Zombie.Alien.Robot.
I'm trying to cover all the bases here.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
The Shapes of Things to Come: John Carpenter's The Thing
It’s deceptively simple in set
up. A group of scientists doing research
in the Antarctic find a preserved specimen.
It’s been buried in the ice for a hundred-thousand years. It’s not dead though—it’s just sleeping. Much like the creature they face, John
Carpenter’s The Thing, is difficult to categorize; it keeps changing shape. Part science-fiction, part horror
story, body horror, gothic horror, adventure, suspense—Carpenter even mentioned
in one of the commentaries for the anniversary edition that he was initially
drawn to this film because it reminded him of an Agatha Christie mystery
(essentially, Ten Little Indians with an alien). These genre shifts shouldn’t come as a large
surprise though; even a poorly constructed movie can usually manage to engage
you on more than one platform. What I
think is impressive though is how deftly this film weaves between these
different styles, how seamlessly each of these modes of story-telling are touched
upon and are successful, and that they are all anchored by the same themes. Whether you attempt to read this story as
science-fiction, horror or even a mystery, the membrane that holds all these
ideas in place is the feeling of uncertainty.
It asserts that if a group of
people were placed in this sort of peril—their lives and the future of all
living things on this planet—rather than work together, pool resources and
codify a plan, they would by and large turn unrepentantly on each other. That there’s a savagery, a baseness that
still clings to us from our primordial past is far from new in storytelling;
how honest and believable it plays itself out in this story is what is so
unnerving. That we would sacrifice
others, possible allies, for our short-term survival (even at the potential
expense of our long-term survival) is cold, hard and sincere.
It is
in this way, like many other great horror stories, that an essential truth is
revealed. Even accounting for the
fantastical elements (in this case, The Thing) you can’t escape this revelation:
We are the monster. We fight it, The Thing,
but sadly we also fight ourselves. What
follows is a grave these characters, each in turn, helps digs.
The men
are fundamentally incapable of handling the situation for the simple fact that
this creature, this thing, and its
abilities and reasoning are—in every sense of the word—alien to them. One point is clear, however, The Thing wants
what all living things want: to keep on existing. The Thing is determined to live and considers
all of the humans a threat.
A visual study of the otherness of this creature. How could the human researchers anticipate a cute, cuddly husky changing into this monstrosity? |
The
Thing appears to be part of a race advanced enough to master interstellar
travel, but beyond that it is uncertain.
Is it part of a race bent on conquering all worlds—nomads taking the resources
they need from wherever they are found?
Maybe The Thing doesn’t even recognize humans as a sentient
life-form. Creatures capable of only one
shape (solids as Odo likes to refer
to them) maybe don’t register to The Thing, the same way we don’t feel guilty
when we crush a few ants underfoot.
Maybe The Thing’s race are peaceful explorers interested in uniting all
of the civilized cultures of the universe into a harmonious coalition of
learning and innovation and this particular one is just a huge dick that went
rogue. Hell, maybe The Thing isn’t even
the owner of that spaceship! Maybe it
was taken aboard as a lab sample and the original crew met the same fate as the
Swedes—or Norwegians—whatever the hell they were. That would explain the crash landing. The point is that guessing anything beyond
the events of the film is vacuous speculation.
That is
the tip of the knife that this film uses.
The underlying theme is not FEAR in
bold letters or remoteness or transformation.
It’s uncertainty. It’s not the
broad strokes of a Voorhee’s machete here, but the subtle knife that is used
against us. The characters know so
little, and the things they take for granted also come to be challenged (I mean
for God’s sake even the blood wants to
kill you). This is important to
mention, because it is the corner-stone that the film builds its tone and pace
upon. Fear by itself leads to more
reactionary responses and storytelling.
Why are we afraid? Because
something is trying to kill us. What
should we do? We should kill it
first. Transformation is also an
important theme to keep in mind as we watch the film, but it is still a
secondary one. Transformation as an idea
gives us expectation. What are we going
to become? Better; worse? What will be retained and what will be
sloughed off for the incredible?
Interesting questions, true, and the thought of this co-opted evolution
(Symbiosis? Parasitism?) adds layers to the science-fiction element.
Yes, these
are all valid concerns for this movie, but the primary thrust is uncertainty. That’s the
gateway to the dread, paranoia, anxiety that permeates this film. Many before me have said that this is a
cynical movie. I’m not quite sure it’s
that simple to label. But The Thing
is bleak and certainly bitter, bitter.
