I wanted to share this fantastic tribute to the ultimate sex symbol: the zombie. Nothing's hotter than rotting flesh and the living dead. See? Sex and death, a fascinating combination!
Today in my 20th Century Art class, the instructor gave a fascinating lecture on gender coding and the objectification of women in 20th century French art.
We discussed the recurring juxtaposition of women with images from nature (esp. with fruit and flowers) and examined the concept of the “male gaze,” which was briefly addressed in a film course I took last year. Furthermore, we examined how the female subjects (or more appropriately, objects) of these paintings were often depicted in sexual positions, beckoning to the viewer (who was obviously intended to be a man) with a “come hither” expression on their faces. Considering the sexual saturation and blatant female objectification in these works, it came as no surprise to the class when we learned that the source of these images often came from prostitutes acting as models, or from sketches made while the artists made “observations” in the brothels. Courbet’s Woman With a Parrot was my favorite example; the image of the prone woman was borrowed directly from a “French postcard,” one of the first examples of photographed pornography.
By the end of the lecture, I was trying to draw connections to my study of how women are portrayed in horror film. Previous to my readings, I thought that women in horror films merely served some sexual purpose; it seems to me that death and sex are inextricably linked, but I limited female characters’ involvement to just fulfilling some sexual role. Now I’m seeing that there are deeper psychological issues at work in horror cinema, and the monstrous-feminine figure is the manifestation of so many issues within the psyche.
However, the majority of horror films are products of “the male gaze,” since most directors are men. And from what I’ve read in Creed’s book, it seems that men directed all of the horror films she chooses to analyze. Therefore, I’m questioning how this portrayal of the monstrous-feminine stands, and how it could be different if “the female gaze” created it.
Off the top of my head, I can name very few female directors, and I cannot think of any female directors of horror films. I’m wondering if this is just an area of cinema that does not appeal to women. If that’s the case, I wonder why stories of monstrous female figures don’t seem worthy of their attention.
Also, horror fiction, like film, seems dominated by male writers. So what’s the deal? Is there something to be said of gender in relation to horror? Is the horror genre a “male” concern because so much of it recalls castration anxiety and “issues” with mother? Even if you abhor Stephen King’s work, it’s almost impossible to deny that these psychological issues are all over it.
I guess I really don’t have much to offer much in terms of explanation, but I think these are interesting questions to consider. Anyone have input to share?
Question: The Brood could be a called a “psychodrama” as much as a “body horror” film. How is horror cinema like psychoplasmics? Is Cronenberg – like Raglan – encouraging us to express rage? If so, at what?
Response: Horror films should serve the same purpose as Raglan’s therapy in that they should help us to turn our inner feelings into an outward expression.
I think there is some connection between this emotional catharsis that takes place and a physical response that we experience. When we find ourselves horrified, our bodies react: we get goosebumps, we jump, etc. Still, there are more obvious symptoms of our fear. We might scream, for instance, and more extreme situations might “scare the shit out of” us, literally.
I’m interested in these instances where the reaction to something horrific can be linked to the movement of something from the body and outward. Creed says that although these moments in film where the body rids itself of waste might initially disgust us, they also provide pleasure for us, as we are excited by “breaking the taboo on filth – sometimes described as a pleasure in perversity.” This pleasure in seeing images of blood, shit, and vomit might provoke memories of the early stages of development, when the child is still playing with its body and its wastes, not yet restricted by the laws and order of a world that regulates a clean, pure self.
(Dr. Arnzen: I remember you telling me about an article you read on The Tingler, which made some connections between one’s reaction to horror films and, well… shitting. Would you happen to still have that article?)
If you accept the idea that on a subconscious level, we take pleasure in breaking the “taboo of filth,” then perhaps Cronenberg’s film does provoke rage… a rage that he suggests should be directed toward mothers, who correct children during potty training until they learn to control their bodies.
For those already familiar with the study of the portrayal of women in horror films, Barbara Creed’s The Monstrous-Feminine: Film, Feminism, Psychoanalysis should be a recognizable, if not sacred, text. I’ve recently completed Part I of Creed’s book, and so far, I’m excited by the approach she has taken.
The main reason for why I value Creed’s book is because she argues that “the presence of the monstrous-feminine in the popular horror film speaks to us more about male fears than about female desire or feminine subjectivity.” Other scholars (such Gerard Lenne), have viewed women in horror films only as victims, and have focused on the attractiveness, not the monstrousness, of female monsters. I think there is something empowering about Creed’s argument because she aligns the monstrous-feminine with the ability, the POWER, to instill fear in men, instead of viewing female monsters as merely victims or as bodies to be scrutinized.
Creed constructs most of her ideas around Julia Kristeva’s theory of the abject. I’m still trying to wrap my head around what exactly defines “the abject," but these resources have helped to clarify Creed’s summary. Kristeva’s defintion of abjection is “that which does not ‘respect borders, positions, rules’, that which ‘disturbs identity, system, order’.” Because the abject is concerned with borders, positions, and identity, Creed will argue that the abject is that which “threatens life.” Therefore, we will find women to be monstrous characters if they do not adhere to systems, ie: their expected position in society.
