You know you've had a great Thanksgiving if it included gorging yourself on delicious food, spending time with loved ones, and then playing gruesome video games. Yesterday, after partaking in the typical holiday stuff, my boyfriend introduced me to Silent Hill 3 for Sony Playstation.
I'm hardly a video game queen (the most recent game machine my family purchased was Super Nintendo, way back in 1991 [ahh!]), so I'm not too familiar with the game market. I don't know how long this game has been out, but I've fallen in love with it and I thought that it might be of interest to horror fiction/film/game lovers.
Silent Hill 3 features a female lead character who is trapped in a mall that is now teeming with really bizarre looking monsters. I'm not sure of the background story (I gathered that some kind of cult is involved with the mall's transformation), but that doesn't matter. All I needed to know was that the game was part puzzle, part slashing fun, and the monsters are INCREDIBLE. You'll encounter weird things with vagina dentata-like heads and come across psychotic dogs that resemble the possessed huskies in John Carpenter's The Thing. To make it even better, you can split their heads open with your light-saber to reveal a red, gaping maw!
This makes a perfect holiday gift for that special someone or for that creepy kid who sits in the corner while picking his nose.
I’ve been reading American Horrors, and J.P. Telotte’s “Through a Pumpkin’s Eye: The Reflexive Nature of Horror” has offered a new way for me to think about the “gaze” in horror film. Although I’ve seen numerous critics focus on the male gaze as a primary concern for horror film, Telotte questions the different “modes of vision” that viewers encounter in film.
I have little background on film structure and conventions, which often means that I’m left to interpret film through literary theory and analysis. Because I’m not a film expert, my basic understanding of mise en scene and editing tends to slip from my mind when I’m reading a film. Of course, I try to make a conscious effort to look for certain clues and signals told through deliberate camera moves and edits, but I ultimately feel that my lack of knowledge (my inability to see things in a film) prevents me from making valuable insights.
I like Telotte’s essay because it focuses on perspective in John Carpenter’s Halloween, illustrating how decisions on how to shoot a scene and from whose perspective it is shown can alter our interpretation of a story. This is probably obvious to film experts, but I was grateful for the reminder that Telotte’s detailed essay provided.
When I watch films, I would say that I am like most moviegoers who are oblivious to film conventions. I tend to focus instead on characters and their actions, interpreting symbols and arriving at ideas about what the film means and how it relays messages. But what Telotte’s essay shows is how a film interacts with the viewer. By manipulating the perspective and vision on screen, a film can have an incredible amount of power over the viewer, thus turning the viewer into an active participant (which in some cases almost makes him or her a character).
By detailing the beginning scene of Halloween, Telotte describes how viewers come to align themselves with the character of Michael. By using a tracking shot, the camera moves toward the house and to one window, through which can be seen Judy Meyers and her boyfriend. The tracking shot allows us to identify with the character of Michael Meyers, Judy’s six-year-old brother, who is outside of the house and looking in.
The use of the tracking shot is useful in leading the viewer to identify with a character. When compared to Psycho, one can see how affective Carpenter’s decision was. In Psycho, the camera pans through a window from an omniscient vantagepoint. The benefit to Hitchcock’s use of perspective is that it is all knowing and is not limited in what information it can “access” for the viewer. However, Carpenter’s shot is through the eyes of Michael. While this shot is limiting because it prevents the viewer from seeing the entire scene, it also makes for great horror film. Because the viewer is limited to one perspective, he or she instantly becomes involved with the character. We become Michael Meyers, a six-year-old who is limited in what he can see through the window. We might get a better feeling for his frustration, and might better understand his fury at his sister, because we have shared in the viewing experience with him.
I’m not saying that we will necessarily learn to commiserate with a serial killer. We do, however, get a better understanding of his world because we have seen it through his eyes.
