Wednesday, May 1, 2019
A Postmodern Deconstruction of Scream
Hello wonderful followers! I am currently in a Principles of Literary Criticism class at my university, and wanted to share one of my assignments with you! In the imaginary dialogue you’re about to read, prominent literary theorists and philosophers, Judith Butler and Jacques Derrida, will discuss the deconstuctive powers of Scream. Their conversation centers around the concept of the Final Girl, something that is clearly close to my heart. I encourage anyone who loves this movie as much as I do to check it out! Thank you!
![Scream – [FILMGRAB]](https://film-grab.com/wp-content/uploads/photo-gallery/imported_from_media_libray/thumb/6324%20(1).jpg?bwg=1547130022)
Joe Bob, Madman, & The 80s Slasher
This past Christmas, I happened to see an episode of Joe Bob Briggs’ The Last Drive-In on Shudder. And what a gift that turned out to be! Since his new weekly series premiered a couple months ago, I have been watching his double features almost every week. Showing everything from Q to Deathgasm, Joe Bob is most definitely one of the most charismatic hosts on television...ever. Not only does he seem to remember practically every fun-fact in existence about the movies he selects, but his opening monologue and mid movie tangents always leave me laughing, or cringing, or downright impressed.
However, while Joe Bob may be new to me, I have come to learn that he is definitely not new to the horror community at large. Starting out as a movie reviewer for a number of Texas newspapers, Joe Bob would move on to hosting a variety of film-centric TV shows, most notably TNT’s MonsterVision from 1996-2000, where his double feature format was first established. Complete with mail girls and drive-in totals, MonsterVision was the show that first really hooked horror fans on Joe Bob. In the summer of 2018, Shudder revived Joe Bob’s show, under the moniker of The Last Drive-In, when he hosted a 26 hour marathon of his favorite horror flicks. After two more successful marathons on Thanksgiving and Christmas, in March 2019 Joe Bob’s show became a weekly Shudder staple, where viewers could watch the series live every Friday night.
Last weekend, the first movie on The Last Drive-In was Joe Giannone’s 1982 slasher, Madman. Staring Gaylen Ross of Dawn of the Dead as the quazi-Final Girl, Madman tells the story of Madman Marz, a killer who stalks the woods of a camp for gifted children, killing anyone who speaks his name above a whisper. However, Madman does not seem to adhere to classic slasher trope. This is partially because the slasher as we know it today did not yet exist in 1982, but it still feels worth mentioning. The reason why I refer to Betsy (Ross) as a “quasi-Final Girl” is that...she isn’t. Not only does Betsy break the Final Girl rules (she’s blonde, sexually active, and well, dies), but she is also survived by two other characters in the film, Max and Richie.
Honestly, it's pretty amazing Richie was allowed to survive at all. Not only was he the one to summon the Madman in the first place, but he spends the entirety of the film wandering around the woods until coming across the house where Marz killed his family. Richie even makes an accidental trip into Marz’ body dump/torture basement, and lives to tell the tale. He makes it back to the main road, encounter’s Max, and declares in a hilarious close up shot of his eyes, “Madman Marz...he’s real!” I really couldn’t tell you whether this was actually a subversive plot point, or simply lazy film-making.
Aside from a pretty unbearably cringy hot tub scene and extremely questionable decisions made by practically every character, I was pleasantly surprised how well this film held up in 2019. It was fun, funny, and had a number of creative kills. Of course, it was greatly improved by Joe Bob’s frequent intermissions and the truly staggering number of fun facts he delivers. But I’m going to have to agree with Joe Bob on this one...Grace says, check it out!
The Wendigo in Pet Sematary (2019) (4/8/19)
I having a sneaking suspicion that after watching Pet Sematary, the question on a lot of peoples’ minds was “what is a Wendigo??”, along with “why was it so briefly referenced in the movie, with no clear relevance??”. Well… let's find out. First, before we can understand what importance a symbol like the Wendigo could have in PET SEMATARY, we must first understand exactly what a Wendigo is. In Native American Algonquian folklore, the Wendigo is a mythical beast with an insatiable taste for human flesh. The Wendigo often appears as a lanky, gaunt being with massive antlers, and is traditionally associated with greed, starvation, cannibalism, and murder. Conceptually, however, the Wendigo can be seen as a monstrocized version of a human consumed by selfish greed, especially one who lacks the foresight to see that devastating consequences of their self-serving actions. That greed is symbolically represented in the Wendigo’s constant hunger to consume the flesh of men.