I feel
there is an element of the gothic at work here too. Typically, in gothic fiction the heroes find themselves
in a remote, isolated setting. A faraway
castle, a lonely inn, a haunted house at the edge of town. There is an extreme sense of isolation in
these types of stories. What becomes
manifest in these tales, more so than in other genres, is that there is no
external salvation. If this were you and
The Creature with No Name was inexorably creeping their way toward you, the
power to triumph lies entirely with your sense of agency. Much like the Antarctic crew, characters
caught in these stories realize there is no one coming to rescue them. Yes, characters in these stories have no
choice but to save themselves.
I think
there is an interesting connection here to this movie and the Frankenstein story. Dr. Frankenstein pursues The Creature toward
the North Pole and hopes that even if he is unsuccessful in destroying it, the
ice will hold his creation captive forever.
The Thing, on the other hand, has been
trapped in the ice and wishes to fly to more habitable climes. It seems that nature is the great equalizer
in these stories—that despite the power of Frankenstein’s Creature or of The
Thing, nature can be just as unforgiving to them as to us. This is just another way for these sorts of
stories to highlight what I’ve already pointed out. You can’t escape the remote castle, the
haunted house, the endless winter of the poles.
Neither can they. The only
solution is to confront the monster.
This is
a very quick and easy way to explain why these stories are so enjoyable. There is an undeniable sense of
catharsis. Face your fear and do your
damnedest to best it.
One of the more terrifying aspects
of The Thing, tying back into the major theme, is the personal uncertainty. It’s never more evident than during the blood
test scene. As each person is proven to
be a bona fide human being, the others show relief (obviously), but what’s
there and more understated is the relief the character being tested shows. What does that say about the transformative process? What does that say about how
well we really know ourselves?
On one
hand, dealing with the paranoia of not knowing if the person next to you is
going to shape-shift and rip your face off is a burden—granted—but that’s to be
expected in this sort of situation. What
no one I’m sure anticipated is the dread it must be to not be able to tell if you are the monster. Losing
one’s humanity, whatever the source: a werewolf attack, zombie bite, biological
infection, possession, etc., is worse than dying and scares me more than pretty
much anything else. I’d rather fight the
monster and die—gruesomely—than have the essence of what I am stolen from
me. And with The Thing you have
the added fear that you may have already been taken over and all it’s going to
take is some instinctual, knee-jerk reflex to set you off.
Paranoia is an interesting theme to
play with when done successfully. What
launches this particular creature to utterly frightening levels is that this
film so clearly rings out this chord. It’s
insidious, truly so, because it takes us over from within. The Thing’s most effective weapon is the seed
of distrust and fear that it plants in the group. Even when not physically changing the
dwindling number of humans, the attacks resonate long after the fact,
shattering the ties these men once had.
This multi-layered takeover allows a series of misplaced and
ill-directed violence to take place as disastrous as The Thing’s aggressions. This means that in an immediate sense there
is death to the individual (as the self is completely obliterated by The Thing), but also death to the community (as the communal ties are severed one by one
either through force [takeover by The Thing] or through a character’s own
choice [like locking the still human Blaire out in the shed]). Guns, flamethrowers, axes, exile and even
dynamite are all used to threaten and coerce members. Even if it isn’t physically changing these men, The Thing still has the influence to
invoke other changes as well.
The collapsing of this group beings at this moment. |
Look at the doctor, Blaire. He is determined, stoic, unwavering—he is by
all means a “practical” man. He is
probably the most reasonable man at the camp.
In the scenes where he performs autopsies on The Thing specimens, he is measured
and methodical. He tries to understand
it; to make it make sense in the scientific language that he speaks. They are very slow, plodding scenes and I
think it perfectly conveys how practical the doctor is when he performs
research.
"You think that thing wanted to be an animal? No dogs make it a thousand miles through the cold! No, you don't understand! That thing wanted to be us!" Blaire yells this out as he destroys the equipment. That’s the turning point in this
movie. The doctor’s breakdown when he
sabotages the communication room is the most horrifying transformation in
the film. His computer has just given
him the calculations—100% extinction if The Thing ever leaves the ice. This quiet, determined man sees how big the
stakes really are and reacts. He may not
be taken over at this point, but he certainly is changed. There is mania and an
utter sense of desperation in his voice that never fails to set me on
edge. From this point on these men are
doomed. It’s not a giant dog creature
with tendrils that bloom full of teeth, but simply one man who chooses to make
a stand. That’s how this film signals that
the end for this group is coming.