I now wonder if seeing through the eyes of the killer is actually some kind of lesson. Robin Wood pioneered the theory that horror films represent “our collective nightmares,” and offered that watching them might actually teach us to cope with subconscious feelings. Telotte explains that by watching horror films, “we drive home lessons regarding our resolution of those personal and cultural problems that we are often reluctant to face outside the theater.” In some ways, horror film is a crash course in psychology and the criminal mind. Viewers might take pleasure in watching the horror film because it allows them a glimpse at the bad guy’s inner thoughts. By allowing themselves to share in the killer’s perspective, they might learn a thing or to about how to outsmart him. These moments of exposed thought processes might give viewers the same “thrill” as that received by fans of mystery novels. There is an enjoyment to be had in knowing and understanding the criminal’s mind. After all, the best detectives (the ones who solve the case), are those who can envision what the criminal can do next. Thus, someone can increase his chance for survival if he can predict the next move in the killer’s mind. Survival relies on one’s ability to foresee.
Throughout Halloween, death comes to those who are unable to see it approaching. Judy and her boyfriend become victims to Michael because they do not see him spying on them from outside the window. Then, Judy is preoccupied with her own image as reflected in a mirror; this narcissistic moment prevents her from seeing Michael as he approaches with the knife. Years later, when Michael escapes from the asylum, he claims victims who are unable to see him as an impending threat. He easily kills Lynda, who mistakes him for her own boyfriend, Bob. Michael places a sheet over himself and places Bob’s glasses over the sheet. Because Lynda is unable to see beneath the sheet, Michael tricks and kills her. And then, Annie meets her death because of her inability to perceive danger. While babysitting, she unknowingly places herself at risk when she locks herself in the laundry room where Michael is hiding. Annie is so caught up in her attempt to escape the room that she fails to notice Michael lurking behind her. Annie escapes the laundry room without confrontation, but when she goes to her car and notices steam on the inside of the window, it is too late. She didn’t “see” Michael soon enough.
In slasher films like Halloween, those who survive are those who are aware of their surroundings and are able to see impending danger. By watching horror films, we participate in a hunt for knowledge; we watch how the killer sets up his victims and then how he attacks them, and by the end of the movie, we arrive at a better understanding of how the killer thinks. The end of the film rewards us for participating, because the knowledge we receive by watching could save us from our own collective nightmares.
I recently read Laura Mulvey’s landmark essay “Visual Pleasure and Narrative Cinema.” In the article, Mulvey discusses “the pleasure of looking” and its role in defining film conventions.
According to Mulvey, film is inextricably linked to voyeurism. Film offers a number of viewing pleasures, with the most obvious being scopophilia (pleasure in looking). An audience receives pleasure in the simple act of looking at something. However, this pleasure in looking can extend to other outlets. For example, while looking, it is not unusual that one thing or subject becomes the viewer’s primary interest or point of focus. Freud identified this tendency in his Three Essays on Sexuality, and explained that a person “controls” another person by subjecting him or her to a powerful gaze. A person becomes an object that is capable of being controlled and manipulated within a person’s gaze. Although abusing this gaze is usually kept in check by one’s ego, it can also develop into voyeurism.
Regardless of whether the pleasure of the gaze turns into an extreme sexual fixation, it will always remain pleasurable. Aside from the enjoyment of looking, a person begins to enjoy the feeling of power they experience in looking at something and holding it within his or her own gaze. Cinema realizes the joy to be felt in looking at something, but it commonly emphasizes the male gaze.
Mulvey does not offer an explicit reason for why the male gaze is dominant other than that our world is one of “sexual imbalance,” and that the pleasure in looking has always been assigned “active/male and passive/female.” In keeping this tradition, women in film are often dressed and presented in a way that is appealing to the male eye. This is evident in all types of film. Leading female actresses are usually attractive, and with the enhancement of makeup, wardrobe, and lighting, their best assets are presented to the camera. On the large screen, they are typically shown in close shots which might emphasize an actress’s face, or perhaps her upper torso, representing her in parts rather than as a whole person. Thus, woman becomes an object; the camera focuses on parts of her body that will be deemed more appealing to the eye. (If you’re having a hard time accepting this, just turn on your TV. I guarantee you’ll catch a commercial for soda that features a woman raising a bottle to her lips, or maybe you’ll flip to MTV and glimpse the newest rap video, where the camera will undoubtedly zoom in on a woman’s buttocks, thighs, or cleavage.)
I’ve mentioned before that I was initially interested in studying how women are portrayed in horror film because I noticed that female characters in horror films often wore sexy clothing or were depicted in various stages of undress. Even if a woman is running for her life from a serial killer, there will likely be some instance written into the script that allows us a glimpse at her body. Perhaps she tears her shirt on a tree as she runs through the forest. Or consider Tremors, when one of the giant worm-like monsters grabs a woman by her ankle, forcing the woman to writhe out of her pants to escape.
