Noël Carroll and Alvin Schwartz: A Case Study

The "art-horrific" subject of this class has inspired me to get out one of my favorite books of all time, or rather one of my favorite series of books, namely, the Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark series written by an expert in American folklore, Alvin Schwartz. This series consists of three books containing collections of particularly short stories from folklore which have the tendency to be scarier than other, less horrific, folklore. All three of the books in this series have been designated for "readers nine and up" which may say something about me, but the fact remains that most of the stories in Schwartz's three collections have drawn from me what I understand from reading Carroll's work to be the emotion of "art-horror" much more effectively than really anything I have ever read and most things I have ever watched. Now that we have finished Carroll's book on the philosophy of horror, curiosity has driven me to subject Schwartz's stories to Carroll's analysis of art-horror as a sort of case study.

One thing which comes to mind immediately is the fact that not all of Schwartz's stories contain monsters but do, in my opinion, still cause the emotion of art-horror. Many such stories stem from urban legends, like the story of the baby sitter receiving calls from a killer inside the house at which she is babysitting, and some are based on actual accounts, like the man who had a frightening encounter with a knife salesman as he walked to his car after work. These stories do not contain "monsters", and, as Schwartz stats in the introduction to his second collection, they don't have to because "scary stories of this kind [without monsters] have a serious purpose. They may warn young people of the dangers that await them when they set out in the world on their own." However, there are a great many monsters which fit Carroll's analysis of monster quite well, my favorite being the living scarecrow who skins his victims.

Another aspect of Schwartz's collections is the absolutely unsettling illustrations which accompany most stories, all drawn by Stephen Gammell. In this respect, nearly every drawing fits Carroll's standards of monsters. However, neither of the points I have made so far have addressed narrative or suspense. Here again I am impressed with how well Carroll's standards are met. I do not intend to give an analysis of every story, but suffice to say that a great many of the stories include one of Carroll's narrative techniques as well as a nice bit of suspense. For example, in the story of the monstrous scarecrow Harold mentioned above, elements of "onset, discovery, confrontation" as well as the "overreacher" plot are present, in modified forms. Two ranchers create a scarecrow out of boredom and name him after a mean farmer. (This could be con trued as onset although it is a stretch.) After the two men abuse the scarecrow when they get frustrated, they notice he starts to move and then he walks around and makes menacing faces (Discovery). The men decide to leave, knowing that they have created a monster (overreacher), but one of them is forced to go back for supplies they left behind. Here, we find both the "confrontation" and suspense elements. The suspense is clear: two possible outcomes are present, with the negative one (death by Harold) more likely than the positive one (triumph over the scarecrow and successful acquisition of supplies). The confrontation is actually unseen, but the outcome is made evident as the man who did not return for supplies watches from afar as Harold stretches the skin of the other, more unfortunate rancher on the roof of the farmhouse to dry.

In the past, I have expressed dissatisfaction with Carroll's analysis, but my case study has, at least for me, helped give Carroll's philosophy of horror more legitimacy. A great amount of the scary stories which have kept me up at night since I first checked them out of my grade school's library in the fourth grade are examples of Carroll's art-horror. Although not all of the stories pass Carroll's analysis, I am delighted that so many (including some of my favorites) do. Thus, although the stories Carroll has provided as examples have yet to scare me, or rather art-horrify me, some stories which fit well into his philosophy of horror do.

Carrol's Verdict: "a long-winded exercise in common sense"?

In the last 10-20 pages of his work, Carroll summarizes his solutions to the paradox of horror (which is introduced on the bottom of the cover, below a painting that holds a debatable place in the subject genre of the book). However, he admits that his solutions seem intuitive, even after his exhaustive examination and categorization of all aspects of the genre (the monsters, the emotions, the plots, etc.). At this point, Carroll's reader is faced with two possible opinions:



1) The book was a worthwhile read.

2) The book was WAY too long to arrive at such simple conclusions, and I could get everything I needed from a one-page summary.



I'm going to argue for option 1.



Carroll's careful consideration of all parts of the horror genre gives credibility to his argument. First, he gives a definition, then describes the plots, and third describes the flaws in competing explanations for horror's appeal. He tightly defines the genre, with his definition leaving out some notable works. This precise definition gives his solution more oomph, because the appeal of works of pure suspense and art-dread (not included in the horror genre) is much different than the appeal of something aberrant and disgusting. Carroll's discussion of the plots allows the reader to distinguish between his general and universal theory (with the general applying solely in disclosure narratives). In the end, both the monsters and the plot play an important role in Carroll's solution.

