After reading a few of the blogs posted by my fellow students, I began thinking about what today’s society would consider a monster. Most of the films released under the horror genre today feature serial killers, genetically modified humans/animals, or physiologically altered creatures as the main antagonists. Now, while humans and creatures that have undergone some biological mutation would fit into Carroll’s definition of horror, the serial killer does not. Carroll argues that serial killers are something psychologically impure rather than biologically impure; therefore, they cannot be monsters according to his (narrow) definition. So, what are the most popular, frightening monsters in film today that would fit into Carroll’s concept of horror?
For me, the answer is easy: zombies.
Although what many consider the first zombie film (Victor Halperin’s White Zombie) was released in 1932, the zombie movie has been a staple at the cinemas since the 1960s. Beginning with George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead (1968), Dawn of the Dead (1978), and Day of the Dead (1985), the zombie film has become an integral facet of the horror genre. Today, there are hundreds (if not thousands) of available books, films, television shows, miniseries, etc… concerning zombies. Some of these works are strictly categorized as horror while others like Edgar Wright’s Shaun of the Dead and Ruben Fleischer’s Zombieland (both mentioned by Bob below) are also considered comedies. In fact, Shaun of the Dead is even considered by some to be a romantic comedy...with zombies, of course. In addition, many authors today are inserting zombies into classic, canonical literature (i.e. Seth Grahame-Smith’s Pride and Prejudice and Zombies) to make it more relevant and humorous for new generations. Others, like Max Brooks and his works The Zombie Survival Guide and World War Z, are simply creating a new genre of literature centered on the zombie. Finally, in a strange twist of narrative and plot, many of the most recent zombie films (such as those in the Resident Evil franchise) no longer feature the zombies as the villains. Instead, they are simply the tools used by evil corporations who, in the quest for world domination, are developing technologies that can be used to control what is left of humanity. From this perspective, one can almost sympathize with the flesh-eating masses who are stumbling through the desert aimlessly (until there is fresh, living food available). Truly, the list of works and interpretations is endless!
Nevertheless, why are people so fascinated and frightened by zombies? Is it because they are humans who have been reduced to creatures whose bodies, while dead and decomposing, are still able to walk because their brains have been biologically altered by radioactivity, a virus, etc…? Is it because they represent a world without morals in which people come back from the dead as mindless corpses craving flesh? Or, is it because the inherent fear of humanity is actually the loss of all reasoning skills and that intrinsic (albeit intangible) thing that makes us human?
Whatever the reasoning behind society’s fascination with zombies, I feel this particular monster is here to stay. Case in point: AMC’s The Walking Dead
Monday, August 30, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Monster or Not?
Noel Carroll believes that a threatening and disgusting monster is a requirement in order for a work of art to be considered horror. Monster, by Webster’s dictionary standards is “any animal or human grotesquely deviating from the normal shape, behavior, or character.” Carrol, however, says that a monster is a creature that isn’t supposed to exist and is fearsome, threatening and disgusting. While anything of that description should indeed be considered a monster, aren’t there other horrific creatures not meeting that description that should be considered a monsters? I believe so. A creature that exists but shouldn’t by scientific means is indeed frightening, but since it shouldn’t exist, what are the odds of it existing in real life? Therefore, I personally find creatures that do if fact exists to be more dangerous. Any scary movie I’ve seen that involves unreal creatures doesn’t leave me scared, those with more realistic horror complete their purpose.
This explains why I personally have always considered “The Most Dangerous Game” to be a work of horror. Rainsford is up against General Zaroff who I think definably qualifies as a monster. Is General Zaroff something that shouldn’t exist, disgusting and threatening at first look? No he is not. Therefore, Carol would not classify him as a monster, but he hunts men on an island where they have little chance of survival for the sake of its difficulty . If I was Rainsford, I’m not sure what else would scare me more than being hunted by another human. Any other real creature I could out reason in almost all cases. But with Rainsford and General Zaroff, both are human, both can reason. In conclusion, while I agree with many of Carrols ideas, I do not agree with his criteria of an unnatural monster being in a piece of art to make it be considered a work of horror.
Diner Food for the Soul and "Kingdom of the Spiders"
It is my firm belief that a forum such as the Spectral Symposium is capable of exploring things much beyond mere classroom ruminations on textbook materials. It is a resting point on a long journey through the fantastic genre of horror. A place to share ideas about the important issues that address our genre. A salon? Not quite… a coffee shop? I would hope not. We are not discussing matters of poetry, Russian playwrights, or any transcendent literature. We are talking about the horror genre, a genre largely without pretense. Connoisseurs of horror do not require interwoven plots, multidimensional character development, or socially relevant storylines. They (we) are satisfied with having our scary monsters, our suspenseful atmospheres, and our stirring conflicts (maybe a complex discovery plot now and then).Such an honest enjoyment requires an honest atmosphere that cannot be attained at a coffee shop or salon (the French Revolution kind, not the Paul Mitchell kind). Perhaps the Symposium is best thought of as a truck stop. A truck stop for weary travellers of the phantasmagorical, as it were. As any good truck stop would do, I think the symposium should serve up healthy doses of diner food for the soul, as only the horror genre can produce.
The first heaping helpful of cheesy horror goodness I would like to serve to you all is the 1977 horror classic “Kingdom of the Spiders” starring Canadian human dynamo William Shatner as Dr. ‘Rack’ Hanson, a dashing ladies’ man of a veterinarian who is called in to a small Arizona town to investigate the mysterious deaths of some local farm animals. After some basic observations by Hanson (he seems too distracted with his latest conquest to focus on the task at hand) it becomes obvious that the deaths are caused by aggressive Tarantula attacks. Before Rack can put two and two together, the town is overrun with 8 legged freaks!
The film fits nicely into the historical character of 1970’s horror cinema, reflecting a clear environmentalist message (the tarantulas are being driven mad by the use of crop dusters and insecticides). Many other horror films of this period carried similar messages (see: Night of the Lepus, Silent Running, Frogs).
The film opens with a serene panorama of the small town of Verde Valley (complete with a country music song, ‘Peaceful Verde Valley’, written just for the movie!). All is not well, however, in peaceful Verde Valley, when farmer Colby’s calves are getting sick for no apparent reason. Rack’s thorough investigation (wedged in between beer binges) comes up with nothing, and the samples are sent away to Flagstaff for further investigation.
The film fits nicely into the historical character of 1970’s horror cinema, reflecting a clear environmentalist message (the tarantulas are being driven mad by the use of crop dusters and insecticides). Many other horror films of this period carried similar messages (see: Night of the Lepus, Silent Running, Frogs).
The film opens with a serene panorama of the small town of Verde Valley (complete with a country music song, ‘Peaceful Verde Valley’, written just for the movie!). All is not well, however, in peaceful Verde Valley, when farmer Colby’s calves are getting sick for no apparent reason. Rack’s thorough investigation (wedged in between beer binges) comes up with nothing, and the samples are sent away to Flagstaff for further investigation.
Enter the ‘big city’ scientist Diane Ashley, who drives into Peaceful Verde Valley with her convertible, sunglasses, and fancy clothes. The people of Verde Valley are quite easily intimidated by outsiders (especially spiders, but well-dressed and intelligent women are just as foreign to their town) and keep Ashley at a distance. Well, everybody except William Shatner (designating William Shatner as any character other than William Shatner is a pointless endeavor), who immediately descends upon Ashley in a quite aggressive manner. After paying his deceased brother’s widow a (rather creepy) visit, Shatner returns to work and discovers that the animals were dying from intense doses of spider venom!
Ashley and Shatner rush back to the farm, only to discover that the spiders have begun forming ‘hills’ and have begun forming themselves together, as if in an assault formation. Before you can yell “Khan!”, all hell breaks loose in peaceful Verde Valley: trucks begin crashing, crop dusters fall out of the sky, gas stations are overrun, police cars mobbed by frantic people. As if things could not get worse, people are being turned into cocooned mummies! Shatner and crew retreat to a hotel to wage final battle against the monsters. It’s an Arizona Hillbilly Spider Hell-pocalypse!
I cannot spoil the climactic third act, but suffice it to say, it is worth the price of admission (which should be somewhere between one and five cents).