This emphasis on the female body is not restricted to horror films, however. But, I think the horror film remains such a compelling genre because it satisfies our need to look on so many levels. In many ways, horror film is the ultimate spectacle for visual consumption.
A large component of the genre is the wonderment produced by special effects. The genre has long been celebrated for how it portrays the fantastic, whether a ghost, monster, or zombie, through special effects makeup, costuming, mechanical skill, and computer animation. Some have criticized the horror film for relying too much on its visuals. However, I’d argue that special effects just add to the horror film experience. Many people can watch a low-budget horror movie or an “outdated” horror film and embrace it, regardless of the poor makeup or lacking effects. It’s not uncommon to hear that something in the film was “cheesy” or appeared unbelievable; but because the story is ultimately at the heart of the genre, we can overlook these visual flaws. Even if the visual effects are laughable, they satisfy our need to look.
When the effects are good, however, our viewing experience has reached its potential. Good horror films often have one striking visual moment. Many of us have certain images burned into our minds. Regan spitting green puke, Carrie drenched in pig’s blood, and the infamous shower scene in Psycho all come to mind.
And aside from taking pleasure in sensational imagery, we also receive pleasure from looking at images of abjection. I’ve come to embrace Creed’s application of Kristeva’s theory of abjection, and I truly do believe that we are preoccupied with our bodily wastes. We may feign disinterest or disgust, but deep down, we’re fascinated and horrified that our bodies have produced these things that are both “me and not me.”
Hence the abundance of confrontational images of blood, feces, pus, vomit, and rotting flesh. These bodily emissions challenge our desire to maintain clean, pure bodies. But subconsciously, we seek the opportunity to free ourselves from how our culture conditions us to act. If we “act out,” we risk being attacked in a society that values cleanliness of the self. However, horror film allows us to act out in a socially acceptable way. On screen, we can witness those gross bodily wastes in a way that has been deemed more tolerable. And thus, by watching, we are purged of our anxieties of how we are to act in order to maintain a pure self. The horror film is a cathartic way to deal with these fears and fascinations with these “things” that are both part of and not part of our bodies.
I’ve been reading Isabel Cristina Pinedo’s Recreational Terror: Women and the Pleasures of Horror Film Viewing, and I was particularly interested in her chapter titled, “The Cultural Politics of the Postmodern Horror Film.”
At the very beginning of this chapter, Pinedo states that “not all postmodern horror films bring to fruition the feminist potential of the genre. But that is not to say that they are otherwise without progressive potential . . .” (97). Pinedo’s statement echoes the feelings I have been having lately in my study. I’ve been watching horror films, but I feel suddenly stumped. I’m finding fewer and fewer instances of “woman portrayed as witch,” “woman as castrating bitch,” and more instances of “this is a person plagued and changed by a variable we’ll call X.” I guess that I’ve recently come to examine the genre on more explicit psychological grounds and less through the lens of a feminist or gender studies scholar.
Perhaps my feelings are a result of not reading enough; until this point, I’ve been focusing mostly on feminist and psychoanalytic readings. However, a lot of the cases on which feminist arguments of the genre have been made are based on “older” horror films, and the theories of Creed, Clover, and others need to be updated as the genre develops.
But where Creed and Clover can refer to classics like The Exorcist, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and Nightmare on Elm Street, there are few contemporary horror films that have earned such critical acclaim or immediate prestige. It seems that most of today’s horror films are produced by a Hollywood company and therefore lacking originality, and released in theaters where they are met with no real enthusiasm except of that offered by teenagers. Or, if there is any success, it’s underground in nature, and the dialogue about the film is reserved to aficionados and experts.
There are some recent trends in horror film that I’ve been studying lately. And as of right now, I don’t see any immediate correlation between the plots and the many feminist arguments I’ve read so far in my research.
The Zombie Film: A zombie revival has occurred due to the recent remake of Dawn of the Dead and the parody Shaun of the Dead. Zombie films appeal to our “perverse pleasure” in seeing “the corpse as abomination” (Creed 11). Here, I think Kristeva’s theory of Abjection holds up well, since the idea of “the living dead” clearly challenges purity and the boundary between what is alive and what is not alive.