While each of these may play a part, we are not universally drawn to horror by religious tendency, cosmic awe, repressed childhood emotions, or ideological concerns. Carroll points out the flaws in each of these philosophies to give more strength to his own argument. We are drawn to horror because we are fascinated, and fascinating things command our attention. We're fascinated because we're disgusted, and we're fascinated because we need to know what will happen next to these normal characters that we can relate to. Carroll's answer really does just make sense; isn't pretty hard to imagine that the reason that we pay millions (or billions) to directors, theaters, publishing houses, and haunted houses is a result of repressed childhood castration fear? Carroll correctly judges that we're fascinated by what terrifies us, and, in my opinion, the best answer really can be the one that seems the most intuitive.

The Punchline Before The Storyline

Carrol breaks the paradox of horror into universal and general divisions. Universally, viewers of horror enjoy such a genre due to the fascination of monsters, in a cognitive sense. In general, viewers enjoy the narrative, a drama of proof, and the disgust induced by the monster is the price one has to pay for such enjoyment.

So this begs the question: If a narrative is the essential piece that audiences enjoy, can a work of horror without the written/verbal story be considered as such?

I think yes. The human mind is an extraordinary piece of machinery, always ptting things together unconsciously. Have you ever people-watched? The best part of doing such is creating the narrative of the story of another person's life and how they got to X place with Y person. All horror aside, when I hear a phrase of a conversation, see a pleasant panting, or another glimpse of life, my imaginaiton is already at work as to what the story is behind it. That glimpse is all you need.

Certainly some people lack in creativity compared to others, but this does not mean that their minds to not do a similar thing. I believe that it is difficult to look at something and draw no meaning whatsoever. Even if it is a modern piece of art which simply looks like the person spilled some paint on a canvas, there could still be a story for that.

So what is so different about this (seeming) truth for the possibilty of narrative in all works of horror. Sometimes it can be direct, such as in a movie, play, or literature; other times it is inferred or has to be imagined, such as in painting and photography. This does not lessen the horror though. A painting of a man eating a child is still horrific, even if one does not know it is Saturn devoring his children.

The inverse narative is both possible and very lively within the horror genre. It still draws an appeal due to the nature of itself. We shall not write off such forms because the narrative is not direct and forthcoming. Maybe this makes them scarier.

Can places have scars?

It’s a common enough theme. A horrible event takes place: a particularly bloody battle, a man rapes and murders a girl, a mother murders her children, etc, etc, etc. And suddenly, wherever the event took place becomes haunted. I’m fascinated by this idea. Why are we tempted to believe this? That places become scarred by the evil that takes place there. Surely, the place had nothing to do with it. How can we blame the house for the sins of the family? But we do.
Humans have a short life span in the realm of things. We stick around, usually staying around the same place, for seventy-some years. Some people might live in the same town all of those seventy-some years. And they know that others, many, many others, have lived there before them. And that, presumably, many, many others will live there after them. The place where we live transcends time in a way that we are unable to do. So we’re obsessed with finding the history of the place. Towns take pride in the famous people who lived there in years passed, and towns remember the most gruesome events that happened there, keeping them alive through ghost stories and haunted houses. People like all ghost stories and all stories of haunted houses, even if they’re about places far away from where they’re living. But there’s a special allure of local horror stories. We want to be able to tell stories about the place on Buffalo Ridge, for example, so our audience knows exactly where it is. The history of the places we live haunts us. Imagine you’re all ready to buy your first house with your spouse and a kid and the next one on the way, and you find out about the last family to live in the house you’re excited about. You find out that the son killed the rest of the family. Do you still want to buy the house? It’s the beginning of every haunted house movie. They always buy the house and the audience is always internally screaming at them not to do it. They, and we, tell themselves that it’s illogical to care about what happened in the past in a particular place and yet we can’t help it. We feel that the place must be scarred somehow.
Or, I believe, we want the place to be scarred. We want to know that gruesome acts of evil cannot happen without some result. If that can happen then the world is not balanced. We want to believe that the places will be scarred by evil just as much as we are. We refuse to believe that evil can just happen, unnoticed, with the world continuing, unaffected. Plus, we want to blame the evil things that people do on some larger force. We want to blame the place for driving them to do it. (Like The Shining). And so the place, as a victim of earlier evil, becomes scarred and so later lashes out as the villain. The scariest thing is that we don’t even know what kind of horrible scars a place has acquired through its long, long life. We are afraid of the mystery of place’s ancient histories.

Saw is too a horror movie by Carroll's definition!

At the end of class today (I guess technically yesterday now since its 2 am, I'm an insomniac) it was brought up that the Saw series isn't a horror movie by Carroll's definition because it is "a cut them up gore movie" or something along those lines. I am a huge fan of the Saw movies and instantly wanted to defend their place in the horror genre but class ended. So I figured like most people today that get offend by something in real life I'd take my complaints and opinions to the internet ( though I may bring it up in class next time as well).

So here goes...

Carroll's reason for why we enjoy horror is the narration and the the disgust we feel from the monster is the price we pay for this joy. This fits the Saw series perfectly. The best part of EVERY Saw movie is the last 10-15 minutes. That is when Jig Saw's (the monster of the Saw movies) full plans are revealed. For those who haven't seen the films Jog Saw is an older man that was diagnosed with terminal cancer and after a bout with death in a car wreck realizes how important life is, how great a second chance is, and most importantly that not valuing your life is a crime worthy of being punished by death. So Jig Saw take people with various moral issues (drug dealers, corrupt people in power, thieves, drunk drivers that killed people, junkies and other "scum of the earth type people") and puts them in a ironic situation where they comfort their fears and issues or die.

This is where the amount of gore turns off a decent amount of people. But its not the gore that make me love the Saw movies, you can find that in about any horror movie nowadays. Its the last 10-15 minutes when threw a series of flash backs and forwards Jig Saw's full plan is revealed. These aren't your run of the mill mouse trap plans either. These are plans that are highly intricate, detailed, and always surprising. It's the film equivalent of narration. So by Carroll's own definition in the Saw movies the gore of the victims being killed is the disgust that we have to put up for the enjoyment we get from the revealed end plan of Jig Saw (Carroll's narration).

So ibso facto the Saw movies are too horror movies!

"Feed me Seymour! Feed me!"

This afternoon, as I typed yet another paper and prayed to my iPod to provide me with some inspiration, I was rewarded with this:



Originally drawn to the film because of my slight obsession with Steve Martin, I absolutely fell in love with Little Shop of Horrors (1986) after viewing it for the first time a couple of years ago. Fundamentally, the story centers on a young man named Seymour who is in love with a young woman named Audrey that works with at Mushnik’s Skid Row Florist. Trapped in an abusive relationship, Audrey does not dare show her true feelings for Seymour because she fears her boyfriend Orin’s wrath. Meanwhile, Seymour discovers a giant plant resembling a Venus Flytrap following a suspicious eclipse and names it Audrey II after the woman with whom he is in love. Quite by accident, Seymour discovers that Audrey II does not need water to grow but blood. Hence, comedic chaos and musical number ensue! Eventually, Seymour will bring the abusive Orin to Audrey II as a substitute for plant food followed by his boss, Mr. Mushnik. Seymour believes that he is achieving everything he wanted and more. Little does Seymour know, Audrey II is an alien who has more nefarious plans in which he and other aliens like him take over the world. The film ends with Audrey II eating Seymour and beginning his quest for world domination.

Pretty epic, no?

Ruminating on the film today, I was surprised to find that the film contains many of Carroll’s characteristics of horror – a fitting fact considering the title! The most obvious aspect of the film that coincides with Carroll’s idea of “art horror” is the character of Audrey II. One of my favorite monsters, Audrey II is not only scientifically impossible but also threatening and disgusting. Biologically, he is an inanimate plant that craves blood. Psychologically, he is an animate alien that plans the destruction of the human race. He is powerful, manipulating, and has a large mouth full of sharp, white teeth. He inspires disgust and revolt in the viewer, which is then tempered and emphasized by comedy. In essence, Audrey II is the embodiment of what Carroll would call an “art horror” monster while his story is a humorous, satirical (albeit pensive) examination of the human condition. For me, the beauty of horror films lie in their ability to communicate universal truths and social injustices by displaying the reality of human failure and misunderstanding. After all, if Lovecraft and Carroll are correct in assuming that most of our horror/terror comes from a fear of the unknown, isn’t humanity’s failure to understand the epitome of the unknown?

Thoughts About Cat People

Cat people didn't scare me that much. The acting wasn't that good, the writing could have used another edit or two, and the acting was pretty stiff. The really bad special effect at the end didn't help either. 

When I watched it,  I kept thinking about how cliched the story and filmmaking style was. Mysterious old legend, were animal, bus jumping out of nowhere for a fake scare--I've seen all of those a million times before. And I don't even watch that many horror movies. 

Then I realized that you can't really blame Val Lewton for that. If Cat People is any indication, he pretty much invented the horror genre we know and love (or hate, as the case may be) today. If it feels cliched sometimes, it is because Lewton invented of a lot of what have become cliches from overuse.

I also noticed some stuff that reminded me of citizen Kane. They way the shots were framed (Welles was big on establishing shots of doors, windows, etc.), the sounds of things not shown on the screen, the way light and darkness were used together. (If you've ever seen A Touch of Evil, the scene where Orson Welles is strangling the guy reminded me of the scene where the heroine is walking to the bus). This kind of makes sense, because a lot of the same people worked on the two movies, but the juxtaposition between the greatest movie of all time and a movie about werecats was interesting. 

Also, can I be the only one who thinks Cat People is due for a remake? If you kept the camera work and sound editing, tightened up the script a little bit, and hired some slightly better actors, it could be a really good movie. Keep the shadow fight scene, except hire a decent cinematographer so that it looks more spooky and scary.

Purr-fect Horror?

The movie we watched in class so far was The Cat People. It was about Irena, a woman from Serbia who moved to New York City. She quickly falls in love with a man she met at the zoo while littering. After they get married, however, there is some tension when she refuses to do anything with her husband. She believes she will turn into a panther and kill people if she is emotional aroused. Her husband, Oliver, gets her to see a psychiatrist thinking she just has childhood issues. After her husband ends up leaving her for his co-worker (Alice) Irena gets jealous and starts stalking them. She ends up killing her psychiatrist but got stabbed in the chest from his knife.

This is a story of fantastic marvelous. There is a strong suggestion of supernatural activity. There was some doubt whether or not the story was supernatural or just hinted at it. The movie never actually shows Irena turning into a panther and killing the psychiatrist or tearing up Alice’s robe. She let loose a jaguar from the zoo so it’s possible it was just the jaguar for the longest time. There is some pretty compelling evidence though when she’s with the psychiatrist; they look to be alone as he puts the moves on her. After he kisses her though, it is the psychiatrist who fights off a giant cat, in shadows on the wall. It is still plausible there is nothing supernatural going on, it could have been Irena or it could’ve been her best buddy the jaguar who attacked him. The evidence I rely on to make this call is that when he was fighting the cat he stabbed it with his knife; who then has his knife sticking from her chest at the end of the movie? To me this signifies that Irena is in fact a creature of supernatural being and she isn’t just full of childhood issues; she’s full of evil. I thought that Cat People was a very effective piece of art-horror, because it did not rely simply in sight gags or guys in rubber suits. It was a psychological horror, but also physical because I wouldn’t want to be left alone with Irena. Carroll's theory works well with Cat People. The scariest part for me was when Irena followed Alice to the bus stop and it when the bus pulled up it sounded like a panther screaming or the bus stopping. I didn’t know if Alice was about to get mauled and the footsteps following her was creepy. I thought that when the panther attacking the psychiatrist was horrifying because the shadow fight was intense and I didn’t who was going to make it out alive.

Equinox, a Journey into Bad Acting

I finally got around to watching this, so it's time for the analysis!

Freud's Unheimlich
There is not much to speak of. Only two rather weak examples could be argued. First, most people don't expect a large castle to show up in some Californian mountains, but the castle itself is hardly anti-mountains. Second, most people don't expect maniacal old men to live in caves, yet they may expect something creepy to inhabit a cavern, hence the old man does not make it un-cave like.

Lovecraft's Cosmic Horror
In spades. The whole premise of the movie is that a supernatural realm not countenanced by modern science exists alongside our own, and that forces of good have long fought against the forces of evil summoned from this realm, which include the ridiculous gorilla thing on the cover. These forces converge on a book of demonology being carried around by the main characters, which rather reminded me of The Necronomicon of the Mad Arab Abdul Azhalred. The main villain of the story is some kind of demon disguising himself as a park ranger named Asmodeus, which kind of blows the whole purpose of the disguise if it weren't for the fact that the main characters are hopelessly genre blind. The stop motion models used for the monsters present a double-edged sword. On one hand, their uniform speed of motion, odd texturing, and real-but-obviously-fake look conveys a good sense of otherworldliness and doesnotbelonghereness. On the other hand, their rather over the top ludicrousness acts as a good source of nightmare retardant for anyone that may have been genuinely scared by them.

Art-horror
The aim of the movie is clearly to evoke a sense of art-horror from its monsters, which, as I mentioned above, partly succeeds and partly fails due to the puppets used. The monsters are fearsome and physically threatening, and are both physically and morally impure, being demonic chimeras of great size. There is a bit of suspense element that pays off fairly well (I don't want to spoil anything), and the plot could arguably be considered fantastic-marvelous, though it does not really try to convince us that the protagonist hallucinated the entire thing. The plot structure is onset-discover-confrontation, with confirmation largely ignored, as the only other character is the villainous park ranger; there are a few half-hearted attempts to convince him that something is going on, but none that give any kind of narrative pleasure to the audience.

Overall, Equinox is worth watching if you enjoy really bad horror movies; or if your name is Robert; or if you want to hear the line "This wouldn't be a bad place to start a nudist colony" uttered in a non-comedic, non-documentary screenplay. Anyone looking for a genuine scare will be disappointed, except perhaps by the twist ending. For optimum viewing pleasure, watch with your most snarky friends.

The Horror of Horror Films

Whenever a new scary movie comes out, why do people go? Since I work at a movie theatre, I see it time and time again, every scary movie, no matter how horrifying, disturbing, bloody, violent or stupid the previews look, people show up. Why? Why do people choose to go and be scared? The answer is adrenalin. I believe people come to see these movies to be scared and get the rush of epinephrine that makes them feel alive per say. There heart rate increases, muscles tense, eyes widen and the body is prepared to “fight or flight.” It gives people a thrill and makes them fell on edge.

This makes scary movies seem like a fun time. But the majority of the people who come to these scary movies on a Friday and Saturday night cause a purely horrifying evening for anyone working. Of all the weekends I’ve worked in the past two years, nothing is as bad as when a scary movie comes out. Not sure what it is about scary movies that bring the most awful people from Kentucky and Ohio down to the levee, but it happens. The obnoxious teenagers and young adults that show up are always out of control. I have kicked many people out and witnessed multiple people arrested and tasered for throwing hissy fits over not being able to see the movie. People have thrown things, fought the cops, and screamed curse words at the top of their lungs. I’ve been called countless names and have been told that people will be waiting at my car after work to “get me.” This is all before the movie even starts, but you’d think the movie should be enough to entertain them, it never is. The scary movie film crowd is always one sure to cause disturbances and be loud. There have even been fights break out during the movie. Therefore, from my perspective, any movie deemed horror, scary or a psychological thriller is in every way shape and form a complete horror.

Horror and Religion: A Real "Paradox of the Heart"

I have to admit, I was pretty surprised to read Carroll's examination of the analogy between the experience of art-horror and religious experience. Since we have spent much of our class time so far talking about the revulsion and disgust brought on by Dracula, the ants, Norman Bates, and Will Farrell, it seemed like a pretty big jump to start comparing these characters to God. This discussion did follow Carroll's overview of Lovecraft's "cosmic awe" theory, which does contain elements that would be comparable to personal human experiences with God, e.g., the natural inclination toward the existence of unfamiliar power. However, Carroll explicitly characterizes the emotion of cosmic fear with "moral revulsion" (162). If moral revulsion is part of the horror genre, how can we compare it to religious experience?

For me, it's just too much of a stretch to go from fear and disgust, to wonder and awe, to religious experience when trying to describe horror's attractive power. It's clear that people are attracted to the unsavory - just look at the headlines at the Kroger magazine stand proclaiming the good news that 1) Noah's Ark has been found on Jupiter and 2) it's housing bin Laden's love child. People definitely crave the weird, uncanny, and horrifying, but I really don't think that it's a substitute for religious experience.

For that, let's look at the NFL. Nothing horrifying there.

The Surreal

I was flipping through a book on Salvadore Dali last night at work and began to wonder if some -pehaps not all- surreal art qualifies as art horror. There are some pieces that are certainly unsettling, pieces that challenge the preconceptions that we have ablout the world. And some works are even comical, but then didn't we say that perhaps comdey and horror may have the same roots? Just a thought...

Monkeys: A Most Horrifying Animal

After reading Le Fanu's Green Tea, I was struck by a thought that was quite unrelated to the overall point of the story, but nagged me throughout the duration of the plot. Why, of all things, did the Reverend Mr. Jennings' demon appear as a monkey? Certainly when I think of a demon, a monkey is hardly the first thing that comes to mind. There was no traditional red devil with horns and pitchfork in hand and no ghost with bloodstained clothing but, rather, a primate. Upon further consideration, I realized that Le Fanu is not unique in his portrayal of a monkey as a creature of horror. In fact, some of the most common "monsters" of our time have been none other than monkeys. Consider, for example, the following classic tales.

The first and most obvious example is undoubtedly King Kong. While it perhaps falls more into the adventure genre than into horror, the 1933 film and subsequent 2005 remake feature an enormous gorilla-like creature that was captured on a remote island and brought to New York City. In fact, one of the most iconic film images of all time is the one in which Kong has climbed to the top of the Empire State building with a kidnapped young woman in his hand. While Kong dies in the end and never really purposefully sets on on a path of mass destruction, a giant monkey that is capable of pulling of such a feat is certainly terrifying in and off itself.

The next example, and perhaps my favorite, is Edgar Allan Poe's "The Murders in the Rue Morgue." While I have not read the short story, I have seen the 1932 version of the film and feel that this work definitely falls into the horror genre. The plot is centered upon the brutal murders of two women in Paris. Throughout the story, a detective attempts to solve the murders but is confused by the fact that nonhuman hairs have been left at the scene of the crime. To make a long story short, we discover at the end that an orangutan has committed the murders; despite that fact that they appeared very much to have been done by human hand.

Finally, I considered a classic work that is not a work of horror at all: none other than the Wizard of Oz. While the "bad guy" is undoubtedly the Wicked Witch of the West, her minions are, to many, the most terrifying aspect of the movie. The infamous flying monkeys that appear throughout the plot have terrified young audiences for generations. While the monkeys are not portrayed as free-thinkers themselves, they carry out the witch's orders and, in a particularly creepy scene, stomp on the Scarecrow and carry Dorothy and Todo away.