The closing scene is one of the
most powerful. MacReady has arguably
succeeding in killing The Thing, but in the process has sealed his own
fate. As he surveys the rubble that was
once U.S Outpost 31, it must dawn on him as it does us that he is not walking
away from this. The term is a Pyrrhic
Victory. He has (if you’re being optimistic)
succeeded in destroying an evil that would have over-run the world, but at the
expense of everyone’s ruin. Childs shows
up unexpectedly. They split what’s left
of a bottle of whiskey and watch as what remains of their world burns. But despite this destruction, The Thing
is still shaping up to have a pretty stellar ending. What’s not to love? Heroes saved the world. Evil has been slewed. The conquerors are enjoying the most manly of
spirits. Get ‘er done, fuck yeah, guys.
But the ending is missing a
beat. What is unacknowledged, and what
ultimately makes people uncomfortable with this film’s ending, is this—We are
not told anything definitively. We are
left with ambiguity as to whether or not MacReady or Childs is a Thing. Their very muted celebration also leaves
ambiguity as to whether or not The Thing was actually destroyed. It’s a subtle effect, but the tone of the
scene causes these concerns to spill out.
It’s possible that both men are still human, just as it’s possible that
the monster is gone. It’s just that
audience members dislike not knowing for certain one way or the other.
Carpenter essentially pulls the
same trick in Prince of Darkness, however, in that film we’re waiting
for the cheap scare, Jason-jumping-out-of-the-lake,
Freddy-pulling-the-mom-through-the-window sort of last moment before the
credits roll.1 We all roll our eyes, but
the reality is those moments are a form of release. In Prince of Darkness the guy looks
hesitantly at the mirror, reaching out to touch the surface, knowing that it is
really a thin membrane separating our world from another place filled with
unspeakable darkness. We expect the
glass to shatter as he is pulled into the void, our breath caught, leaning in
our seats, straining ourselves with the suspense—and it doesn’t happen. It too is missing that expected beat. That cheap scare at the end is a comfort
because we can laugh about the absurdity of it.
And more importantly because we know where the evil is and how it will
try to come for us. The not knowing,
that is what is worst. Where might it
come from and how?
Denying
us that gotcha moment in Prince of Darkness and the
Missions-Accomplished-let’s-have-a-Miller-and-put-on some-AC/DC pat on the back
that could have easily been the ending moment of The Thing both serve
the same purpose even though they enact the effect from opposite directions. I think this is where the critique comes that
this film is a pessimistic work.
Like real life we do not reach a
turning point and then the credits roll.
Nothing ever truly ends. The
situation appears resolved, but can return.
Only time can prove the true measure of success. Seen by some as extremely cynical, I think
it’s an amazingly honest ending—which is what makes it so striking.
It is a moment of extreme disquiet
as you leave the theater. We don’t know
if the horror is really over. But then
again, how can we truly ever?
1 For a little more context: The Thing is part one of John Carpenter’s Apocalypse Trilogy, the others being Prince of Darkness and In the Mouth of Madness. They are all excellent movies and I highly recommend you go out and watch them as soon as you’re done reading this if you haven’t seen them already. All three of these films deal with an end of the world situation. Not all of them end happily.
Miscellany:
Why is MacReady the de facto leader? I mean just look at that beard!
1 For a little more context: The Thing is part one of John Carpenter’s Apocalypse Trilogy, the others being Prince of Darkness and In the Mouth of Madness. They are all excellent movies and I highly recommend you go out and watch them as soon as you’re done reading this if you haven’t seen them already. All three of these films deal with an end of the world situation. Not all of them end happily.
Aside from dealing with a game-over situation, these stories also have a Lovecraft influence. The Thing has a somewhat similar feeling to Lovecraft’s “At the Mountains of Madness”. Both feature a team of scientists exploring phenomena in the Antarctic, both feature ancient aliens that have been asleep in the ice and both feature monsters that somewhat resemble a blooming flower that really wants to eat you. Both stories also deal with preternatural events with a grim sincerity.
Prince of Darkness deals with, well, The Prince of Darkness. He’s a Cthulhu type demon who has been slumbering fretfully in an inbetween dimension, awaiting the time that he can enter our world and wreak unimaginable suffering on all of us. In the movie, when the circumstances have been met The Prince of Darkness attempts to cross the void by using a mirror. It’s an amazingly evocative sequence and will surely leave you uncomfortable brushing your teeth in your bathroom later that night.
In the Mouth of Madness features a writer whose work drives those who have had prolonged exposure to his novels insane (dangerous tomes is another frequent Lovecraft hallmark) and once again features monsters waiting at the fringe of existence trying to break their way into our world. This movie more than the others has many sly references to Lovecraft’s works. Several scenes in this movie make my skin-crawl.
Seriously, go out and rent them all. Make a night of it. Invite your friends!
