pseudo-incestuous spectrophilia in the form of the entity riding on Greg’s cock, Jay is left completely horrified and emotionally exhausted, so she decides to drive to the lake where she ends up sleeping outside. When she wakes up the next day, she sees a couple young bros that she does not know in a boat in the water, so she curiously decides to swim to them. As demonstrated by her almost deathly facial expression, it does not seem like Jay is simply looking to have some fun in the sun with the boat boys. Whether Jay has decided to spread the curse by the way of an aquatic threesome or foursome is questionable, but she is depicted crying while driving back home, thus hinting that she might be consumed with guilt as a result of having infecting the unwittingly fellows. If Jay did indeed spread the curse to boat boys, they must have put up a poor fight against the entity, as it is not long before the specter begins hunting the heroine again.
As a sort of award for his borderline heroic efforts (indeed, the viewer senses that she feels obligated to let him have a little taste of her accursed spasm chasm), Jay fucks Paul when they get home that night in what ultimately proves rather lackluster sex between two individuals that have seemingly nil sexual compatibility. Indeed, after their particularly prosaic carnal session, Paul meekly asks Jay, “Do you feel any different?” and she nods no. Seemingly greatly disappointed after finally achieving the seemingly inconceivable by fucking the girl of his dreams, Paul also admits he does not feel any different. The next day, Paul drives by two fat and radically repulsive ghetto skank prostitutes that give off the impression that they are mutant survivors of a nuclear apocalypse. While one of the streetwalkers smirks at Paul when he looks at her, it is never revealed as to whether or not he decided to use her and/or the other girl's sensual services. Of course, patronizing a prostitute would be a great way to get rid of the curse as it could possibly be spread among countless victims in a very short time. Notably, in the penultimate scene of the film, Paul and Jay visit Yara in the hospital where she reads aloud the following line from Dostoyevsky's The Idiot: “But here I should imagine the most terrible part of the whole punishment is, not the bodily pain at all—but the certain knowledge that in an hour—then in ten minutes, then in half a minute, then now—this very instant—your soul must quit your body and that you will no longer be a man—and that this is certain, certain! That’s the point—the certainty of it.”
Considering their recent experiences, one would hope that Jay and her friends now have some understanding of the meaning of Dostoyevsky's words and have accepted that they will one day disappear from this world. In the very last scene, Paul and Jay are depicted holding hands while walking down a sidewalk in their neighborhood in an exceedingly awkward fashion, as if they are trying in vain to resemble a romantic couple. Unbeknownst to the terribly mismatched (un)love birds, they are being followed by someone that may or may not be the entity in a young male form. Additionally, this final scene features many allusions to death, as it is set during the Halloween season as demonstrated by the fact that various pumpkins and fake cobwebs can be seen around the neighborhood, not to mention the fact that a ‘Dead End’ sign can be seen both in front of and to the right of Jay and Paul (in fact, the former's arm cast is even inscribed with the words, “Here lie the bones of Jay”). As hinted by the fact that they both have sullen expressions of their faces and neither of them look at or talk to one another during the entire scene, it seems like their relationship will not last long, but such is the common fate when a girl stupidly begins a relationship under quite questionable circumstances with a eternally groveling ‘good guy’ type who would probably glady devour her turds if he asked her to. Arguably not coincidentally, like all of the curse-spreading coitus sessions in the film, Jay and Paul's extra awkward game of sexual intercourse was not that natural consequence of mutual love and affection but instead the result of a somewhat emotionally abusive deception that will probably eventually lead to an unpleasant outcome for both involved. Indeed, at its most rudimentary level, It Follows certainly reveals that cheap loveless sex always has negative consequences, especially when you are young and dumb and thus unprepared for the full impact of said consequences.
With their parents and grandparents abandoning Detroit—a city that their ancestors built—so that tribes of negress could destroy it in more than two generations, only to weaken their race in the process by living in the totally safe and artificial world of the suburbs, these young adults lack even the maturity to safely and responsibly engage in the most basic and primitive adult biological act of sexual intercourse, so it is only wholly fitting that the titular monster of It Follows is a sexually transmitted and requires that the transmitter to commit sexual abuse and non-consensual sex to rid themselves of it. Contemporary Westerns now seem to believe that the sole function of sex is pleasure to the point where it has totally lost any sacred or spiritual essence it once had, hence the rapid decline of white birth rates and the glorification of abortion as a patently pathetic symbol of petty you-go-girl female (pseudo)empowerment, as if paying some Judaic doctor a bunch of shekels to have the child that is growing in your body vacuumed out of your vagina is a glorious and honorable thing that should be commended as an act of great strength and personal sovereignty (in fact, a bunch of dumb feminist bitches recently started a social media campaign entitled ‘Shout Your Abortion’ where tens of thousands of dumb cunts gloated over the internet about committing softcore legal maternal filicide). Undoubtedly, when you have a generation of people that unconsciously worships at the altar of Puer aeternus, kill its own children out of laziness and/or narcissism/self-absorption, passively allows its cities and neighborhoods to be colonized by barbarian minorities that are absurdly subsidized with mostly white middleclass tax money, and have never thought about the future existence of their people or culture, you have a nightmarish situation where sexuality is arguably the most fundamentally and symbolically dysfunctional element of the equation. Indeed, the real ‘IT’ that follows the protagonists of Mitchell's film is about have a century of self-inflicted dysfunction and decadence that was either sired or passively accepted by the characters' parents and grandparents.
