Why Horror?

            A frequented question I am posed by friends and family is: “How can you watch this crap?”  It becomes an obstacle I endure, my love of horror films.  It almost seems like I NEED to be feeling disgusted or offended by the visions that appear on the screen, and if I am not, there must be something seriously wrong or disturbed about me.  In a response to a letter I wrote to Fangoria where I voiced my disgust for the rampant homophobia in Eli Roth’s Hostel, Eli Roth questioned my sanity for being disturbed by the homophobic slurs and not the grotesque mutilation of one of his female victims.

I guess the question becomes “Do I understand and accept the general characteristics of the genre of horror, and do I appreciate the mechanisms employed to propel the kind of story being told?”  The answer is yes.  My answer then becomes a crutch for which I lean on in my appreciation of horror films.  You accept that there are particular tropes in the genre, and in many ways you anticipate their incitation. 

So now that I have suspended my disbelief, or compliant in accepting what I’m being shown, why do I find horror to be as significant as I think it is?  In many ways the response can be sussed out in my review of Jennifer’s Body (and other subsequent reviews to follow):  horror becomes a surreal visual spectacle that, when properly handled, has the ability to metaphorically represent theoretical conceptions of inner sociological and psychological struggles.  In other words, horror maintains the ability to avidly represent conceptual subjects away from their reality-based paradigms into a visual spectacle of surreal imagery.  Dramatic films simply represent the reality that exists (or at least they tries to), whereas horror internalizes the reality and fantastically represents the inner tensions and struggles that come from it.  It can occasionally create a visual representation of the psychological and sociological struggles that do not easily cater to direct visualizations.

Take the vastly disturbing Jacob’s Ladder starring Tim Robbins and directed by Adrian Lyne.  How could one possibly represent the psychosomatic turmoil of lead character Jacob Singer after he endured such catastrophic and traumatizing events without literal representations of demonic energy, gritty urban textures, and violently disturbing hauntings?  Horror in this case becomes the visceral negotiation between reality and insanity.  It tackles the supposed stasis of reality and directs it to new avenues and new possibilities of explaining the inner rhetoric of social life: how do we relate to ourselves after such scarring events?  How are my internalizations of gender restrictions manifesting in my relations with others?  These are but a few examples of questions that are often asked in horror films, whether they are intended by the filmmaker(s) or not.

The beauty of horror is that it can also transcend itself.  This visual inscription of psychological and social struggles surpass its own means to produce detailed elements that purge the inner inarticulateness of how we are affected by social relations.  It’s unreal, because it represents something that is not visually representable, but that’s not to say it has no reality.  The conflict in disagreement between the effectiveness of horror films relies on the personal relation of the (re)viewer to the visual detailings that are depicted onscreen: “Well, I wasn’t in the Vietnam War, but I’m sure the aftershock is not as visceral and demonic as is represented in Jacob’s Ladder”;  or, “Female-Female relations are no where near as complicated as Diablo Cody thinks they are.”  Of course the sentiments are never expressed in quite such a manner, instead they’re masked behind: “the acting sucks and the movie was just a piece of shit!”  It seems that horror films are grossly misunderstood because of a (re)viewer’s inability to relate to a particular filmmaker’s decisions on how to visually represent something that is usually unrepresentable.

              Now, of course I am not this naïve to think that the ONLY reason a film is panned are because of the inability of critics and audiences to relate to the visual interpretations of the story.  Some films are inarticulate, sloppily executed and void of artistic merit.  However, others show some real insight to intangible emotions.  This is why reactions to films that criticize the realistic plausibility of the actions, or plotlines tend to miss the point.  Be it, there can be some real problems with how some horror films choose to tell a story, sometimes what is necessary to understand them is the ability to empathize with the entire production, taking in everything from the dialogue, to the atmosphere, production design, casting decisions, acting prowess and the subsequent audience-performer relationship that projects itself on screen.  Horror films require the viewer to do two seemingly impossible things: to delve into oneself and the recesses of the psychosocial mind, and to go beyond oneself into understanding and conceptualizing a way of representation that is true for some, but not for others.

Jennifer's Body - (film review)

            The title, “Jennifer’s Body”, draws attention to the textual physicality of bodily relations—a ubiquitous aspect of horror films that is very often ignored in their critical reviews.  The body is everywhere in horror films: bodies mutilated, bodies naked for sexual display, hormonal teens trying to control (or trying not to control) their bodies.  The body becomes the central focus of horror films, however most analyses of these films misses the intricate subtlety of how bodies inform the characters’ relationships to themselves and to the respective monster(s).