However, more so than the ways in which the Wendigo is represented in the “monsters” of PET SEMATARY, I am fascinated by the ways Louis’ character embodies some of these concepts. One of the ideas that the Wendigo is most closely associated with in folklore is selfishness. Similarly to the Freudian concept of the Id, the Wendigo can bring out the most base and self-serving desires in its victims, namely Louis. While the bond between a parent and a child is commonly thought to be the most selfless human relationship, by bringing Ellie back from the grave, Louis is in no way acting in her best interest. Just as in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Louis ultimately holds responsibility for the life and actions of the being he creates. And yet, while we know Louis is wrong to resurrect Ellie, it is hard to imaging making any other choice after the death of one’s own child. I realize I am getting off the topic of the Wendigo to a certain degree, but at the same time, it is humanity’s inherent selfishness that the Wendigo can be seen to represent. PET SEMATARY is so especially crushing because the audience must watch Louis bring doom upon his family, while knowing we would probably make the exact same choice.
In the context of PET SEMATARY, it is the mythical power of the forest-dwelling Wendigo that imbues the burial ground with its powers of resurrections. The Wendigo itself is only physically shown twice, initially in Jud’s book and again for a moment in the forest, but the concepts it represents heavily permeate the film. Not only does the burial ground itself quite literally want to consume the flesh of the beings that are buried there, but when those beings are resurrected, they become possessed with the desires of the Wendigo, to kill and to claim the bodies of those around them for their own. When Ellie returns from the grave, she appears to have lost her humanity, her soul if you will. She is driven purely by a brutal, animalistic desire to slaughter her family, and have them join her in living death. The Wendigo pulls the string throughout the entirety of the film, leuring Louis into the woods, and recalling Rachel’s repressed memories of her sister Zelda’s death.
However, more so than the ways in which the Wendigo is represented in the “monsters” of PET SEMATARY, I am fascinated by the ways Louis’ character embodies some of these concepts. One of the ideas that the Wendigo is most closely associated with in folklore is selfishness. Similarly to the Freudian concept of the Id, the Wendigo can bring out the most base and self-serving desires in its victims, namely Louis. While the bond between a parent and a child is commonly thought to be the most selfless human relationship, by bringing Ellie back from the grave, Louis is in no way acting in her best interest. Just as in Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, Louis ultimately holds responsibility for the life and actions of the being he creates. And yet, while we know Louis is wrong to resurrect Ellie, it is hard to imaging making any other choice after the death of one’s own child. I realize I am getting off the topic of the Wendigo to a certain degree, but at the same time, it is humanity’s inherent selfishness that the Wendigo can be seen to represent. PET SEMATARY is so especially crushing because the audience must watch Louis bring doom upon his family, while knowing we would probably make the exact same choice.
**This analysis is meant to be applied to the 2019 film adaption, independent of the King novel.
Jordan Peele’s Us, The Twilight Zone, and the Doppelganger (4/26/19)
As much as I enjoyed watching Us, the first thing I said after the film ended was, “well what am I supposed to do with that!”. Beautiful cinematography and endlessly creative concept aside, I must say that I was (and still am), a bit confused as to what Us was trying to tell me, particularly with the plot twist at the very end of the film. I saw the film with my family, and in reference to the twist, my father described the movie as a episode of The Twilight Zone, which I found slightly ironic, given that Peele is heading its upcoming reimagining.
However, a comparison to The Twilight Zone seems especially fitting. At least in my experience, The Twilight Zone tends to target human fears that are more internal than external, contrary to the majority of horror. Mainstream horror as a genre tends to play on fears of outside forces, such as serial killers, monsters, supernatural entities, violence, pain, etc. However, in shows like The Twilight Zone, the horror is often much more psychological, twisting the viewers expectations, commenting on human nature and behavior, as well as playing largely on our fear of reality defying reason. As a kid, The Twilight Zone used to freak me out like nothing else could, that eerie theme song triggering a kind of Pavlovian unease in my 10 year-old self.
To return to Us, the most obvious interpretation of it is, of course, our fear of ourselves. Fear of the ‘shadow self’, the ‘dark side’. A fairly common trope, the double or doppelganger is a innate creepy concept. Historically in literature, doppelgangers often represent the ‘evil twin’ of the character they double, and are often used symbolically harbingers of bad luck. Directly translating from German as “double walker”, in a number of Scandinavian mythologies, they serve as physical manifestations of fate. In Norse mythology the double performs a person’s actions in advance, referred to as a ‘firstcomer’, or is alternatively a personification of death. Applying this historical significance of the doppelganger to Us provides some interesting insight.