Carroll would have trouble with this film being in the horror genre, though I would contend it fits his deccription. The basic element, monsters, are represented by the spiders (though I would contend that the residents of Verde Valley are themselves monsters..). Obviously, these are not your father’s tarantulas; capable of plotted attack, cocooning human beings, and being able to shut off the power. Such cognitive ability would only be found in a monster spider. The spiders are fearsome and disgusting, and they generate a feeling of physical agitation. (the impurity element is sufficiently covered by Shatner’s courtship of Dr. Ashley…)
Go forth, and watch “Kingdom of the Spiders”! It is a true classic of human effort, and shows how horrifying movies can still be horrible.
(this is Robert, by the way)
Friday, August 27, 2010
Art Horror um....art
Noel Carroll believes that pictorial art can be a form of art horror. As such, I am going to examine a few images, and try to describe the art horror they evoke in terms of fission/fusion, magnification/massification, etc.
This first piece by John Blanche seems to aim for the good old fashioned "terrifying monstrosity" kind of horror. The beasty seen here gives a good example of fusion: I can see elements of fish, insect, reptile, and primate all mixed together, which produces a rather terrifying result. Obviously, the monster is also physically threatening, as evidenced by the mauled man/robot/thing.
This is another John Blanche piece. Here we see fusion, massification, and magnification. The undead are a classic example of fusion; in this case fusing life and death into one entity. The horrific nature of the undead is then enhanced by the massification of them; the horde of interstitial entities stretches off into the horizon. The magnification is not immediately obvious, but is used on the bats near the top of the picture, because the undead legions are just that much scarier when they have a host of oversized bats flying overhead. Bats could also be considered a "naturally occurring" monster, as they combine elements of both mammals and birds into one creature.
Next we have a lovely shoggoth drawing by an artist who signs their name too minutely to be legible. The shoggoth is a another example of fusion (though of what exactly I can't pinpoint), but also has elements of massification; notice the proliferation of eyes. However, the shoggoth need not even be a fusion to appear impure. It could look like a cat and still be a disgusting slimy mess.
Lastly, we have one of my favourite pictures of Cthulhu. Cthulhu's chief terror is caused by his cosmic otherness. He is of great size, and provides another example of fusion. This time, a combination of dragon, octopus/squid, and man. He is also quite huge, being bigger than either man or octopus, and larger than most dragons I have encountered in fiction.
Now, if anyone else is reading this late at night (like I am), please see below before attempting to sleep:
Relax-o-Vision. See, he's nothing to be scared of :)
This first piece by John Blanche seems to aim for the good old fashioned "terrifying monstrosity" kind of horror. The beasty seen here gives a good example of fusion: I can see elements of fish, insect, reptile, and primate all mixed together, which produces a rather terrifying result. Obviously, the monster is also physically threatening, as evidenced by the mauled man/robot/thing.
This is another John Blanche piece. Here we see fusion, massification, and magnification. The undead are a classic example of fusion; in this case fusing life and death into one entity. The horrific nature of the undead is then enhanced by the massification of them; the horde of interstitial entities stretches off into the horizon. The magnification is not immediately obvious, but is used on the bats near the top of the picture, because the undead legions are just that much scarier when they have a host of oversized bats flying overhead. Bats could also be considered a "naturally occurring" monster, as they combine elements of both mammals and birds into one creature.
Next we have a lovely shoggoth drawing by an artist who signs their name too minutely to be legible. The shoggoth is a another example of fusion (though of what exactly I can't pinpoint), but also has elements of massification; notice the proliferation of eyes. However, the shoggoth need not even be a fusion to appear impure. It could look like a cat and still be a disgusting slimy mess.
Lastly, we have one of my favourite pictures of Cthulhu. Cthulhu's chief terror is caused by his cosmic otherness. He is of great size, and provides another example of fusion. This time, a combination of dragon, octopus/squid, and man. He is also quite huge, being bigger than either man or octopus, and larger than most dragons I have encountered in fiction.
Now, if anyone else is reading this late at night (like I am), please see below before attempting to sleep:
Relax-o-Vision. See, he's nothing to be scared of :)
Still check under your bed?
Carroll gives a basic blue print to build a monster in the book we've been reading. The easiest way to make a monster according to him is making it lethal. I think this is the little kids monster method. Think back to when you were a little kid, nothing was more scary than things that could eat you, velocer raptors, the shark from jaws, lions, the monster under your bed. All very scary and highly lethal according to little kid laws of biology. These monsters were even more lethal because they did not fallow the rule of living solely in the native habbit. A tiger could spring from the trees in your back yard, jaws could be lurking in the Lake Cumberland, raptors could be hidden in the darkness of your basement (that one always worried me). Point is when your a kid it was anything that could kill you that was scary.
Its a whole different game now that were grown and educated college students. We scoff at the idea of a lake filled with prehistoric pirahana (admit it if you saw this movie as a kid it would stay out lakes for at least a few summers). Were educated in field of biology and chemistry and other such sciences. With my biology knowledge I quickly wrote off "Splice" as a terrible impossibility. Now its not the lethal that monsters that keep us up at night, its the second kind of monster, the ones that destroy the morality and characters of other humans. It's villians like Jig-Saw that capture and make you pay for your immoral decisions that are really distrubing to us now. Hannibal Lector from "Silence of the Lambs" and The Joker from "The Dark Night" with their power to manipulate those around them without those weak minded fools realizing it. Real people that are truely evil are more scary than even a sharktopus because they are real possibilities. The only one other real possibility thats more scary than a real psycopath, and there are 5 gold stars and a high five to the first person to guess it....
Its a whole different game now that were grown and educated college students. We scoff at the idea of a lake filled with prehistoric pirahana (admit it if you saw this movie as a kid it would stay out lakes for at least a few summers). Were educated in field of biology and chemistry and other such sciences. With my biology knowledge I quickly wrote off "Splice" as a terrible impossibility. Now its not the lethal that monsters that keep us up at night, its the second kind of monster, the ones that destroy the morality and characters of other humans. It's villians like Jig-Saw that capture and make you pay for your immoral decisions that are really distrubing to us now. Hannibal Lector from "Silence of the Lambs" and The Joker from "The Dark Night" with their power to manipulate those around them without those weak minded fools realizing it. Real people that are truely evil are more scary than even a sharktopus because they are real possibilities. The only one other real possibility thats more scary than a real psycopath, and there are 5 gold stars and a high five to the first person to guess it....
The Most Dangerous Game: Horror or Not?
I first encountered "The Most Dangerous Game" by Richard Connell as a freshman in high school. While I thoroughly enjoyed the story, I must admit that I did not initially view it as a member of the horror genre. So, as I began to read it for a second time, I fully expected to come to class with many Carroll-supported arguments as to why this short story simply didn't make the cut. To my surprise, however, I soon realized that "The Most Dangerous Game" fulfills nearly all of the genre requirements that we have established in class and, unlike "Leiningen versus the Ants" and "The Boarded Window," actually introduces some relatively scary concepts! (haha.)
But why, you may ask, did I not view this story as a work of horror to begin with? After all, what can possibly be scarier than the concept of becoming human prey to a deranged Russian hunter? As Carroll would undoubtedly make note of, "The Most Dangerous Game" lacks a monster. While Ivan and General Zaroff are certainly monstrous in their own right, crazy Cossacks certainly are allowed to exist within the laws of nature. However, although Ivan and Zaroff are not typical monsters per say, Connell does a very good job as portraying them as such. Perhaps the image that struck me the most occurs early in the story when Rainsford first arrives to the mansion:
"'A Cossack,' said the general, and his smile showed red lips and pointed teeth."
While Zaroff is simply a human being, Connell's use of imagery depicts him as a man that is certainly vampire-esque. Furthermore, we established in class that a new trend in the horror genre is that of the use of serial killers. While Zaroff is not a traditional serial killer, there is no doubt that he would fall into the same category. For this reason, I tend to disagree with Carroll's stipulation that horror must include a monster. While Zaroff might be allowed to exist by the laws of nature, I certainly would horrified if I ever encountered him.
We also agreed in class that, above all, a work of horror must inspire fear (what Carroll calls art-horror). While it may not involve ghosts, vampires, zombies, or killer ants, the plot of "The Most Dangerous Game" is particularly terrifying to me. Nothing scares me more than the atrocities of which the human race is capable, and the concept of a deranged hunter who enjoys using humans as prey is not altogether impossible. I feel that the most unsettling point of the story occurs on the first night that Rainsford is hiding in the woods.