            The signification of the phallus in “Jennifer’s Body” is glaringly prevalent.  Queer theorist Judith Butler, in her work “The Lesbian Phallus and the Morphological Imaginary”, delineates how the phallus restructures its affiliations to the penis through a process of resignification (Butler 1993).  Let me explain.  Butler argues that the phallus (a symbolic representation of the penis) can situate itself in a variety of body parts: the arm, the leg, the tongue, can all come to represent the phallus.  This symbolic redirection can situate itself in a variety of bodies: male, female, queer, etc.  When the appropriation of the symbolic phallus manifests itself in female form, suddenly the presence of the phallus exists beyond the presence of a penis.  Basically, to represent the phallus, one need not have a penis.  If this is the case, then it stands to reason that the phallus no longer is a specific representation of the penis—instead it has been reappropriated to symbolize something more than penal penetration.

            How does this relate to “Jennifer’s Body”, and Jennifer’s body, you might ask.  Well, in the film, Jennifer becomes a demonic embodiment of the penetrating and prevailing heterosexist phallus—however in this case the phallus becomes inverted to devour the heteropatriarchy that allowed it to become as prevalent and powerful as it has.  Jennifer eats her victims.  She penetrates them, and consumes their blood.  Her sustenance is dependent on this continued inversion of male-female penetration.  The interesting thing about this situation that Jennifer finds herself in is that to maintain her beautiful glow she must feed on boys (well a girl may work, but we are not privy to that information).  It’s even more interesting if we include the manner in which Jennifer attained this power and desire to feed—I would argue to some degree that Jennifer has always had this power, but for the purposes of horror, it becomes more physically real once her demonic possession surfaces.

            The members of Low Shoulder, desperate to further their careers decide to sacrifice Jennifer—they believe she’s a virgin.  (It’s interesting how Cody decided to position these boys and cast their lustful desire in a manner that causes them to overlook the actual virgin that could have more successfully guaranteed their sacrifice—they opt for Jennifer over her bookish friend Needy, most likely because Jennifer looks hotter.  This tiny fact becomes rather inconsequential considering they attain the stardom they sought through sacrifice of Jennifer, however the sacrifice of Needy could have saved them from their inevitable demise).  Their penetration of Jennifer enables a more powerful manifestation of the phallic desire to penetrate within Jennifer—basically penetration is contagious.  The omnipresence of the boys in Low Shoulder (more specifically the lead singer) is a suspicious and intriguing inclusion in the film.  They are littered throughout the movie, however besides the initial harbingers of demon Jennifer, they have little interaction with the films heroine(s), settings, or overall plot.

            This becoming for Jennifer is characteristic of Simone De Beauvoir’s integral feminist stance on the formation of womanhood, and the construction of femininity (De Beauvoir 1989).  Jennifer, at the beginning of the film, actually “becomes” a woman, and it is this female construction that causes such massive internal and external distress.  The internal conflict Jennifer faces is not about the consumption of boys.  Instead the internal distress is a relation to the sexual insecurities and possessive nature of her friendship with Needy.  The boys, and their death(s), are inconsequential to Jennifer—her motivation to kill these boys is really a subplot to the essence of the film’s central feature: the homoerotic relationship of Jennifer and Needy.  It is this female-female relationship that fuels the action for both characters.  That is not to say that the boys are carelessly treated, pushed aside, or given little humanity that the audience actually cheers for their deaths—it is quite the opposite.  The only boys that are considered to be the epitome of heteropatriarchal omniscience are the members of Low Shoulder.

            Jennifer is advertised as being on a rampage.  This is misleading given that she only devours 2 boys whole, and one attempt at another—miniscule given the usual body count in horror films.  Jennifer’s awkward relation to how her body is responding to the desire for sexual gratification is causing her to devour the inconsequential boys.  She is using her phallus to gratify an internal desire—a carnal desire, if you will, that does not necessarily link to emotional and compassionate relationships/desires.  Her only sense of intimacy is with Needy.

            It would be rather irresponsible of me to consider the relation of femininity, female assertiveness, and bodily relation within women, without discussing Needy—the second half of the central character dynamic.  In a recent interview conducted by Mr. Beaks of Aintitcool.com with director Karyn Kusama—the reason for the taught direction in the film—it is explained how the treatment of the body for both Jennifer and Needy are dualistically paralleled in the film (for full interview see http://www.aintitcool.com/node/42397).  Mr. Beaks manages to adequately and deftly espouse the intricacies that inform the sexual dread of female physicality: the strangeness of the body, and how women negotiate the social factors that contradict their simultaneous repression and encouragement—repression and encouragement that generally surfaces for very different reasons, but are both typically related to how female sexuality affects and effects male patriarchy.  Instead, Cody and Kusama work in tandem to redirect the sexual dread and subsequent negotiation away from patriarchy and focus it towards femininity—Jennifer and Needy are simultaneous protagonist/antagonist whose sexuality is fueled and motivated by the other.  Even for Needy, who is seemingly in love with her boyfriend, is driven to act in this film not by Chip, but by Jennifer.  She treats Chip at times like a pet, deserving of love, but lacking in ability to properly comprehend the complexities she is feeling—which is quite true given his reluctance to believe her when she tries to explain Jennifer’s nature.  Moreover, in the scene shortly following Needy losing her virginity to Chip (a scene that I believe the director treated with monumental care and respect for such an awkward teenage experience), Needy is locking tongues and indulging in her quite apparent homoerotic feelings for Jennifer, with Jennifer, and vice versa.  Even during Needy and Chip’s sex scene, the enjoyment of that mutually gratifying act cannot come to fruition for Needy as Jennifer’s experience with the boy she is devouring overwhelms and invades Needy, refusing to let her completely indulge in the intimate experience she finds herself in.  For both girls, the complications they experience in relation to their bodies are not satiated through normative heterosexuality.  Only the other can fully grasp the intricacies of physical and sexual dread—this is why that kiss half-way through the film is sequenced with no sound, and invades the crevices of the girls by focusing on them in extreme close-ups.

