Juno (Natalie Mendoza), Sarah’s best friend and aptly named after Jupiter’s wife (a wrathful, conniving goddess from Greek and Roman mythology), leads the group into their descent, both figuratively and metaphorically. Forgoing the necessary map to lead them out of the cave, Juno adroitly guides them deeper into uncharted territory, a reversal of the story of Orpheus, who hoped to lead the ghost of his dead wife out of Tartarus; however, arrogance and impatience results in both the erasure of Orpheus’ wife when he turns around prematurely – as it does when Juno holds up the battered guidebook, momentarily, before firmly locking it in the backseat of her car, thereby promising the erasure of her group.

further reading: The Best Feminist Horror Movies

Almost immediately a moment of claustrophobia-induced panic leads to the broken bone of a novice climber. Hysteria, commonly associated with women, festers among the group. Yet, unlike many horror films where the female victims are passive, weak, or relying on the ingenuity of their male counterparts, there are no men for these women to turn to; they can only turn toward themselves. And while they are scared (rightly so), they get to show-off their physical strength on screen as they desperately attempt to escape the oppressive darkness (and demons) that dominates the womblike atmosphere enveloping them.

Juno’s run in the woods prior to their departure for the cave is reminiscent of Jodie Foster’s run through the woods at the beginning of Jonathan Demme’s Silence of the Lambs with the camera representing a predatory presence in its tracking shot behind her; the very nature of the shot is suggestive of what is to come later, when Juno and the rest of her crew are literally hunted. Simultaneously, it is another moment to demonstrate her athleticism and physical prowess. Afterward, her stretching as she raises her ankle above her shoulder signals an embellishment, a musical flourish to the harmony of her movement.

It is important, even now in 2016, to demystify our perceptions of women in the horror genre. Marshall’s asserting of Juno’s physicality early in the film is a strategy few directors employ for women in the horror or sci-fi genre. Ripley in Alien (1979) and Vasquez in Aliens (1986) appear unaltered by preconceived notions of female sexuality, impressing audiences instead by their commanding presence in a room full of men or their ability to do pull-ups ad nauseum while their male cohorts cheer them on. We’re used to women crumbling under the psychological or physical pressures imposed on them in horror films or, perhaps even more disturbingly, embracing the trauma forced upon them, like Rosemary’s tender moment with her satanic son in the final minutes of Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby.