How to Build a Better Monster

The Abject in “The Thing”

I’m particularly interested in Kristeva’s idea of the abject, and when I asked Dr. Arnzen for a film he thought might have elements of abjection, he recommended John Carpenter’s The Thing.

I spent the first forty-five minutes trying to find something abject about the film, and then it hit me.

In a nutshell, the story is about a team of researchers living on a base in Antarctica. Then, a shape-changing alien begins to stalk them. Once I realized that this plot was primarily concerned with BODIES, it wasn’t hard to find examples of the abject at all.

“The thing” moves from one host to another. When it inhabits a body, it remains hidden inside while it tries to merge itself with the physical appearance of the host. The two bodies coexist, and the alien uses the human body for a disguise while it continues its covert attacks.

But, as one member of the research crew states, “this thing doesn’t want to show itself,” and if it does, it’s vulnerable. For the moment “the thing” emerges from the human body, it’s exposed. When the crew can pinpoint the infected members, they can stop the alien from moving to another body.

When “the thing” does emerge, it’s a nasty sight. It’s gross and gory and bloody. It has tentacles and strange clawed legs. What makes it even more horrifying is the fact that it preserves some of its host’s physical characteristics – so the crew members may end up looking at a freakish alien with the head of one of their friends. The alien becomes an extension of the human.

Maybe I’m a bit off in my analysis, but this human/alien hybrid sounds a bit like our own bodies and their abject extensions. We are humans, but there are things inside of us, things that freak us out, and when they emerge, we’re horrified… disgusted.

These “things” are bodily wastes – urine, feces, vomit, blood – things that were once part of us, in a strange way, but once they are expelled, we want to distance ourselves and deny their existence. The fact that these things, as gross as they may be, came from our bodies, is truly horrifying to us.

Throughout the film, the characters remark on “the thing” and how it changes a person. “I think it rips through your clothes when it takes over you,” one says. The inability to control “the thing” reminds me of the anal stage of development, when mommy teaches the child how to control his or her bowel movements. Failure to control the expulsion of the body’s wastes make one “horrifying” in the eyes of most people, who expect this behavior and control to be learned.

Another point of interest: the film is constructed in a way that draws attention to the characters’ movements as they move from inside of the base and outside, and back in. They attempt to bar the “infected” by either locking them in isolation (keeping them in), or preventing them from re-entry once they’ve already gone outside. One scientist, who has been expelled from the base, pleads with MacReady, the crew’s leader: “I want to come back inside!” It’s no fun being an outcast, and this scientist is rejected by his crew members as if he were… well, shit.

I definitely think that this film warrants multiple viewings, but I wanted to post some initial thoughts here.

Posted by Kate Cielinski at October 3, 2004 7:19 PM