In terms of its disturbing depiction of a painful youthful sexual awakening and hauntingly symbolic use of an indoor swimming pool that seems to represent adulthood (indeed, heroine Jay finds solace in her small personal above-ground pool, which can be seen as representing her childhood, but finds herself in horrifying experience in the large Detroit indoor pool, which could be seen as symbolizing adulthood), Mitchell's film also deserves seemingly unlikely comparisons with Jerzy Skolimowski's rather underrated feature Deep End (1970). Despite being a horror film that is certainly highly conscious of certain conventions of the genre, It Follows is indubitably a more artistically and emotionally mature cinematic work than Mitchell's previous feature The Myth of the American Sleepover. As his hopelessly gaudy and spasmodic genre-philiac films obnoxiously reveal in their unabashed negrophiliac outbursts, gratuitous displays of soulless violence (yet curiously lack of sexual intimacy aside from the occasional foot fetish scene), and complete and utter lack of morality and spirituality, Cuckantino—a completely racially and culturally deracinated pothead who grew up with a single mother who, not surprisingly, exposed her young son to negro boyfriends—is just too materialistic and emotionally immature to be able to fully embrace a film like Mitchell’s where everything is not wrapped up in a neat little package that can be fully digested by his autistic fanboy brain. Also, one cannot forget that, despite its mostly semi-cryptic references to classic horror films, It Follows never basks in the sort of too-cool-for-school pomo posturing that typically wets the panties of autistic fan-boys who seem to see cinema as sort of form of cheap neo-vaudevillian entertainment as opposed to a genuine artistic medium.
As director Mitchell stated himself, “I'm not personally that interested in where ‘it’ comes from. To me, it's dream logic in the sense that they're in a nightmare, and when you're in a nightmare there's no solving the nightmare. Even if you try to solve it.” Personally, I believe Mitchell is being honest in what he says and, despite his dubious support of a big fat mainstream white liberal slob like Michael Moore, I sense that he has a visceral feeling that he cannot fully articulate that there is something not quite right in America and that his instant-classic horror film is unconscious expression of a young and thoughtful white man who, due to a lifetime’s worth of brainwashing via the cunning kosher culture-distorters of Hollywood, cannot figure out why the nuclear family has been nuked and his previously quite beautiful hometown has degenerated into a third world dump that looks like it was firebombed. Of course, Mitchell understands that rows upon rows of condemned Detroit houses are infinitely more disturbing and horrifying on the emotional level than some elaborately constructed haunted house on a Hollywood studio set. In terms of sheer atmosphere and commitment to depicting the nuances of modern suburbia and its discontents, Mitchell's sole cinematic excursion in horror seems like a Michelangelo Antonioni flick when compared to so-called classics like The Amityville Horror (1979) and Peter Medak's The Changeling (1980). Indeed, probably the only film that seems to manage to reconcile the cinematic works of Antonioni, Lynch, and John Hughes, It Follows feels like the semi-unconscious reaction of a cerebral cineaste that senses that his beloved community and, in turn, country is on the brink of a racial and cultural apocalypse. Additionally, I could not help but think after watching Mitchell's film that old school horror classics ranging from the Universal Monsters movies of the 1920s through 1950s to classic slasher flicks like Carpenter's Halloween seem like frivolous bullshit when compared to the stranger-than-fiction horrors of real-life. Of course, Mitchell’s film also unwittingly demonstrates that the borderline infantile romances and tedious teen angst depicted in Hughes’ films were just early signs of a degenerated generation of sexually, emotionally, and psychologically immature individuals who were artificially manufactured by the suburbs.
As the great prophetic Teutonic philosopher Oswald Spengler once stated in regard to the tragedy of urbanization, “Long, long ago the country bore the country-town and nourished it with her best blood. Now the giant city sucks the country dry, insatiably and incessantly demanding and devouring fresh streams of men, till it wearies and dies in the midst of an almost uninhabited waste of country.” Of course, there has been a major paradigm shift in the Occident that not even Spengler could foresee. Indeed, with the cities in ruins and colonized by barbarians and its former white inhabitants succumbing to decadence and emasculation as a result of fleeing the places they built and relocating to the sterile and somewhat unnatural realm of suburbia where the best blood is sapped of its vitality and left virtually devoid of the capacity to create great art and culture. Indeed, as the characters of It Follows clearly demonstrate via their hysterical behavior and patently preposterous (non)solutions to serious problems, most suburban folks have no chance of surviving a societal collapse, especially those unfortunate individuals that live just outside the double dark shitty city of Detroit where the real STD-carrying monsters and mutants dwell. After all, as Spengler wrote in the opening passage of his swansong The Hour of Decision (1934), “Is there today a man among the White races who has eyes to see what is going on around him on the face of the globe? To see the immensity of the danger which looms over this mass of peoples?” While Mitchell seems to instinctively sense this threat as hinted in his film's unflattering depiction of young suburbanites and occasional scene of a naughty negro lurking outside a dilapidated Detroit house, he, like so many white Americans, still lacks the courage and psychological prowess to look at what is right in front of his face, hence the authentically foreboding tone of It Follows where the presence of fear and paranoia is unquestionable but its exact source never fully explained. While Mitchell will unfortunately probably not make a film in the spirit of Rudyard Kipling's classic poem “The Wrath of the Awakened Saxon” anytime soon, his use of T.S. Eliot is a good start and his first horror feature makes it perfectly clear that he is a young auteur to look out for.