The character of Regan MacNeil (and possibly her strong-willed, independent mother, Chris) in The Exorcist serve as examples of abject women. Regan is a figure of the abject because her body is possessed by the devil, which indicates that the boundaries between the self and the other have somehow been violated. And if one assumes that the devil is a male entity, then the case is more severe, because gender boundaries have also been broken.
Creed is also concerned with defining the abject in terms of the physical body. Where the mind must be trained to respect rules and order, the body must also adhere to certain rules, mainly that of a “clean and proper self.” I link Creed’s exploration of this idea to Freud’s theory of psychosexual development; in attempting to adopt certain behaviors, an infant learns how control its bodily fluids in a socially acceptable way. Regan is adject in terms of her own body because she rejects our expectations of a clean, pure self. She spews bile, spits on priests, wets herself, and bleeds vaginally due to self-inflicted trauma. Her body is evidence of how she rejects proper rules of conduct.
Regan represents ‘woman as possessed monster,’ just one of the forms that the monstrous-feminine can embody in film. I will next analyze ‘woman as the archaic mother,’ as portrayed in Alien.
If you’re unfamiliar with Creed’s work, I imagine you’d be a bit lost at this point. This text is pretty meaty, and I’m still grappling with it. It is, however, a remarkable read. If you have any interest in this subject at all, I recommend this book. I would love to see this taught in a classroom setting; it has the potential to unlock incredible class discussions!
The Brood. Director: David Cronenberg. 1979.
WARNING: Contains plot spoilers
WARNING #2: I’m diving into this “analysis” without reading any criticism (Oh Amazon.com gods, please send me my books!) and without having much critical background in the horror genre. Additionally, my brain is still warming up from summer vacation. I apologize for any lack of clarity and insight on my part, but I’m still trying to work out this film. I will extend and revise my work after more research and additional viewings.
At the Somafree Institute, Dr. Raglan treats patients with a new therapy called “Psychoplasmics.” Those that Raglan treats are emotionally unstable, and during therapy, he assumes the identities of people with whom his patients are angry. He encourages their rage to be directed outward, thus showing progress in the form of bleeding sores on their bodies.
There is one patient, a woman named Nola, with whom Raglan seems especially fascinated. He keeps Nola in separate quarters (thus causing jealousy among other patients who suspect she’s receiving special treatment) and has even barred her husband from visiting her for the duration of treatment. Nola has been isolated for several years, but she suddenly takes a new spin in her progress.
Although Nola is contained within the institute, her family members become victims in strange circumstances. First, Nola’s daughter Candy exhibits strange wounds across her back, immediately prompting her father, Frank, to accuse Nola of abuse. The situation becomes more bizarre when a small, strange figure breaks into Nola’s mother’s kitchen and bludgeons her. Soon after, Nola’s father meets his death in a similar fashion.
After seeing these attacks and observing Nola’s therapy sessions with Dr. Raglan, we realize that Nola’s anger is manifesting itself in a new way. When once she turned her inner turmoil into bodily scars, she is now capable of turning that hatred outward – as an extension of her body.
As the film progresses, we learn that despite being in isolation, Nola has somehow spawned a colony of children who travel beyond the institute to attack their mother’s enemies. Upon first glance, the children resemble Nola’s biological daughter Candy, who has fair skin and blonde hair. They even wear snowsuits similar to her Candy’s. However, their faces are ghoulish, and their behavior is murderous.
The Brood portrays the womb (and in turn, woman) as a device capable of giving birth to INhuman life. And after watching the film, I can’t help but think of other instances in film and fiction where women’s bodies are often portrayed as fertile nests for monsters, aliens, and demon children. In The Astronaut’s Wife, an alien inhabits an astronaut’s body in order to impregnate his wife with its extraterrestrial seed. Poppy Z. Brite’s Lost Souls concerns itself with human-vampire crossbreeds and the continuation of the species. The list of texts and films dealing with species crossbreeds and alien impregnation could go on and on, I’m sure.
In spite of the fact that Nola has produced evil children, this is not a sufficiently horrific portrayal of her as a monstrous woman. It seems that the viewer is most taken aback when Nola reveals that she is pregnant again, and there is a huge amniotic sac hanging from her belly.
By today’s standards, the special effects in The Brood are lacking; nonetheless, this scene terrifies. When Nola opens her nightgown to reveal to Frank the pulsing entombed fetus, he nearly gags. We too are shocked. This image becomes even more grotesque when Nola raises the sac to her mouth and tears it from her body with her teeth. Then, with a blood-smeared face, Nola begins to lick her newborn clean with primitive, animal-like passion. She gives in to her maternal instincts, and Frank (as well as the audience, I assume) cannot help but feel disgust.
Frank then proceeds to strangle Nola, and consequently, the brood dies.
And after this, I am left wondering what MADE Nola so monstrous? One could argue that she is a good mother, afterall; she cares deeply for her children. Her fierce independence and her supernatural ability to conceive children completely on her own – without a male partner – is what accounts for Nola’s freakishness. Perhaps what Frank most fears is that Nola has rejoiced in her role as a single mother, and has survived (thrived, even) without a husband and father to her children.
"I like women. If they are pretty and have a good figure, I'd rather watch them be murdered than a fat ugly man."-Dario Argento