"But the sharp eyes of the hunter stopped before they reached the limb where Rainsford lay. A smile spread over his brown face. Very deliberately he blew a smoke ring into the air; then he turned his back on the tree and walked carelessly away along the trail he had come."
The very thought of hiding in a tree, more or less waiting to be slaughtered, while a malicious and incredibly intelligent hunter waits below is understandably unsettling to me. "The Most Dangerous Game," more than any of the stories we have read thus far, inspires true art-horror. I could feel my heart beating in time with Rainsford's in that jungle, was nervous throughout the duration of the plot, and felt great relief upon reading the final sentences. That, to me, is horror.
But why, you may ask, did I not view this story as a work of horror to begin with? After all, what can possibly be scarier than the concept of becoming human prey to a deranged Russian hunter? As Carroll would undoubtedly make note of, "The Most Dangerous Game" lacks a monster. While Ivan and General Zaroff are certainly monstrous in their own right, crazy Cossacks certainly are allowed to exist within the laws of nature. However, although Ivan and Zaroff are not typical monsters per say, Connell does a very good job as portraying them as such. Perhaps the image that struck me the most occurs early in the story when Rainsford first arrives to the mansion:
"'A Cossack,' said the general, and his smile showed red lips and pointed teeth."
While Zaroff is simply a human being, Connell's use of imagery depicts him as a man that is certainly vampire-esque. Furthermore, we established in class that a new trend in the horror genre is that of the use of serial killers. While Zaroff is not a traditional serial killer, there is no doubt that he would fall into the same category. For this reason, I tend to disagree with Carroll's stipulation that horror must include a monster. While Zaroff might be allowed to exist by the laws of nature, I certainly would horrified if I ever encountered him.
We also agreed in class that, above all, a work of horror must inspire fear (what Carroll calls art-horror). While it may not involve ghosts, vampires, zombies, or killer ants, the plot of "The Most Dangerous Game" is particularly terrifying to me. Nothing scares me more than the atrocities of which the human race is capable, and the concept of a deranged hunter who enjoys using humans as prey is not altogether impossible. I feel that the most unsettling point of the story occurs on the first night that Rainsford is hiding in the woods.
"But the sharp eyes of the hunter stopped before they reached the limb where Rainsford lay. A smile spread over his brown face. Very deliberately he blew a smoke ring into the air; then he turned his back on the tree and walked carelessly away along the trail he had come."
The very thought of hiding in a tree, more or less waiting to be slaughtered, while a malicious and incredibly intelligent hunter waits below is understandably unsettling to me. "The Most Dangerous Game," more than any of the stories we have read thus far, inspires true art-horror. I could feel my heart beating in time with Rainsford's in that jungle, was nervous throughout the duration of the plot, and felt great relief upon reading the final sentences. That, to me, is horror.
A fearsome fungus
(this was an older post that I had saved, but forgot to post so the topic deals with older material)
Leiningan vs. the Ants did raise some good questions about what can be considered a moster, and more generally, what is it that we fear? There seems to be a consensus that fear comes out of the abnormal. Which in this case, includes a possible higher intelligence from such small creatures. As Kayla pointed out, ants themselves can be very intelligent, more so than we might initially give them credit for. In my opinion, their real genius shows when under attack from zombies.
That's right, zombies. When one of their own is infected, and shows signs of becoming a zombie, the worker ants recognize this and one will take the infected ant far away from the colony to avoid spreading it to the rest. This seems a very wise move for something so tiny, but ants are fairly smart. Perhaps we should look to them as leaders in an upcoming battle, one they've been fighting for years. As shown in the video below, there is a type of Cordycep fungus that inplants itself into an ant's brain, taking control of their motory functions and then forcing it's way through the "skull" of the ant and bursting forth spores that will infect other ants, driving them all mad.
Imagin: you're walking along, breathing in the fresh air of spring and suddenly you start to sneeze. "Damn," you think, "allergy season." What you don't realize is that the small spores now attached to the tiniest nose hair will soon make their way to your brain to TAKE CONTROL!!! It isn't some mutation or virus that will bring about a zombie apocalypse but a common fungus.
The Horror of Splice
Over summer break I became one of the few people who were actually duped out of my $10 by a pretty well done trailer to go see the movie Splice. I wanted to see this movie because I am a fan of horror movies and judging from the trailer alone, Splice appeared to be your average, normal scary movie. However, the movie was not scary at all and lacked many of the traits that make up most of today’s modern day horror films. There was no eerie music, no blood and guts and a serious lack of main characters fighting evil beings and dying horrible, gruesome deaths. Leaving the theatre I was thoroughly disappointed and would not recommend this movie to anyone. It was in no way what I was expecting and not what I would have considered to be a horror movie, before taking this class.
By describing the plot of Splice I think you’ll see why it is that this movie was not what I was expecting. Two scientists who happen to be dating each other, Elsa and Clive, are the heads of a team that are pioneering a controversial experiment in combining two separate species of animal DNA (“splicing”) to create a new organism with the hope that this new organism will have genetic compounds in them that can be used to create vaccines and cure illnesses. In order to speed up their research and get results faster, they secretly splice human DNA with animal DNA. In doing this, they create a new creature that Elsa quickly becomes very attached to and treats as a child, even going so far as to name her Dren. Clive wants to kill it because it is unnatural and therefore dangerous, as well as could get put them in jail as slicing human genes is illegal. As a compromise, they move the creature out to a farm owned by Elsa and try to nurture it and teach it things. It grows violent and ends up killing Clive and attacking Elsa. Eventually Elsa succeeds by defeating and killing Dren.
This movie was much more psychological and plot centered than I expected it to be and had very little scary in it. In watching it, I was never really frightened, as much as I was disgusted. By Carroll’s definition however, I believe that this movie, terrible as it was, belongs in the horror genre. Dren was a creature that science tells us should not exist. The creature was definitely grotesque and abnormal in our everyday world. In being so, Dren placed a feeling of dread within the viewer. Splice also follows along with Carroll’s complex discovery plot. Elsa and Clive create Dren and horrific things begin to happen around them. They discover Dren is the cause and this is confirmed when they witness her begin to kill people and animals. When they confront Dren she is eventually defeated.
Splice is also an example of what Carroll terms as fusion, or two separate entities infused into one entity. In this case, it is human and animal DNA that is infused to create an abnormal creature. According to Carroll, being horrified is caused by a feeling of emotional distress brought on by three things: the possibility that the creature could really exist, the monster is threatening, and the monster is impure. All three of these are the case with the central monster in splice. We live in an age of scientific advancement and one of the most horrifying things about this movie, in my opinion, was the fact that with all this experimenting and advancement something could go horribly wrong and a creature like this could be created. The potential for reality makes this much more terrifying and scary because there is a real potential for something like this, an experiment gone wrong, to happen in the future and threaten life as we know it.
So after viewing Splice I left the theatre very disappointed by the fact that this was not a scary movie in any way as I was expecting it would be. According to Carroll however, I have no right to complain and demand my money back as by his definition, this movie was belongs in the horror genre. As a warning, I still strongly do not recommend seeing or renting this movie. It’s not even worth $1 it would cost you to get it from Red Box.
By describing the plot of Splice I think you’ll see why it is that this movie was not what I was expecting. Two scientists who happen to be dating each other, Elsa and Clive, are the heads of a team that are pioneering a controversial experiment in combining two separate species of animal DNA (“splicing”) to create a new organism with the hope that this new organism will have genetic compounds in them that can be used to create vaccines and cure illnesses. In order to speed up their research and get results faster, they secretly splice human DNA with animal DNA. In doing this, they create a new creature that Elsa quickly becomes very attached to and treats as a child, even going so far as to name her Dren. Clive wants to kill it because it is unnatural and therefore dangerous, as well as could get put them in jail as slicing human genes is illegal. As a compromise, they move the creature out to a farm owned by Elsa and try to nurture it and teach it things. It grows violent and ends up killing Clive and attacking Elsa. Eventually Elsa succeeds by defeating and killing Dren.