Miscellany:
Why is MacReady the de facto leader? I mean just look at that beard!
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Happy Valentine's Day Everyone!
To celebrate, I've made a compilation of horribly inappropriate Valentine's Day cards! I hope you enjoy and continue to spread the terror love.
Candyman
Friday the 13th
Halloween
Hellraiser
A Nightmare on Elm Street
Sunday, January 8, 2012
The Warriors: Greece Meets West
Walter
Hill has said, "Every film I've done has been a Western.” He doesn’t mean this, obviously, in a literal
sense, but it’s an interesting way of reading his body of work. After all, what are the key thematic
components of the western genre? 1. The protagonist(s),
whether hero or anti-hero, have a strict code.
2. A good western treats the landscape as an actual environment and not
a mere backdrop. The small, bustling
community, the arid desert, snowy plains or dangerous forests—these places
force reactions from the characters.
They help inform us of the story we are about to experience because they
show us that these are characters of means.
It constantly has to be fought back, tamed—the location cannot be
ignored. 3. Westerns are about taking a stand. It can be personal or more global, righteous
or evil, but every Western, bottom-line, has someone willing to fight and die
for what they believe. You have that in
Streets of Fire, you have that in Last Man Standing, Hickey and Boggs, not so
much in 48 Hours (although Eddie Murphy does put on a cowboy hat and go to a
western bar, so maybe that counts for something) and you sure as hell have that
in The Warriors.
Now,
with The Warriors not only must you must keep the Western framework in the
forefront, but you also have to carry another thought in the back of your mind:
That of ancient Greece. I’m
serious. Depending on the version you
are watching Walter Hill may come and spell it out for you during the prologue,
but there is a specific historical event that inspired how he shaped the
direction of the story. It is The
Anabasis, the Greek story of The Ten Thousand and their arduous journey back to
their homeland.
To make
a long story short, The Ten Thousand fought a somewhat successful battle deep
in enemy territory which would have been an outright victory had their leader
not been one of the small few killed during the siege. Now they had a conquered kingdom and no
leader to take it over. They were left
with no other option now but to fight their way back, make allegiances or use
trickery to pass through the other controlled kingdoms to make their way—wait
for it…waaaait for it—to the sea. Sounds
familiar?
********
American history has always been fascinated with outlaws and
villains, almost as much as gallants and lawmen. Look at the string of films dedicated to
Dillinger, Bonnie and Clyde, Capone, etc.
It stands to reason that the Western, as a decidedly American genre,
should work equally well when the protagonists are heroes or anti-heroes. Let us not forget: As much as The Warriors
might have ingratiated themselves to us through the course of the story, they
are still criminals. But they are
criminals with a system of honor.
In the
story The Rogues certainly act villainous and provide the initial incident,
turning The Warriors into fugitives, but they aren’t necessarily the
villains. The role of primary
antagonists is reserved for The Gramercy Riffs.
They are organized (to extent that you can begin using the word
militant), disciplined and last, but not least, statesmen. It was after all their group who organized
the summit meeting and it is they who are pushing for peace between the
scattered gangs. And when the meeting
falls apart it is The Riffs who put the bounty on The Warriors’ heads. Keeping in mind the theme of ancient Greece,
The Gramercy Riffs are a true city-state and are steps away from uniting the
smaller rabble into an empire.
The Riffs getting tuned up. |
What’s
interesting in all of this is how this all feeds back into the Western
format. The Warriors and The Gramercy
Riffs are not traditional enemies—there is no vendetta to clear nor is the
conflict of the night economically or territorially motivated. The Riffs are after all THE gang and I’m sure
they are a template that the much, much smaller Warriors outfit has looked
to. The Warriors’ sense of duty and
honor seem very parallel to The Gramercy Riffs.
No, the reason for the evening’s violence is based on a misunderstanding—The
Warriors allegedly broke the ceasefire and killed a prominent member of their
group—and clearly the Riffs’ code of honor cannot suffer such a grievance
without retribution.
Naturally, having a code and
being willing to die making a stand are deeply connected. One cannot exist without the other. They are compulsory elements of the genre and
the reason why I have listed them as two separate components comes down to the
following: In the Western the
antagonists have as strict a code as well.
The villains are always willing to kill to meet their ends, but only the
heroes are willing to die for theirs.
Their whole situation could be ended by turning themselves in, surrendering to the next gang they meet or taking off their colors. But if any of them were to suggest that, they wouldn't be wearing that Warriors vest in the first place. To them it's better to face death a Warrior than to live life as anything less.