Monkeys are not viscous like the shark, they are not predators like the tiger, and they are not mysterious like the squid. Monkeys, however, appear more often in horror than any of the 3. But why? The issue is, of course, a matter of opinion, but I can draw only one conclusion. The monkey is our close relative; it is the only animal that has been proven to be remotely capable of rivaling our intelligence level. Perhaps what we most fear is not being eaten alive or being dragged into the mysterious depths of the ocean. Perhaps what we truly fear most is intelligence--of losing the upper hand in the only realm in which we think we have control.

Monster House....no, wait! It's Harry Potter!

Originally this was going to be an analysis of Monster House, but the library didn't have it. I got out a low budget horror film with a ludicrous cover, Equinox, instead. But then my parents decided it was family Harry Potter night; so now you're getting my 2 am analysis of Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince. Ahem.

Lovecraftian Cosmic Horror
Harry Potter does not evoke any sense of cosmic horror, that is, of some primordial fear of the unknown that modern materialism has tried to squash out. True, the magic does not exist in reality, but it functions in ways familiar to us through faerie tales and folklore, and takes our modern sciences for granted, even if it bends their rules. There is not sheer "other" quality about the magic or the magical beings. Another strike against Harry Potter is that its characters do not remain passive while extraordinary events unfold around them. The human characters are the instigators of the plot, and react to the stories events with more than screams of "Ia, Cthulhu ftaghn!" and mad ramblings. It is safe to conclude that Harry Potter should not be classified as cosmic horror.

Freud's Uncanny
Seeing as how it takes place in an alternate society parallel to our own, Harry Potter seems like it should be a good target for Freud's idea of unheimlich. Sadly for Freud, this is not the case, though I'm sure he will have a field day with the prolific use of wands, staves, and broomsticks. While the institutions of the wizarding world are similar to ours, they do not reverse or corrupt any important aspect of those institutions as we understand them; rather they dress them up in robes and pointy hats. A wizard house is still a home as we understand it, even if the dishes wash themselves. Thus Harry Potter does not contain elements of the uncanny.

Carroll's Art-horror
Harry Potter does contain some elements of art-horror, though I believe it would be incorrect to classify the work itself as one of art-horror, for the incitement of art-horror is not the chief aim of the story. Even within the fantastic world of wizards, where the rules of modern science can be bent, certain creatures can still produce interstitial and other types of impurity. Inferi(zombies) are still terrifying to wizards. They are capable of existing, yes; but they still combine the ideas of life and death, and as such are interstitial beings, which are considered impossibly by the muggle audience, if not the characters. Similarly, werewolves, while regarded as possible, still combine man and animal in ways they should not be combined. The wizard world is close enough to our world that impossible monsters still retain their powers of fear and disgust in both worlds, thus evoking the emotion of art-horror.

I'll try to get my review/analysis of Equinox up by Sunday night.

1 is the loneliest number... and the scariest

After watching Cat People and doing some person reflection watching other horror movies, I came to this golden rule of horror so to speak: everything is more scary when you are alone. The pool scene in cat people was scary because she was alone in a dark room. Think about it to yourself for a second, being home alone on a dark storming night terrifying especially when the lights begin to flicker. Have another person with you makes the situation dramatically more comfortable. Even having a pet dog or cat can make the situation less unnerving. People are social beings by nature and being alone goes against that nature.

The second reason why being alone way more scary is because in horror movies as soon as you wonder out by yourself, your basically as good as dead. It is just like in the wild, the predator cuts off a weak dumb target from the herd and attacks. If your alone in a scary situation you feel like a weak dumb target, cause your ARE the weak dumb target. Movies build this fear into us, if your alone in a scary your the prime target, unless there is a minority, dumb jock, pretty cheerleader, or a ginger in the nearby, in that case there is a horror movie status quo. Still being alone drastically increases the scarometer whether there is a genuine threat or not. If you read my previous blog you'll remember my fear of raptors in my parent's basement. That fear only occurred when I was alone. Loneliness is the source of many irrational fears and is an easy set up for a horror scene.

What Makes a Good Horror Film?

One thing that I noticed right away about Cat People was that I liked the visualization of watching a scary movie in black and white. Watching a movie in black and white gives the audience some license of their own to add their own imaginative touches to it. For example, the black and white movie made the use of shadows much more dramatic. Already the picture is not crystal clear, and when the use of shadows is used it adds a real sense of eeriness as to what that shadow is. Now with HGTV, we’d see that the shadow was clearly defined to be Irena or a panther. Also at the end when Irena is lying on the ground in front of the panther cage, the audience can’t tell if she is in human or panther form. This ambiguity may have been done on purpose by Tourneur and Lewton, but the black and white picture really helps to add to the ambiguity. It was impossible to distinguish her body shape in the black and white.

In the documentary we watched on Val Lewton, the people being interviewed talked of how Universal and Paramount were coming out with movies with monsters like King Kong and Frankenstein. Then Val Lewton started coming out with movies that worked with shadows and auditory aspects, because he didn’t have enough money to have monsters in his film. I think that what Val Lewton did in his movies is a refreshing idea compared to the horror movies that we watch today. Horror movies have become a contest of who can “out gross” who, and the horror is not that bone chilling horror anymore but instead visual overload. For example, do we really need to see a man saw off his leg in Saw or people being slaughtered by a doll names Chucky in Child’s Play? It’s better to leave it up to the viewer to imagine the horrible things that are being done. This leaves a feeling of the unknown, and the unknown itself is something that is to be feared. I enjoyed both the movie Cat People and the documentary about Val Lewton because they gave me different perspectives as to what makes a good horror film.

Inversion and Upheaval

It seems that a common theme that is emphasized throughout all of the various philosophies we've encountered thus far is the idea that what is scary is what plays upon our conceptions of what is right, normal and natural. Our mode of operation, when it comes to the biological and socio/psychological stance, is to categorize the world we live in and to assign labels with which we associate a certain set of values, emotions and preconceptions. it's a survival mechanism and a key component of our ability to make and maintain relationships. Via this approach to the world, we are able to say whether things are good or bad, safe or unsafe, familiar or unfamiliar -or can we? And it's this last question "or can we?" that authors of horror exploit.
Carrol presents us with the criteria, he claims, are necessary for a monster. A true monster -on that evokes within us fear and terror- is one that elicits disgust, that we believe to be impure, and that is impossible as far as we know. But that's just it. As far as we know. The disruption to the natural order that Carrol claims makes a monster disgusting is simply the violation of our preconceptions of what the world should be like. Who's to say a person can't be covered in slimy purple fur and have six arms? Well, we do, because as far as we know, what we define as a "person" has to meet a certain set of criteria that, up until the point of encountering a monster, all humans we have met do have. A monster is only "impure" because we associate a certain set of things with what is good, and anything outside of our understanding of what is normal and good must somehow be bad. Finally, we are scared of something that is likely not to exist because the very fact that it seems to is a violation of all that we know of the world. In short, we know what the world's supposed to be like, and the monster forces us to question our perception of our reality.
The same can be found within Freud's "uncanny." Playing upon the associations and categorizations that we make in our world, Freud simply shakes the floor beneath us that we thought was so solid. Take, for instance, a mother. Every person who's ever encountered a mother has created a certain set of beliefs about what a mother should be like. We've a a certain set of emotions and thoughts and images with which we associate a mother figure. These are fixed and, in large part, go unchallenged in our everyday lives. And then, we encounter the uncanny. We encounter a mother that we know to be a mother, but whose every action and very existence challenges anything and everything you thought you knew about mothers. All of the associations you once made with "mother" are not applicable and now something that you once thought you were so sure of is upended and you are confronted with a perversion of that which you had once been able to define.
Lovecraft goes even deeper into this interpretation by claiming that there's a sense of something greater, of something cosmic and awe-inspiring that each individual has an intuitive sense of, but which we don't encounter in our everyday lives. And so we proceed to live the way that we do, categorizing and labeling and assigning value to things and ideas accordingly. And then we happen upon something horrifying which evidences that which we knew to be true all along. It's unsettling in the fact that it violates the plane upon which we accustom ourselves to operating, but we are drawn to this idea that the forces behind the terrible events witnessed are bigger, are part of some vast unknown of the universe and that put us in our rightful place as very small beings. And so we fear it, but seek it out, for we like being reminded that it's true and that there is something larger and more powerful than we.
It all comes down to worldview and how one regards one's place in the world. Once you think you've got it all figured out, you're utterly terrified when you are made tangibly aware that you are, indeed, sorely mistaken.

Shadows of an Evil Past...and Cats...

An ancient past filled with darkness, evil and strange midnight revelries...a strange town filled with strange people...the feeling of always being watched like a mouse in a corner...

And I wonder where all my strange dreams are coming from??

Ancient Sorceries was definitely the most disturbing story I've read so far this semester. The first shiver that danced up and down my spine was when Vezin first heard the strange music, and they only got worse as the story developed. What I cannot figure out is why this story frightened me more than The Sea Raiders for example or The Most Dangerous Game. My theory is the format in which Blackwood wrote it in. He has a certain...vague yet descriptive manner of spinning a tale. He creates this dream-like feel to the narration. The story sucks you in and before you realize it, you are under the same spell Vezin found himself cursed by. You find yourself there on the wall at midnight, the sounds of the frenzy all around you. The screams, the dancing, the urge to join in the frenzy...it was all so vivid.

For me, this story really displayed the importance of vocabulary and good storytelling. If you think about it, Blackwood didn't really have a monster, nor a truly horrifying story. None of the cat people, if they even existed, were threatening Vezin. The true horror lays in the idea that these people truly transformed into cats and if Vezin was somehow one of them in a past life.

I'm firmly convinced that when armed with a socially taboo idea (like being a Satanic cat-person in a former life), a good vocabulary, and good storytelling abilities, anyone can write a truly horrifying story.

Why Horror? - A Simpler Explanation

One of the main goals of Carroll's The Philosophy of Horror is to set forth a general and all encompassing theory of why art-horror as a genre is attractive and popular. He hopes to reach an understanding as to why people are so interested in something which is repulsive. He dubs this the "Paradox of horror" or the "Paradox of the Heart", whereby people are entertained by that which ordinarily is considered horrific, terrifying, morbid, etc. On page 167, he writes that some claim that horror is entertaining because it gives a sense of thrill and excitement without the risk associated with the dangerous pursuit of thrills in real life. He proceeds to state that this view can be applied to most other genres of fiction and, thus, does not work as an encompassing answer to why people find art-horror so enthralling.


However, I believe that Carroll hits upon a very simple and completely legitimate explanation for art-horror's popularity here. People have always sought escape from reality through various forms of media. In the age of the Roman Empire, they attended massive gladiatorial fights. These were gruesome events which were certainly repulsive, but they drew massive crowds because people could watch others engage in thrilling, risky activity without risking harm on themselves. Such examples can be found in great numbers throughout history, including the popularity of hangings and other public executions and stunts performed by daredevils like Evel Knievel (truly, it is natural for people to live vicariously through others). The same can be said for literature and film. Audiences enjoy the rush of watching Indiana Jones run from a massive boulder, but they would definitely not enjoy doing the same thing themselves.


In my opinion, the reason people like horror is closely related to all of this. Simply, people like to feel the adrenaline rush involved with being in scary situations and facing monsters without having the risk of personal harm associated with that feeling. Furthermore, this theory, although related to the reason people like adventure, action, romance, etc., is unique to horror. Viewers watch movies and read books of other genres to experience the thrill of adventure, the excitement of action, and the warmth of romance, etc. without facing the risks of actually embarking on an adventure, being an action hero, or falling in love, etc.. Similarly but uniquely, audiences flock to horror movies and buy horror novels to experience the fear of monsters without the danger.


Perhaps at the completion of Carroll's book, I will have found a more satisfactory explanation, but thus far nothing has beaten this simple rationalization of why people love horror (more specifically "art-horror").

Cat People? Not so much.

Hello all! I am currently on vacation in sunny Georgia (yay!) after an eight hour drive (boo!) and only two hours of sleep (double boo!)! But I have come to post some thoughts on Cat People. Try not to expect too much from this post. I have a lot of thoughts on this film, but I have yet to figure out a way to lay them all out for you in an organized way. I suppose it's a good thing that this is a blog and not a final term paper, eh?

Anyways, on to the intellectual stuff!

Two thoughts I want to talk about: 1. Reasons why I am downright convinced that Irena is a cat person and 2. The number one reason why this film disappointed me.

We'll start with number 1! Irena is a cat person. There's no doubt about it. As soon as that woman winked at her when they were celebrating their engagement, I knew. It would be easy to say that she was just using the panther in the zoo to do her bidding. But she wasn't. It was her. How do I know this? Well, when she walks into Dr. Judd's office right before she (yes, she not a cat) kills him, there's nothing with her. She had no cat. It's not as if the panther would have just waited outside the door patiently until she ushered it in to kill Judd. She could not have concealed an entire panther in her coat either. She was a small woman. It would have been easy to tell if she had been lugging around 70 lbs of jungle cat beneath her coat. But there's more reasons why I know it was her. We saw the shadow of the panther get stabbed with Dr. Judd's sword cane. And then we saw Irena fall and reveal the sword stuck in her arm. If this doesn't give it away, her earlier actions do. It's plain to see at first that she is ashamed of her cat people-ness. She tells the story of the cat people with fear in her voice. But what really shows her shame is the drawing of the panther she makes at the zoo. She draws him with a sword through him. This shows that she was ashamed of who she really was and that she was trying to reconcile her problems by drawing the panther dead.

Point 2 is almost entirely unrelated to anything intellectual and more opinion that I just had to share! This movie had one epic disappointment for me. The cat people were not so much cat people as they were people who turned into cats. I had an entirely different expectations going into a film titled "Cat People." I truly thought we were going to see some creatures all Cats the Musical style. But sadly, all we saw a panther. Nothing spectacular about the creature itself, although one can't argue that the fact that this woman turns into a panther is, in fact, quite spectacular.