This movie was much more psychological and plot centered than I expected it to be and had very little scary in it. In watching it, I was never really frightened, as much as I was disgusted. By Carroll’s definition however, I believe that this movie, terrible as it was, belongs in the horror genre. Dren was a creature that science tells us should not exist. The creature was definitely grotesque and abnormal in our everyday world. In being so, Dren placed a feeling of dread within the viewer. Splice also follows along with Carroll’s complex discovery plot. Elsa and Clive create Dren and horrific things begin to happen around them. They discover Dren is the cause and this is confirmed when they witness her begin to kill people and animals. When they confront Dren she is eventually defeated.
Splice is also an example of what Carroll terms as fusion, or two separate entities infused into one entity. In this case, it is human and animal DNA that is infused to create an abnormal creature. According to Carroll, being horrified is caused by a feeling of emotional distress brought on by three things: the possibility that the creature could really exist, the monster is threatening, and the monster is impure. All three of these are the case with the central monster in splice. We live in an age of scientific advancement and one of the most horrifying things about this movie, in my opinion, was the fact that with all this experimenting and advancement something could go horribly wrong and a creature like this could be created. The potential for reality makes this much more terrifying and scary because there is a real potential for something like this, an experiment gone wrong, to happen in the future and threaten life as we know it.
So after viewing Splice I left the theatre very disappointed by the fact that this was not a scary movie in any way as I was expecting it would be. According to Carroll however, I have no right to complain and demand my money back as by his definition, this movie was belongs in the horror genre. As a warning, I still strongly do not recommend seeing or renting this movie. It’s not even worth $1 it would cost you to get it from Red Box.
An Alternate Definition of Horror
I think Carrol's definition of horror kinda sucks. First of all, horror involves more than monsters. Pyscho is considered a great horror movie, and is there a monster? Let's see...no. How about the Most Damgerous Game? Horror? Yes. Monster? No. And while I guess Norman Bates isn't what you'd call a normal dude, I think it's theoretically possible he could exist. (I'm not sure, I didn't really pay attention in Abnormal Pych.) lots of other horror stories come to mind. Bierce's story, the Yellow Wallpaper, Sunset Blvd, lots of Poe stories, and many other stories don't have anything to do with monsters.
Another problem is that there are lots of movies, books, etc that feature critters that probably count as monsters, but don't really count as horror. Dan's essay about will ferrell was pretty good, and I agree that will ferrell is probably a monster, if for no other reason that for the horrorible movies he's made. But I don't think Stepbrothers counts as a horror movie.
Or what about Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Monsters? Yes. Even scary ones, like all traditional and everything. But forbtye most part it, it isn't horror, for the most part. (Buffy was pretty much everything at one point or another, including a musical). But Buffy isn't really horror.
What is horror? I think it's like pornography. The Supreme Court said regarding pornography that "I know it when I see it." I think horror is kind of the same way. Horror kind of depends on the way it's written and stuff. I can't really say exactly what it is, but I can always recognize it.
One alternate definition, though flawed, is the idea that horror is the study of dying in unforeseeable, incomprehensible, and unexpected ways. If the roof caves in next time we have class, and we all die, people will be sad, but not horrfied. When the movie comes out, it will not be horror, because people realize that kind of thing is preventable. But if the building monster decides to send the roof crashing down, that would be horror, because you can't anticipate that sort of thing, nor can you try to stop it. That, to me, is what horror is.
Another problem is that there are lots of movies, books, etc that feature critters that probably count as monsters, but don't really count as horror. Dan's essay about will ferrell was pretty good, and I agree that will ferrell is probably a monster, if for no other reason that for the horrorible movies he's made. But I don't think Stepbrothers counts as a horror movie.
Or what about Buffy the Vampire Slayer? Monsters? Yes. Even scary ones, like all traditional and everything. But forbtye most part it, it isn't horror, for the most part. (Buffy was pretty much everything at one point or another, including a musical). But Buffy isn't really horror.
What is horror? I think it's like pornography. The Supreme Court said regarding pornography that "I know it when I see it." I think horror is kind of the same way. Horror kind of depends on the way it's written and stuff. I can't really say exactly what it is, but I can always recognize it.
One alternate definition, though flawed, is the idea that horror is the study of dying in unforeseeable, incomprehensible, and unexpected ways. If the roof caves in next time we have class, and we all die, people will be sad, but not horrfied. When the movie comes out, it will not be horror, because people realize that kind of thing is preventable. But if the building monster decides to send the roof crashing down, that would be horror, because you can't anticipate that sort of thing, nor can you try to stop it. That, to me, is what horror is.
The Compulsion to Categorize
To Noel Carroll's credit, he admits at a couple of points in his writing that others may see his definition of "art-horror" as too narrow. I am one of these people. I see horror as one of the more dynamic emotions of humanity. What is seen as "horrific," along with reactions to what is horrific, differ from person to person. What really scares the bejeezus out of me might seem funny to everyone else. Some people jump at every slammed door or passing noise, which may draw the "You're such a wuss" look from the person sitting next to them.
Carroll's insistence on his very specific set of conditions to achieve his particular genre of horror, in my opinion, is ignorant of the dynamic nature of what scares people. Throughout his process of eliminating films from his genre, Carroll seems to split hairs in order to eliminate movies that some people find extremely frightening. Now I know that Carroll wants to call it something different, such as dread, but I think that we can agree that when you're reading a book or watching a film that gives you a queasy feeling in your stomach, and the hairs on your neck are standing up, your first thought is not going to be, "I wonder if what I'm feeling is artistic horror or dread." You are going to think "Holy @$*%$! I'm scared!"
I do appreciate Carroll's attempt, for two reasons: there is another side of the spectrum (the one that recognizes everything under the sun as "horror" because it has a frightening scene), and secondly, coming up with a definition of horror that spans all time periods seems extremely difficult. I also think that for this second reason, his attempt to categorize "art-horror" has a lot to overcome. What was seen as horrific at the time of the Gothic novels does not seem very horrific today.
All of that said, it is early in the course, and perhaps I will reach a point at which things click and I start to agree with Carroll's assessment. As for now, I'm not scared of monsters, because I don't think they exist, and if I saw one at least I'd know what I was dealing with. I'm scared of things that I can't see.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Why Monsters Are Scary
This story does not seem to fit many of Carroll’s conditions for the horror genre. The monster, who can only be General Zaroff has few supernatural qualities. The only larger-than-life qualities he possesses are extremely talented hunting skills. Rainsford sees him as having “uncanny powers” (177). Yet there is not really any proof of this. Mostly Zaroff is just really good at tracking. This is the horror of the story—he is only human. This story is terrifying because it tells us that the most dangerous monster is a person. That underneath any one of our polished, “civilized,” exteriors, a bloodthirsty monster could be lurking. General Zaroff is well read and well educated (he reads “all books on hunting published in English, French and Russian” (171)) and has sophisticated tastes (he drinks port and smokes perfumed cigarettes and hums Madame Butterfly and reads Marcus Aurelius).
I think that this story points out something important about all horror stories: the monsters are only scary because there is something about them that is believable. They are only scary because we know that people can be monsters. There is something logical and horrible about General Zaroff’s reasoning. He points out all the quirks in humanity that seem to echo Agent Smith’s views on humanity in the Matrix. He says that there is “no greater bore than perfection” (172), which is just like how Agent Smith tells Neo that the first version of the Matrix didn’t work because people cannot accept a perfect world. This seems to be an inherent flaw in humans: we need imperfections. We are bored without challenges, without struggles, without wars. General Zaroff dismisses Rainsford’s moral qualms by saying that it’s just the same as war. But Rainsford never wavers; he tells Zaroff that hunting humans is nothing but murder.
What I love about this story is that there’s no point where the author has to “out” the monster and therefore make it less scary. There’s usually that moment in horror movies where you actually see the monster in daylight and its mystery and most frightening aspects disappear. I’ve heard that this is one of the reasons Jaws works—they couldn’t get their Jaws shark machine working so you don’t actually see the shark for a long time. In “The Most Dangerous Game,” the monster is the primitive, animalistic, survival of the fittest, violent nature hidden in all humans. General Zaroff has let this nature come out in a way that most people don’t. To me, what is really unsettling about this story is that in order to win, in order to survive, Rainsford has to allow his monster to come to light. Rainsford turns from the hunted to the hunter when he goes into Zaroff’s bedroom, recognizing that he must kill Zaroff in order to survive. And at least for me, I cannot help but be glad that Rainsford wins. I’m on his side while I’m reading; I don’t feel bad when he kills Zaroff. And so, when we support Raisnford’s murder, doesn’t Connell prove in the end that the monster is in us as well? Perhaps all horror reflects this basic fear that there is a monster somewhere in humanity. Why would we be afraid of silly monsters that obviously are not real? Perhaps because they are a way of separating the evil we see from the people who participate in it. This is why, to me, this story is much more haunting than a story about a bunch of ants.
I think that this story points out something important about all horror stories: the monsters are only scary because there is something about them that is believable. They are only scary because we know that people can be monsters. There is something logical and horrible about General Zaroff’s reasoning. He points out all the quirks in humanity that seem to echo Agent Smith’s views on humanity in the Matrix. He says that there is “no greater bore than perfection” (172), which is just like how Agent Smith tells Neo that the first version of the Matrix didn’t work because people cannot accept a perfect world. This seems to be an inherent flaw in humans: we need imperfections. We are bored without challenges, without struggles, without wars. General Zaroff dismisses Rainsford’s moral qualms by saying that it’s just the same as war. But Rainsford never wavers; he tells Zaroff that hunting humans is nothing but murder.
What I love about this story is that there’s no point where the author has to “out” the monster and therefore make it less scary. There’s usually that moment in horror movies where you actually see the monster in daylight and its mystery and most frightening aspects disappear. I’ve heard that this is one of the reasons Jaws works—they couldn’t get their Jaws shark machine working so you don’t actually see the shark for a long time. In “The Most Dangerous Game,” the monster is the primitive, animalistic, survival of the fittest, violent nature hidden in all humans. General Zaroff has let this nature come out in a way that most people don’t. To me, what is really unsettling about this story is that in order to win, in order to survive, Rainsford has to allow his monster to come to light. Rainsford turns from the hunted to the hunter when he goes into Zaroff’s bedroom, recognizing that he must kill Zaroff in order to survive. And at least for me, I cannot help but be glad that Rainsford wins. I’m on his side while I’m reading; I don’t feel bad when he kills Zaroff. And so, when we support Raisnford’s murder, doesn’t Connell prove in the end that the monster is in us as well? Perhaps all horror reflects this basic fear that there is a monster somewhere in humanity. Why would we be afraid of silly monsters that obviously are not real? Perhaps because they are a way of separating the evil we see from the people who participate in it. This is why, to me, this story is much more haunting than a story about a bunch of ants.
The Elements of Art-Horror in Other Genres
Both in Carroll's book and in class, the "necessary" components of an "art-horror" production have been made very clear: the inclusion of a monster, or a being which cannot exist according to what modern science tells us, the threatening nature of said monster, as well as the impurity of that monster. I initially was skeptical of Carroll's attempts to give defining borders to "art-horror", but I have appreciated the fact that he has stated on numerous occasions that there is a fluid boundary between what he sees as art-horror and other, related genres. Indeed, he even gives examples of some works which he would not include in art-horror because they fail to meet his requirements for the genre but which are often considered to be in the genre of "Horror", such as Psycho for example.
With this in mind, I began to think of works which actually do meet Carroll's requirements for art-horror, but which are not generally considered to belong to the horror genre. Three films which I believe fit this category well are The Return of the Living Dead, Shaun of the Dead, and Zombieland (what can I say? I'm a fan of zombie movies). All three films could be described as art-horror because they contain the necessary monster (in these cases, zombies), which threaten the lives of the protagonists and are impure (in this example, mixtures of the living and the dead). However, the three films will always be associated with comedy. One could argue that these films are art-horror, but such a designation is rarely given without also labeling them as comedies or at least dark comedies.
To be fair to Carroll, two of the films I mentioned were released after his The Philosophy of Horror was published. Additionally, despite the apparent inconsistencies in Carroll's method for outlining what designates something as art-horror, I believe his system to be valuable for distinguishing art-horror from other genres. Indeed, the truly classic "horror" novels and movies fit well into his definition of art-horror, and I predict that the movies of the "horror-comedy" genre will never be considered real classics of any genre, unless horror-comedy is to be considered a separate genre altogether.
With this in mind, I began to think of works which actually do meet Carroll's requirements for art-horror, but which are not generally considered to belong to the horror genre. Three films which I believe fit this category well are The Return of the Living Dead, Shaun of the Dead, and Zombieland (what can I say? I'm a fan of zombie movies). All three films could be described as art-horror because they contain the necessary monster (in these cases, zombies), which threaten the lives of the protagonists and are impure (in this example, mixtures of the living and the dead). However, the three films will always be associated with comedy. One could argue that these films are art-horror, but such a designation is rarely given without also labeling them as comedies or at least dark comedies.
To be fair to Carroll, two of the films I mentioned were released after his The Philosophy of Horror was published. Additionally, despite the apparent inconsistencies in Carroll's method for outlining what designates something as art-horror, I believe his system to be valuable for distinguishing art-horror from other genres. Indeed, the truly classic "horror" novels and movies fit well into his definition of art-horror, and I predict that the movies of the "horror-comedy" genre will never be considered real classics of any genre, unless horror-comedy is to be considered a separate genre altogether.
Animal Rights?
I found it interesting the way Connell began The Most Dangerous Game. The conversation between Whitney and Rainsford on the boat made me think that this story was an “awakening” story for animal rights. When Rainsford makes fun of Whitney as she expresses her concerns for animals’ feelings, I can’t deny I sided with Whitney. Because Connell started his story in this way, it made it hard for me to see this as a story of terror and horror, but instead to focus on the whole animal rights view of things.
The only reason this story was considered grotesque and horrible was because it was our species, the human species, that was being hunted. Just as Whitney had said, “Even so, I rather think they understand one thing – fear. The fear of pain and the fear of death.” Maybe this is a supposed to add eeriness, but instead I just thought of it as a good argument for animal rights. People argue animals don’t have feels, but we know they feel pain and we know that they fight for their lives.
One very grotesque part of the story is when General Zaroff wants to show off his “collection of heads” to Rainsford. Rainsford is utterly disgusted, as would be any humane person’s reaction when thinking of heads mounted on a wall for show. Again, this is what we do to exotic animals, animals that are going extinct, and yet these “heads” are considered prized possessions. Just as General Zaroff desired to hunt Rainsford because he was the rarest of his breed in that he had great knowledge and hunting tactics, some hunters will only hunt the finest, most beautiful animals of species. In order for this story to evoke more terror in me, it needed to not relate to the feelings of animals because I’m not going to lie, I love animals.
The only reason this story was considered grotesque and horrible was because it was our species, the human species, that was being hunted. Just as Whitney had said, “Even so, I rather think they understand one thing – fear. The fear of pain and the fear of death.” Maybe this is a supposed to add eeriness, but instead I just thought of it as a good argument for animal rights. People argue animals don’t have feels, but we know they feel pain and we know that they fight for their lives.
One very grotesque part of the story is when General Zaroff wants to show off his “collection of heads” to Rainsford. Rainsford is utterly disgusted, as would be any humane person’s reaction when thinking of heads mounted on a wall for show. Again, this is what we do to exotic animals, animals that are going extinct, and yet these “heads” are considered prized possessions. Just as General Zaroff desired to hunt Rainsford because he was the rarest of his breed in that he had great knowledge and hunting tactics, some hunters will only hunt the finest, most beautiful animals of species. In order for this story to evoke more terror in me, it needed to not relate to the feelings of animals because I’m not going to lie, I love animals.
Horrific Madness: The Case of Norman Bates
When reading Carroll’s work, I was truly surprised to find out that he did not consider Alfred Hitchcock’s film Psycho to be a work of horror. Instead, he perceives it as perching precariously on the cusp of horror but resolutely remaining a work of terror. Carroll argues that, although the film illustrates some of the integral aspects of the horror genre (such as a dark, unsettling atmosphere; facets of the complex discovery plot; and eerie, violent imagery), it cannot be placed within the context of the genre because of the character of Norman Bates. This approach in analyzing Psycho seems…nearsighted. Carroll, striving to place the film outside the horror genre, claims that Bates does not fulfill all the requirements for being a monster. Carroll acknowledges that Bates is both threatening and impure as an interstitial being, blurring the lines between man and woman, living and dead, victim and victimizer. Nonetheless, this is not enough. For Carroll, because Bates’ state of psychosis can be described and defined in the field of psychology today, he is not a monster; however, I do not believe Carroll has taken into account a key aspect of the film in his argument – the decade in which the film was released.
In the late 1950s and early 1960s, mental illness was widely regarded as something unnatural and shameful in society. Although some advances were being made in the world of science concerning certain stages of psychosis and neurosis, their origins were in large part unknown and their treatments were primitive at best. Science was unable to provide society with any knowledge about illnesses such as schizophrenia. As a result, those who were diagnosed with having some form of psychosis were usually ostracized from society, taken away from their families, and forced to undergo treatments such as electroshock therapy or (in extreme cases) a lobotomy. These negative attitudes toward mental illness can be seen in works from the same period such as Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar (published in 1963) and in Ken Kesey’s One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1962). In both of these works, mental illness and the public’s reaction to it is studied in depth with both authors commenting on the ignorance, fear, and repulsion associated with the disorders. Undeniably, the public watching Hitchcock’s Psycho would have had a reaction similar to that of the uninformed public described in these two literary works. Thus, wouldn’t Norman Bates be considered a monster by the public of the 1960s not only because he is threatening and impure but also because he represents a portion of society that should not exist according to the science of the 1960s?
My main questions, then, are these: Given the knowledge available about mental illness during the 1960s, couldn’t Norman Bates be considered an “art horror” monster? Taking this a step further, if examined in the context in which it was released, could Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho fit into Carroll’s overall concept of horror?
Oh the Horror of Horror...
It is my opinion that writing a truly horrifying story doesn't depend on the perfect monster alone. No, anything can be made into a monster if described in enough fear-inspiring terms and placed in the right environment. Naturally, the monster must be threatening and somewhat unnatural, but the scariness of the story does not hinge solely on this monster factor.
Both stories we have read so far are decently frightening. They have some differences and some similarities that affect how the reader feels as he or she reads the last ominous words.
In Leiningan vs. The Ants, the reader encounters millions upon millions of normally harmless creatures slowly dominating(and eating) the humans of the story. Ants are not normally feared very much, but when presented as superior to the human mind they are transformed into a monster that is both sinister and horrifying. The sheer massification of the ants also makes them much more threatening. Where on Earth would you find miles of ants?? This brings up another possibly important factor of horror story writing: location and environment. In Carl Stephenson's era, Brazil was a mysterious country. Who knew what kinds of creatures dwelled there and what they could do to a sensible European?? The idea of risk and vulnerability was a bit lacking in this story, but the Brazilian setting added to that sense of risk needed to make it scary.
Alternatively, in H.G. Wells' story The Sea Raiders, he presents the "monster" as something much more unknown and mysterious. Not only does he create these ficticious man-eating squid, but he also utilizes the environment tactic. Again, in the time of the author, the deep ocean was something dark, mysterious, and very unexplored. The fact that it still is rather unexplored made the story a bit more frightening for me. Perhaps there are man-eating creatures down there...who knows... Ultimately, the reader experiences vulnerability when faced with something clearly threatening yet unknown. H.G. Wells also colors his story with dramatic vocabulary, something I found to be lacking in Carl Stephenson's story. Many of the adjectives Wells uses are words associated with fear or disgust. "...ghastly-looking creatures...their tentacles coiled copiously on the ground...large intelligent eyes gave the creatures a grotesque suggestion of a face..." You get the idea.
What really makes a monster is it's threatening nature and how well it is described by the author. The environment of the story also makes a very significant difference depending on the story. If you replaced Brazil with Texas, and the depths of the unknown ocean with the Ohio river, the dynamic of the story is altered. True, it might still be scary, but it won't leave the reader feeling vulnerable due to lack of knowledge about the environment. Similarily, a lack of description and colorful vocabulary doesn't instill a sense that the monster should indeed be feared. What would be more frightening? "A tall greenish man with a metal bolt connecting his head to his neck walking towards him." Or. "A looming creature, reaching foward with a sickly green hand, living eyes staring out of a rotting head attached to the neck by a rusty bolt as it lumbered towards him." The monster may be horrible, but the true horror is in the words.
Both stories we have read so far are decently frightening. They have some differences and some similarities that affect how the reader feels as he or she reads the last ominous words.
In Leiningan vs. The Ants, the reader encounters millions upon millions of normally harmless creatures slowly dominating(and eating) the humans of the story. Ants are not normally feared very much, but when presented as superior to the human mind they are transformed into a monster that is both sinister and horrifying. The sheer massification of the ants also makes them much more threatening. Where on Earth would you find miles of ants?? This brings up another possibly important factor of horror story writing: location and environment. In Carl Stephenson's era, Brazil was a mysterious country. Who knew what kinds of creatures dwelled there and what they could do to a sensible European?? The idea of risk and vulnerability was a bit lacking in this story, but the Brazilian setting added to that sense of risk needed to make it scary.
Alternatively, in H.G. Wells' story The Sea Raiders, he presents the "monster" as something much more unknown and mysterious. Not only does he create these ficticious man-eating squid, but he also utilizes the environment tactic. Again, in the time of the author, the deep ocean was something dark, mysterious, and very unexplored. The fact that it still is rather unexplored made the story a bit more frightening for me. Perhaps there are man-eating creatures down there...who knows... Ultimately, the reader experiences vulnerability when faced with something clearly threatening yet unknown. H.G. Wells also colors his story with dramatic vocabulary, something I found to be lacking in Carl Stephenson's story. Many of the adjectives Wells uses are words associated with fear or disgust. "...ghastly-looking creatures...their tentacles coiled copiously on the ground...large intelligent eyes gave the creatures a grotesque suggestion of a face..." You get the idea.
What really makes a monster is it's threatening nature and how well it is described by the author. The environment of the story also makes a very significant difference depending on the story. If you replaced Brazil with Texas, and the depths of the unknown ocean with the Ohio river, the dynamic of the story is altered. True, it might still be scary, but it won't leave the reader feeling vulnerable due to lack of knowledge about the environment. Similarily, a lack of description and colorful vocabulary doesn't instill a sense that the monster should indeed be feared. What would be more frightening? "A tall greenish man with a metal bolt connecting his head to his neck walking towards him." Or. "A looming creature, reaching foward with a sickly green hand, living eyes staring out of a rotting head attached to the neck by a rusty bolt as it lumbered towards him." The monster may be horrible, but the true horror is in the words.
The Most Dangerous Game
Please see Spectral Links for a newly added link to the 1932 film adaptation of "The Most Dangerous Game." As it is in the public domain, the film ( a classic) can be viewed in its entirety. I have also posted a link to the Ghost Box Records website.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Horror vs. the Enlightenment: Knowledge is King
Now that we have progressed through Carroll's description of horror as a genre and the monsters that inhabit its (formulaic) plotlines, we see the author's first explanation of what the horror stories really mean to us. Sure, we are filled with art-horror, but, for horror to continue to survive as an academic genre, we need to hear what these tales tell us about the relationship to our lives and the world around us. On pg. 129, Carroll says that "horror stories are predominantly concerned with knowledge as a theme." As we continue to read more works from this genre, Carroll thinks that we'll learn more about how we should act in our own search for knowledge. Are we overreachers that need to be checked, or discoverers that need to explore? Carroll also points out that horror was developing at the same time as the Enlightenment, and puts those two in conflicting positions because of their positions regarding the search for what is real and what is not. But, isn't it interesting that both are concerned with the pursuit of human knowledge? The search for understanding, supernatural or not, is central to both. In this light, the first horror stories could be seen as either encouragement or warning, or some of each.
Doodled this during class.....serious post later.
The Sea Raiders
The story I have liked best so far in this philosophy of horror class is "The Sea Raiders" by H.G. Wells. This is a story of gargantuan man-eating cephalopods. The main character, Mr. Fison, has found a group of live Haploteuthis ferox devouring a human corpse. Trying to disengage the giant squid from the human remains, he ends up drawing their attention to himself and they chase him. I do believe this is an art horror story; there is an obvious repulsive and disgusting monster. They don't necessarily have supernatural smarts, like that of Jaws, because cephalopods are known for their unique intelligence anyway. They have been known to watch others perform a tedious task and using the knowledge of successful tactics that the other used, the one watching can perform the task in mere minutes compared to hours of the first. Their intellect as well as the size and agressive behavior as in this story are all reasons to beware. Especially being known for their man-eating tendencies causing them to be supernatural. Just thinking about giant, murderous squid is a frightening thought. This story had me on edge thinking of Mr. Fison. If I were him, already having been chased by the beasts, I would not have been able to go back out to look for the remains of that person on a boat in the middle of their turf. The ‘edge of the seat’ feeling together with the dread of the monster and the unknown is the intention of an art horror piece. Even if the monster is disgusting and repulsive alone, it feels like it is lacking as an art horror; those artistic features though, along with that edge of your seat feeling, is how horror works to exemplify the genre. I was getting nervous the more I read about them attacking the boat and it was hard to stop reading at that point. I needed to know if they would make it out so I could once again be able to go out on a boat without worrying about giant man-eating cephalopods. Seeing as they consumed a whole family of ten including a child, that will not be possible anymore.
What's Scarier Than an Angry Cephalopod?
A herd of ants that stretches ten miles long and two miles wide.
I couldn't help but notice that practically no one else took this position during the class discussions. It seemed that the menacing cephalopods took the center stage of terror between the two villains. The giant squid that seek out innocent sailors are proving themselves more horrifying than the ants.
But I am forced to disagree with this stance. Carroll talks about many things when defining horror. The ones that stand out for me are illiciting emotion from the reader and massification. While reading the two stories, I felt little to no emotional reaction as the squid digested the men. It was not grotesque enough. There was not enough description of limbs being ripped to shreds and blood shooting out in all directions. But for Leiningen? Oy. Now that was grotesque. The mental image of ox being eaten to the bone or of a man pulling his hand from the pit to discover it being eaten alive is enough to give me nightmares. It is disgusting. It is even more disgusting to think about the size of the ants. They are ants. They are not very large or menacing in appearance. They don't seem like something that would eat you down to the bone. This adds to their horror because it is so unexpected. Such a small creature doing that much damage is far more terrifying than a giant squid eating a man. It is conceivable to imagine a giant squid eating an entire man because a giant squid is, well, giant! It makes sense that it could easily digest a man based on its sheer size. What doesn't make sense is ants eating human flesh down to the bone.
Beyond that is the massification used specifically in Leiningen. I don't see the massification in the squid. They are giant squid. It is expected for them to be large. One could argue that the amount of squid that have gathered together is an example of massification, but I won't buy into that until the squid are ten miles long and two miles wide. Ten miles long and two miles wide. That's how many ants Leiningen faced. Millions of minute beings crowding together to do their bidding. An army of ants approaching, ready to tear you limb from limb.
Now that is horrifying.
I couldn't help but notice that practically no one else took this position during the class discussions. It seemed that the menacing cephalopods took the center stage of terror between the two villains. The giant squid that seek out innocent sailors are proving themselves more horrifying than the ants.
But I am forced to disagree with this stance. Carroll talks about many things when defining horror. The ones that stand out for me are illiciting emotion from the reader and massification. While reading the two stories, I felt little to no emotional reaction as the squid digested the men. It was not grotesque enough. There was not enough description of limbs being ripped to shreds and blood shooting out in all directions. But for Leiningen? Oy. Now that was grotesque. The mental image of ox being eaten to the bone or of a man pulling his hand from the pit to discover it being eaten alive is enough to give me nightmares. It is disgusting. It is even more disgusting to think about the size of the ants. They are ants. They are not very large or menacing in appearance. They don't seem like something that would eat you down to the bone. This adds to their horror because it is so unexpected. Such a small creature doing that much damage is far more terrifying than a giant squid eating a man. It is conceivable to imagine a giant squid eating an entire man because a giant squid is, well, giant! It makes sense that it could easily digest a man based on its sheer size. What doesn't make sense is ants eating human flesh down to the bone.
Beyond that is the massification used specifically in Leiningen. I don't see the massification in the squid. They are giant squid. It is expected for them to be large. One could argue that the amount of squid that have gathered together is an example of massification, but I won't buy into that until the squid are ten miles long and two miles wide. Ten miles long and two miles wide. That's how many ants Leiningen faced. Millions of minute beings crowding together to do their bidding. An army of ants approaching, ready to tear you limb from limb.
Now that is horrifying.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Will Ferrell - Monster?
How does Carroll define a monster? It must be something that doesn't exist according to current science, it must be disgusting, and it must be fearsome/threatening. There are contradictions it would seem, once you realize that Jaws isn't technically impossible, of if you view Jigsaw as a horrific being. Norman Bates is just a crazy guy, simply speaking. Arguably, these are horrifying things, but they don't meet the criteria Carroll establishes. Carroll retorts with an explanation about Norman being "Nor-man", existing as two Genders, embodying the the impure combination of man and woman into one being.
If we permit a looser interpretation, we can allow Norman into our litany of monsters as he exists outside of our socially accepted behavior. And that appears to be the essence of what Carroll is discussing. Monsters represent the dread-inducing manifestations that exist at the fringes, or beyond the social norm.
Thus, Carroll is attempting to establish Art-Horror as consisting of an integral element that disrupts the ordinary with an extraordinary being (multitude of ants, super-intelligent shark, demonic inchworm, whatever) that represents violation of the status quo.
From this, I argue that Will Ferrell, in his various roles, acts as a hideous monster that works to undermine the order of our society. I am not denouncing Will Ferrell as a individual; much like Bela Lugosi, he acts to epitomize an actor in his genre. Will Ferrell consistently acts as a disgusting individual and threatens society by undermining values (think sexist, childish, alcoholic, sex addict, etc.). The only specific criteria he doesn't meet is that his characters can indeed exist within the confines of contemporary science. But, much like Jaws, I believe it takes a of faith to believe anybody can be as dense and idiotic as Ron Burgandy or Chazz Michael Michaels. I don't believe Jaws really exists, and neither do I believe Chazz Michael Michaels can really exist as such a horrible person (the former is, I permit, less credible).
The point I'm getting to is that such discussions of monsters is a way to portray what we regard as least human, or most destructive, to our order. Ants that can think tactically, Elder Gods that cause us to babble nonsensically, and Will Ferrels that refuse or ignore social graces. If this is the purpose of monsters in horror, to manifest that which ought not be (instead of what can't be), then Comedies accomplish the same goal.
At the very least it allows me to present another example of how Will Ferrell may be one of the better actors of portraying that which is truly horrifying by including this possibly NSFW picture (no nudity, but heavily suggested) Taken from Semi-Pro if you'd like to know.
If we permit a looser interpretation, we can allow Norman into our litany of monsters as he exists outside of our socially accepted behavior. And that appears to be the essence of what Carroll is discussing. Monsters represent the dread-inducing manifestations that exist at the fringes, or beyond the social norm.
Thus, Carroll is attempting to establish Art-Horror as consisting of an integral element that disrupts the ordinary with an extraordinary being (multitude of ants, super-intelligent shark, demonic inchworm, whatever) that represents violation of the status quo.
From this, I argue that Will Ferrell, in his various roles, acts as a hideous monster that works to undermine the order of our society. I am not denouncing Will Ferrell as a individual; much like Bela Lugosi, he acts to epitomize an actor in his genre. Will Ferrell consistently acts as a disgusting individual and threatens society by undermining values (think sexist, childish, alcoholic, sex addict, etc.). The only specific criteria he doesn't meet is that his characters can indeed exist within the confines of contemporary science. But, much like Jaws, I believe it takes a of faith to believe anybody can be as dense and idiotic as Ron Burgandy or Chazz Michael Michaels. I don't believe Jaws really exists, and neither do I believe Chazz Michael Michaels can really exist as such a horrible person (the former is, I permit, less credible).
The point I'm getting to is that such discussions of monsters is a way to portray what we regard as least human, or most destructive, to our order. Ants that can think tactically, Elder Gods that cause us to babble nonsensically, and Will Ferrels that refuse or ignore social graces. If this is the purpose of monsters in horror, to manifest that which ought not be (instead of what can't be), then Comedies accomplish the same goal.
At the very least it allows me to present another example of how Will Ferrell may be one of the better actors of portraying that which is truly horrifying by including this possibly NSFW picture (no nudity, but heavily suggested) Taken from Semi-Pro if you'd like to know.