********
The encroaching police force, mercenary gangs, inclement
weather and diverting subway trains offer the second component in the Western
equation. The setting is not a static,
placid backdrop. Cataloguing these
events and the group’s responses to them would result in nothing more than a
plot recap. I think it’s something to
keep in mind though while you watch the film.
The key difference in this—between backdrop and an active landscape—is
how it forces character development. In
a more traditional story, interactions between the protagonist(s) and other
characters force them into action and to change, but in the western that
connection is removed. The characters
and gangs The Warriors meet are incidental and tied to that specific
location. They don’t exist beyond one
mere scene. Westerns are solitary,
stoic, bleak. With these exchanges, nothing
is revealed about the people they meet, instead it focuses solely on our
heroes. These scenes are less a dialogue
and more a reaction.
Coming back to the theme of classical Greece, there are three locations/events in particular that I feel offer a modern reading of the Odyssey and Greek myth. The beautiful undercover vice officer who leads—ahem—Ajax to his doom bears great resemblance to a siren. The hilariously named Lizzies and their ensnarement of The Warriors (possibly the closest to succeeding in the film) parallel Odysseus’ crews disastrous stay on Circe’s island. And the shutdown of the subway train when they were on a direct route home can be seen as the storm that drives Odysseus’ ship back to where it started when they were already within eyesight of Ithaca.
Coming back to the theme of classical Greece, there are three locations/events in particular that I feel offer a modern reading of the Odyssey and Greek myth. The beautiful undercover vice officer who leads—ahem—Ajax to his doom bears great resemblance to a siren. The hilariously named Lizzies and their ensnarement of The Warriors (possibly the closest to succeeding in the film) parallel Odysseus’ crews disastrous stay on Circe’s island. And the shutdown of the subway train when they were on a direct route home can be seen as the storm that drives Odysseus’ ship back to where it started when they were already within eyesight of Ithaca.
In clockwise fashion: 1. The Siren 2. Waylaid by the bag of winds 3. The chorus 4. Circe's Island |
The
simple fact that these allusions are built into this not-too-distant-future
gang beat ‘em up movie shows what a subtle and well versed writer Walter Hill
is. This movie is so unassuming, so
basic in its appearance that I’m sure these references go unnoticed by a
majority of viewers.
********
I want
to end this, befittingly enough, with the end of the story. Not the last few minutes before the credits
roll, but the real, emotional ending. Because after this point it’s simply a matter of
closing the ledger. This is the most
important moment in the movie; it’s beautiful, poignant, but most of all, fragile. What remains of the group has finally made it
to the train; the last leg of their quest is ending. They are bloodied and exhausted. Simply put, they stand out. But we have to remember, they are “outcasts”
and always will be. No matter what, they
will always stand out. Whether their
vests are torn from fighting or not, The Warriors live on the fringe, outside
the normal scope of society. And it’s
here, when they should be feeling victorious, that they run into the disco
kids.
This
group, unlike The Warriors, hasn’t spent the night fighting for their lives and
never will. They have nice clothes and
nice smiles. And when this group notices
The Warriors it’s never been clearer that they don’t have these things and
maybe never will.
It’s so
painfully simple that if you’re not paying attention you might miss it. Mercy reaches up, embarrassedly, to fix her
hair and Swan stops her.
In that one moment, Swan tells us that none of us need to be
ashamed of who we are.
To me,
this is the climax of the film. The
showdown on the beach with Luther certainly feels necessary and rectifies the
false accusations from earlier. We are
allowed that satisfaction. But it seems
to me that we reach those final scenes solely from the momentum of preceding
events. There is a distinct feeling
of…inevitableness about how it plays out.
Housekeeping.
This
whole time we’ve been searching for the exact thing that The Warriors are
making their stand for and I say it’s a fight for their very existence. Not a fight for their lives but a fight to
exist. They can’t fit into a conformed
societal role, but they have to be somewhere.
That’s what this was all for; they are carving out their own place. They are the social misfits that can never
really connect to the mainstream. This
midway is their home and they will stand and fall together. These notions of loyalty and valor and duty
they were carrying around are no longer play-acting, but now real after being
tempered by the events of the night.
The odyssey really ended back there on that train. It was a subtle, elegant moment, but it spoke
volumes. The way of The Warriors is not for me or most others, but there is a certain nobility to it
all. To be able to stand up tall and
declare that this is me and I refuse to compromise ever again. That—right there—is something we all should
be fighting for.
“Thálatta!
Thálatta!”
Miscellany:
It might just be the confluence of emotions, but I'm always struck by how simply fitting and epic the closing credits song is. It always leaves me feeling like we've all really accomplished something here. God I want to go to the beach and have a showdown rightfuckingnow!!!
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