However, I am reluctant to analyze the zombie movie through a feminist lens. I think it’s interesting to note that I embarked on this study after first seeing the Dawn of the Dead remake. I was originally intrigued to study women’s roles in horror as sexualized objects – in my first viewing, I noticed that the leading female figure wears tops with plunging necklines, and another woman trapped in the mall engages in kinky sexual acts while trying to make the most of her life. But after a second viewing, I can’t see these minute details building to a solid feminist analysis of the film, and they certainly don’t seem to confirm Creed or Clover’s arguments. Also, although I did not do a count of the number of male zombies and of female zombies, I think most viewers will agree that the most horrifying (or most memorable) zombies, were once men. The one exception might be the one woman in the mall who sneaks off to give birth to her zombie child. Yes, she’s a zombie too now.
I am questioning whether the zombie film (or just contemporary zombie films) can be subjected to feminist critique of horror films. Perhaps there is a greater fear than just the fear of women, which is commonly presented in the genre.
The New Teen Slasher Flick: In my readings so far, I have not yet come across any mention of teen slasher sensations like Scream and I Know What You Did Last Summer. At the time of their release, these films were met with such box office success, and yet no one (or few) have written about them at all. Is this because they follow the old formula of Halloween and Nightmare on Elm Street: Weird male psycho killer + oversexed group of teens + one upstanding young girl = boring, predictable plot? Surely there are differences between these movies and their forefathers that would prove worthy of analysis.
There is also a new crop of thrillers (well, would-be thrillers; they’re often poorly written and directed, and therefore predictable and unexciting) which often feature teens or young adults (early twenties) at the core of the story. Films like Darkness Falls, Fear Dot Com, Joyride, and Cabin Fever are ultimately devoid of surprising, innovative plots, but teens flock to these films nonetheless. I would like to study the audience of these films in order to develop a better understanding of what viewers “get” from these films. Are certain lessons taught, or behaviors encouraged? Feelings purged? What purpose do these films serve if they’re weak in their execution of horror conventions?
You may have seen trailers for the upcoming release of Saw, which “critics” are calling the scariest movie of the year. I admit that previews for this film seem pretty solid, and I’m tempted to see it. But considering my past experiences with films that appear similar in style and type, I doubt there’s a point. Or, is the genre changing yet again?
Japanese Remakes: Japanese horror is a newer interest of mine, and originally, I was warned that it would be hard to study the genre against the readings I’ve been doing, since they wouldn’t account for cultural differences. However, more and more Japanese horror films are being remade with American casts and through American film styles, and I see these remakes as becoming a subgenre of the American horror film.
This trend started in 2002 with the release of The Ring, but American audiences are now enjoying The Grudge. In spring of 2005, part two of the Ring series will appear in theaters, and a remake of Hideo Nakata’s Dark Water, featuring Jennifer Connelly, will follow.
Takashi Shimizu, director of Ju-On (The Grudge), offers some interesting insight on the role of women in Japanese society: “From ancient times, and historically speaking, Japanese women have always been told to stay inside the house and walk one step behind their husband,” the director said, pointing out that ‘Okusan,’ a Japanese word for a wife, literally means ‘inside person’
“Women had been long confined by their husbands and society and their anger and frustration had been bottled up inside. I am drawn to their deep grudge and female tenacity,” he said.
It is not surprising then that many Japanese horror films (ghost stories, specifically) deal with women who are frustrated with their position in the home. Split homes and families are a common theme, which may account for their popularity with American audiences. Perhaps there are fewer cultural differences in Japanese and American horror than we had imagined.
I guess that what all my doubts add up to is that I think there is a greater issue, a greater fear, at work in the horror film. Creed and Clover feminize that fear, providing examples for how women have often been portrayed as the monster. However, I’m now feeling limited by this reading, and would like to see other analyses of monsters. Going back to Pinedo’s statement that “not all postmodern horror films bring to fruition the feminist potential of the genre,” I think that horror film has a lot to offer in its critique of society. Those interested in the horror genre would benefit from analyzing films from a Marxist perspective, or through New Historicism.