Expectations
It stands to reason that one would tire of the same formula over, and over, and over again... and yet when it comes to entertainment and horror, as Carroll suggests, we seem content to have it that way. The complex discovery formula that he presents and its many variations really do occur in most works of horror that I've experienced, and it's not that the audience conveniently forgets that they've seen something like this before when they're enthralled in a scary movie, either. In fact, I think it's the very fact that the audience has experienced similar formulas that they garner more enjoyment from the experience. Just as we know to expect something sinister to occur when the doorknob slowly turns and the frantic violin music begins, so do we also -whether we can say so or not- know what to expect when we go into a movie that follows a familiar formula for good horror.
What's more: I think we like it that way. People like knowing what to expect, we like being able to predict the sequence of events. Though many will contest that they tire of those mediocre and very predictable films, movies and dramatizations, we all will pay to see a new and intriguing movie or read the new book that meshes original premises with those ever-occurring formulas. I think of it in the same way that people love to hear and tell the same stories over and over again. We, perhaps unconsciously, like knowing what might happen next. And it's not that we don't like being surprised, because there's plenty of room for surprise in a "formulaic" work, but we like getting the satisfying experience that these reoccurring patterns present. Much the same way that a good story will follow the pattern of exposition, rising conflict, climax, resolution and denouement, so does horror depend on a certain structure to satisfy the audience.
As mentioned above, no matter how much we like having a familiar course of events, the creators of a work of horror do still need to do some work to keep our interest. Even if we're sure of how a work will end, there's intrigue to be found in the many ways one might come to the conclusion. So perhaps it's accurate to say that the presence of any of the various formulae introduced by Carroll isn't indicative of a good work of horror, but rather these formulae are common characteristics among effective works of horror.
What's more: I think we like it that way. People like knowing what to expect, we like being able to predict the sequence of events. Though many will contest that they tire of those mediocre and very predictable films, movies and dramatizations, we all will pay to see a new and intriguing movie or read the new book that meshes original premises with those ever-occurring formulas. I think of it in the same way that people love to hear and tell the same stories over and over again. We, perhaps unconsciously, like knowing what might happen next. And it's not that we don't like being surprised, because there's plenty of room for surprise in a "formulaic" work, but we like getting the satisfying experience that these reoccurring patterns present. Much the same way that a good story will follow the pattern of exposition, rising conflict, climax, resolution and denouement, so does horror depend on a certain structure to satisfy the audience.
As mentioned above, no matter how much we like having a familiar course of events, the creators of a work of horror do still need to do some work to keep our interest. Even if we're sure of how a work will end, there's intrigue to be found in the many ways one might come to the conclusion. So perhaps it's accurate to say that the presence of any of the various formulae introduced by Carroll isn't indicative of a good work of horror, but rather these formulae are common characteristics among effective works of horror.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Lions and Tigers.... and Ants? O My!
A few days after reading Stephenson's "Leiningen Versus The Ants', I'm still struggling to find the horror in it, especially art-horror. Even if I place myself into Leiningen's shoes (with his thick skull as well), I still don't find that I am art-horrified by their actions. Ants are intelligent and strong beings. In fact, I looked into the facts on ants just to see the natural truth behind the story.
Did you know that an ant has the largest brain amongst insects? One 'ant site' even said that their brains have a similar processing power to a Macintosh computer. That certainly may be amazing, and maybe a bit terrifying, but nevertheless, natural at the same time.
Beyond that, there are colonies in South America which have over 700,000 members; now that's a supercolony! That may not be 20 square miles of ants, but they could still take up a large area of space.
Given these facts, I'm beginning to think Leiningen himself is closer to a monster than the hoard of ants that attacked his plantation. The ants never gave me a sense of impurity or out-of-placeness. They certainly can, and do, exist in large numbers, and some are more malevolent than others, but without the intent of being harmful to any of particular person. To me, the occurrence of the ants is no different than a tsunami tidal wave or a hurricane coming straight for me. It is not out to get me personally, but certainly will take me down if I am in its path.
One could argue that the ants may have shown super intelligence by building rafts from greenery, yet I still do not buy it. Some ants are know for their leaf cutting and if their brains truly are of such high processing power, I don't think that building a bridge across the moat is particularly out of natural context.
Maybe we can just add large and harmful colonies of ants to the list of natural things people are afraid of. In the remake of Wizard of Oz, a colony of ants could be the new personified animal Dorthy is afraid of and travels with along the Yellow Brick Road. I'm not entirely sure what they would need to go see the Great Oz about though.
Did you know that an ant has the largest brain amongst insects? One 'ant site' even said that their brains have a similar processing power to a Macintosh computer. That certainly may be amazing, and maybe a bit terrifying, but nevertheless, natural at the same time.
Beyond that, there are colonies in South America which have over 700,000 members; now that's a supercolony! That may not be 20 square miles of ants, but they could still take up a large area of space.
Given these facts, I'm beginning to think Leiningen himself is closer to a monster than the hoard of ants that attacked his plantation. The ants never gave me a sense of impurity or out-of-placeness. They certainly can, and do, exist in large numbers, and some are more malevolent than others, but without the intent of being harmful to any of particular person. To me, the occurrence of the ants is no different than a tsunami tidal wave or a hurricane coming straight for me. It is not out to get me personally, but certainly will take me down if I am in its path.
One could argue that the ants may have shown super intelligence by building rafts from greenery, yet I still do not buy it. Some ants are know for their leaf cutting and if their brains truly are of such high processing power, I don't think that building a bridge across the moat is particularly out of natural context.
Maybe we can just add large and harmful colonies of ants to the list of natural things people are afraid of. In the remake of Wizard of Oz, a colony of ants could be the new personified animal Dorthy is afraid of and travels with along the Yellow Brick Road. I'm not entirely sure what they would need to go see the Great Oz about though.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Noёl Carroll
The Philosophy of Horror
Carroll’s account of horror is modeled on Aristotle’s classic study of tragedy in the Poetics. Carroll analyzes the horror genre, broadly construed to include literature, film, theater, and painting, in terms of the “emotional effects” it aims to evoke in its audience. The primary such effect, according to Carroll, is an emotion that he calls “art-horror.”
Art-Horror
Carroll makes an important distinction between ‘natural horror’ and ‘art horror.’ The former is the sense of ‘horror’ captured in the statement “I am horrified at the idea of taking another philosophy class,” while the latter is the sense of ‘horror’ operative in statements like “ Nosferatu is a the greatest horror film ever made.”
“ “Art-Horror”, by stipulation, is meant to refer to the product of a genre that crystallized, speaking very roughly, around the time of the publication of Frankenstein—give or take fifty years—and that has persisted, often cyclically, through the novels and plays of the nineteenth century and the literature, comic books, pulp magazines, and films of the twentieth. This genre, moreover, is recognized in common speech and my theory of it must ultimately be assessed in terms of the way in which it tracks ordinary usage.” (The Philosophy of Horror, 13).
The Monster as a Necessary Condition of Art-Horror
Carroll argues that in order for a given work of art to be a member of the set of all works of art-horror it must feature a monster. Having a monster, however, is not a sufficient condition for inclusion in the set of the art-horrible ("Puff the Magic Dragon" is probably not a work of horror).
It is the hallmark of the art-horrible that it aim to produce a specific affect in its audience members. The monsters in a work of art-horror, then, must be regarded by the other characters in the work (and by the audience) as both fearful and hideously unnatural or revolting. Compare: Chewbacca and the Wolf-Man.
“The monsters of horror… breach the norms of ontological propriety presumed by the positive human characters in the story. That is, in examples of horror, it would appear that the monster is an extraordinary character n our ordinary world, whereas in fairy tales and the like the monster is an ordinary creature in an extraordinary world.” (Philosophy of Horror, 16).
Carroll contends that it is from the emotional reactions of the characters in the work that we take our cue as to the ‘violation of nature’ on display in a given monster.
Fear and Revulsion
The ideal art-horror monster is both fearful and revolting, as illustrated by the following passage from H.P. Lovecraft's At the Mountains of Madness.
“We had expected, upon looking back, to see a terrible and incredibly moving entity if the mists were thin enough; but of that entity we had formed a clear idea. What we did see—for the mists were indeed all too malignly thinned—was something altogether different, and immeasurably more hideous and detestable. It was the utter, objective embodiment of the fantastic novelists “thing that should not be”; and its nearest comprehensible analogue is a vast, onrushing subway train as one sees it from a station platform—the great black front looming colossally out of infinite subterraneous distance, constellated with strangely colored lights and filling the prodigious burrow as a piston fills a cylinder." H.P. Lovecraft
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