The connection between the tethered humans on earth and in the compound closely reflects this concept of the ‘firstcomer’. Adelaide’s double explains how the tethered were created as a way to control the people up above, perhaps by performing their actions before they do, removing their free will. However, the experiment failed, leaving the shadows to carry out the actions of their earthly double, often in twisted and obscene ways. Therefore, the doubles in Us can be interpreted in a number of ways. We can see the shadow as a representation of the dark side taking over, as a commentary on our lack of true free will, or simply as a harbinger of some inevitable doom to befall the human race.
However, a comparison to The Twilight Zone seems especially fitting. At least in my experience, The Twilight Zone tends to target human fears that are more internal than external, contrary to the majority of horror. Mainstream horror as a genre tends to play on fears of outside forces, such as serial killers, monsters, supernatural entities, violence, pain, etc. However, in shows like The Twilight Zone, the horror is often much more psychological, twisting the viewers expectations, commenting on human nature and behavior, as well as playing largely on our fear of reality defying reason. As a kid, The Twilight Zone used to freak me out like nothing else could, that eerie theme song triggering a kind of Pavlovian unease in my 10 year-old self.
To return to Us, the most obvious interpretation of it is, of course, our fear of ourselves. Fear of the ‘shadow self’, the ‘dark side’. A fairly common trope, the double or doppelganger is a innate creepy concept. Historically in literature, doppelgangers often represent the ‘evil twin’ of the character they double, and are often used symbolically harbingers of bad luck. Directly translating from German as “double walker”, in a number of Scandinavian mythologies, they serve as physical manifestations of fate. In Norse mythology the double performs a person’s actions in advance, referred to as a ‘firstcomer’, or is alternatively a personification of death. Applying this historical significance of the doppelganger to Us provides some interesting insight.
The connection between the tethered humans on earth and in the compound closely reflects this concept of the ‘firstcomer’. Adelaide’s double explains how the tethered were created as a way to control the people up above, perhaps by performing their actions before they do, removing their free will. However, the experiment failed, leaving the shadows to carry out the actions of their earthly double, often in twisted and obscene ways. Therefore, the doubles in Us can be interpreted in a number of ways. We can see the shadow as a representation of the dark side taking over, as a commentary on our lack of true free will, or simply as a harbinger of some inevitable doom to befall the human race.
I Know What You Did Last Summer: The Southern Gothic Slasher (3/11/19)
As an avid fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, it was my love of Sarah Michelle Gellar that lead me to watch I Know What You Did Last Summer this past weekend, but it was my total enjoyment of 90s Teen Horror that kept me watching. However, before I even registered the North Carolina license plates, I was noticing the ways in which this film fits into the ever-fascinating genre of Southern Gothic horror. Born and raised in North Carolina myself, I have always had a personal interest in the Southern Gothic, and will take any opportunity to analyze film through that lense. So hear me out. How is IKWYDLS Southern Gothic?
One of the hallmarks of the Southern Gothic, is themes of the past coming back to haunt you. From the title alone, it is clear that this theme is heavily referenced throughout the film. Before the slasher-ing begins, the movie focuses on the ways in which their high school hit-and-run ruined the potential for the lives of Julie, Helen, Ray, and Barry. Julie is flunking out of college, Helen failed to find fame in New York, Barry is directionless, and aspiring writer Ray has become a fisherman, like most of the inhabitants of their coastal town of Southport, North Carolina. It is suggested that characters attribute their misfortune to the karma they accrued by (supposedly) killing a man, and covering up the crime. And then of course, their victim comes back to literally terrorize them.
This film also captures the aesthetic elements of the Southern Gothic. Obviously, IKWYDLS is set in the South, but the working class finishing town, the decaying Egan house (complete with creepy butchering shed out back), and the rural town traditions of the parade and beauty pagent, all possess a distinctly Southern aura, as well as an implicit ominousness. The final set-piece itself, with the concluding confrontation between The Fisherman and Final Girl Julie on a fishing boat, drives home that this story is fundamentally Southern. In my opinion, the Southern Gothic is one of the most rich sub-genres of Gothic horror, of which IKWYDLS is a wonderful example, and I greatly look forward to it being explored in popular media in the future!