            However, this is not to say that there is a level of awareness in the girls as to exactly what is complicating their relationships to themselves, each other, and boys.  Shortly after the make-out session, Needy jumps back and yells: “What the fuck is happening!”—a sentiment that the audience mimics.  It seems Cody and Kusama have subliminally taken the audience and the characters through a libidinal rollercoaster ride.  This result may also be unintentional, however, given the level of sophistication I have read from Kusama’s interview and the way in which she discusses Cody’s intentions, I do believe that these ideas and themes were driving a lot of the motivation behind their work.

            To conclude, the film is an interesting display of the female body and how the female body is central to larger, more complex, interpersonal relationships—how it serves to signify sexual meaning and understanding within prevailing patriarchal heteronormativity.  In a recent correspondence with Marla Newborn, or Fangoria Magazine, it came to my attention that even the casting of the film plays an intricate role to its complex nature—the societal lusting after Megan Fox is inverted by Megan Fox’s portrayal of Jennifer: a seemingly bisexual demonic beast that devours the male who dares to objectify her, and shows compassion only to females.  It is their objectification that nourishes Megan/Jennifer, another complex contradiction of the film and its confusing portrayal of sexual dread.  The male gaze sustains Jennifer’s superficial needs, but it is femininity and female relations that motivate her actions.

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Butler, Judith. 1993. Bodies That Matter: On the Discursive Limits of ‘Sex’. New York: Routledge

DeBeauvoir, Simone.  1989 (1952). The Second Sex. Translated by H. M. Parshley.  New York: Knopf , Vintage Books Edition.
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Grade: 89% (A)

Introductions All Around!

Hello, and welcome to the onset of "The Horror Amnesty Journal: Towards the Ethical Treatment of Horror Films".

No other genre of film gets more negatively reprimanded than Horror films, and being a lover of horror films, I thought it was about time for a blog to be dedicated to the exploration of complex themes and issues that come out of them. None of the reviews will be laced with clichéd sentiments that focus on surface level features of horror films. Instead this blog will employ a more theoretical approach to reviewing horror films. It will draw upon elements of film theory, queer theory, gender relations, sociological paradigmatic frameworks, and a variety of other academic sources that help to inform the intricate layers (intended or not) that exist in most horror films.

This blog will not praise all horror films, for just like academic work, not everything is wonderful and agreeable. However, when a horror film comes along that displays promise in the way it portrays issues surrounding society, gender, race, sexuality or all of the above, and it has been subsequently slammed by supposed "critics", this blog will offer a safe space to discuss the intricacies and complexities it has attempted to exude.

In the upcoming weeks I will be reviewing films such as "Jennifer's Body", "Halloween II", and "Sorority Row", offering an exploration into their respective filmmaking methods and how each film addresses complex sociological relationships. As a caveat, it is recommended that you view the film prior to reading the review of it as I will be referencing spoiler content.  Each film has been respectively panned by "critics" who employ little to no evidence from theoretical texts, offering instead a pedantic and clichéd approach to examine why they believe the film(s) succeed or not. I will avoid the usage of journalistic techniques to examine these films that do not derive from actual film theory--let's face it, most "critics" are simply people with educational background(s) in journalism. I do not believe this level of education adequately qualifies them to make sweeping judgements of films that deserve better treatment.

My purposes for starting this blog comes from my love of horror and my frustration of the careless handling by critics and other supposed lovers of horror films. Most recently, I have felt this from websites such as www.bloody-disgusting.com and magazines such as Fangoria. I believe these films are simply elements of pop culture, but that does not warrant a glossed over examination of something that has significance for so many people.

I invite a semi-scholarly approach to how these films can be viewed and any new and interesting ideas or themes that arise in subsequent viewings. I hope to have various contributions from other people that share my concern and wish to explore these issues with me.

Thank you for reading,

Enio Chiola

MA Student at York University, Toronto, ON, Canada

Specializing in the Racialization of homophobia by the Stop Murder Music campaign in Canada.

Sociological interests include: Music, Film theory and popular culture, Gender, Race, and Sexuality.