One of the hallmarks of the Southern Gothic, is themes of the past coming back to haunt you. From the title alone, it is clear that this theme is heavily referenced throughout the film. Before the slasher-ing begins, the movie focuses on the ways in which their high school hit-and-run ruined the potential for the lives of Julie, Helen, Ray, and Barry. Julie is flunking out of college, Helen failed to find fame in New York, Barry is directionless, and aspiring writer Ray has become a fisherman, like most of the inhabitants of their coastal town of Southport, North Carolina. It is suggested that characters attribute their misfortune to the karma they accrued by (supposedly) killing a man, and covering up the crime. And then of course, their victim comes back to literally terrorize them.
This film also explores the way that violent histories repeat themselves. The date on which the kids strike Ben Willis with their car, is exactly a year after David Egan accidentally killed his girlfriend, Ben Willis’s daughter Susie, on that very road—as well as the night David Egan (maybe) took his own life. The Southern Gothic genre is chock full of narratives which address the cyclical nature of violence as well, often placed in the context of magical realism. And while slasher films such as this may seem to be set in reality, they tend to employ traits of magical realism. The never-dying antagonist, who always seems to be omnipresent in the lives of his victims, leaving threats in improbable places, and able to kill unseen by anyone other than the teens he terrorizes, would probably never be able to exist in reality. Yet we as viewers are so eager to suspend our belief to watch the gorey story play out.
This film also captures the aesthetic elements of the Southern Gothic. Obviously, IKWYDLS is set in the South, but the working class finishing town, the decaying Egan house (complete with creepy butchering shed out back), and the rural town traditions of the parade and beauty pagent, all possess a distinctly Southern aura, as well as an implicit ominousness. The final set-piece itself, with the concluding confrontation between The Fisherman and Final Girl Julie on a fishing boat, drives home that this story is fundamentally Southern. In my opinion, the Southern Gothic is one of the most rich sub-genres of Gothic horror, of which IKWYDLS is a wonderful example, and I greatly look forward to it being explored in popular media in the future!
David Cronenberg’s The Fly: Feminist Horror? (3/4/19)
In the 1980s, complex female characters were not something the horror genre was known for. Ever present was the one-dimensional blonde slasher victim, whose promiscuity would lead to her inevitable demise. The message in these kind of films was clear: have sex, and you will suffer the consequences. And yet, the same year as the Friday the 13th franchise’s sixth instalment was released, David Cronenberg released his sci-fi body horror spectacular, The Fly. And while scientist Seth Brundle’s experiment may be the central focus on the film, it is the journey of Geena Davis’s character, Veronica Quaife, who really captures my attention.
Veronica, most often referred to as Roni, remains to this day one of the most interesting female characters in classic horror. As the audience surrogate in this film, it is Roni whom the audience is meant to identify with most while watching The Fly, and the messages sent to us through her character are impossible to ignore. From the very start of the film, it is Roni’s determination to be successful professionally which drive her to approach Seth, and begin documenting his work. Despite her complicated relationship with her possessive ex-boyfriend/boss Stathis Borans, Roni asserts herself with agency in all her relationships with The Fly’s male characters.
The way Roni’s sexuality is presented in this film is an interesting point to explore. While she does serve as a catalyst for the discovery which allows Seth to succeed in transporting living beings, she is more than just his sexual awakening. Up until the point where Seth Brundle becomes Brundlefly, Roni is the initiator of all their sexual interactions; she holds the power in their relationship. Roni also asserts her sexual independence in the public confrontation at the clothing store with Stathis. Despite his attempts to degrade her for only having professional interest in Seth because they are sexually and romantically involved, Roni refuses to be put down, insisting that she will sleep with whoever she pleases. It is notable to point out that a declaration of sex-positivity this strong in an 80s movie was relatively unheard of.
At the end of the day, Roni is a fundamentally feminist character. She refuses to have her life be ruled by the patriarchal power dynamics she contends with, and demonstrates a clear desire for control over her own sexuality and reproductive rights. While some have made the claim that her character revolves around her romantic relationship with Seth, I don’t see that as a nuanced interpretation of her character. It in spite of her love for Seth that Roni prioritizes her own safety. By shooting the Brundlefly/telepod fusion at the end, putting the man she loves out of his misery, it is with Roni that The Fly ends. She is the one who possesses the power to terminate his disastrous experiment.
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