On Horror

Trying to accurately define the horror genre is like trying to hold a fish. It wriggles and squirms, trying to get free. It's covered in slime, trying to wrestle free from your grip. It's got subtle barbs and spines daring you to squeeze tighter. Luckily, there's an escape. An escape brought to us by the least likely of all film analysts, US Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart.

"Based on the corroborating evidence, the court can conclude, beyond the shadow of a doubt, Deckard was not a replicant."

In the case of Jacobellis v. Ohio, the court was tasked with deciding whether obscenity was a form of free speech. In my own blunt terms, yes (important note: my own blunt terms will not hold up in a court of law. Please consult actual legal advice from a practicing attorney.)

The United States Supreme Court decided obscenity is indeed a form of free speech, protected by the United States Constitution, therefore laws cannot ban or inhibit the action (sadly, this ruling came three months after a string of fines left comedian Lenny Bruce destitute and ruined.)

The exception to this ruling was hard-core pornography, which could still be banned based on any state's respective laws. When pressed about which obscenities constitute hard-core porn, Justice Stewart replied:

"I know it when I see it."

That one little sentence. That beautiful little get-out-of-jail free card. The line every film, television, and video game blogger owes their reputation to, and the thesis of this particular entry.


It's October, so what better time to talk about horror films? But what exactly is a horror film? How can one exactly declare what is and what is not a horror film?

Let's start with the empirical definition from Wikipedia:

"Horror fiction is a genre of media, which is intended to, or has the capacity to frighten its audience, scare or startle viewers/readers by inducing feelings of horror and terror. It creates an eerie and frightening atmosphere."

Well, that's pretty conclusive, isn't it? Horror movies are movies that frighten the viewer.

However feeble the attempt.

But what is fear? Isn't fear subjective? Doesn't everybody have one or two irrational phobias? Lots of people will panic when they find a spider, others keep them as pets. Some people are frightened by thunder, some consider it a welcome sign of April. Fear of clowns used to be considered an odd fear, but the phobia has grown exponentially; it's a wonder anybody still associates them with happiness. I knew a girl in college who was absolutely terrified of the Care Bears. Yours truly has an unexplained aversion to flowers.

Oh God, they're getting smarter!

 So what makes something frightening? Further down the Wikipedia page we go:

"Horror films often feature scenes that startle the viewer; the macabre and the supernatural are frequent themes. Thus they may overlap with the fantasy, supernatural, and thriller genres."



That certainly helps: Horror films could include some things, and might easily be confused with other things.

What was that quote I mentioned earlier? "I know it when I see it."

That's right. If you want to identify a horror flick, you can't set up a list of qualifiers and regulations. You just have to look at it, and either accept it or reject it.

Is Silence of the Lambs a horror film? I'd say so. How about Se7en? Sure. Both these films are grounded in reality, and are a departure from the ghosts and boogeymen of other horror flicks, but they still scare. They still frighten.

And what of something like Jurassic Park? I consider that a horror movie as well. It may be a thriller first, but the dinosaurs create a distinct ability to frighten. Being hunted is essentially the same as being chased. And what horror flick doesn't have one or two chase scenes?

How's about Ghostbusters? It's getting into a gray area, but I'd say so. It's a horror-comedy. And what's the first word of horror-comedy? Just because the characters makes light of the subject, it doesn't invalidate the scary atmosphere and storyline.

Then how about Twister? Here's where I draw the line. As mentioned, horror is subjective, but its intent must clearly be demonstrated by the filmmaker. Thrillers often contain moments of peril and danger, but an evocation of the fight or flight response is a standard side-effect of any action/adventure/thriller. So no, it's not a horror film.


I was inspired to make this post after various claims of purported film fans claiming they "don't like scary movies." Don't outright declare your dissatisfaction outright. Horror movies are as wide and varied as comedies and romances. Spooks and spectres are all around the world of film, be they splatterfests, psychlogical, slashers, creature features or gothic romances. You may claim you don't like horror films, but I guaranteee there's one out there you'll enjoy. You'll know it when you see it.

The Baumbach/Raimi Dichotomy

Every film fan at one point or another has attempted to compile a list of favorite comedies. And every single time, nobody amasses more than forty films without getting disgusted at themselves. At a certain point, everybody begins to doubt their own tastes and preferences, or begins to second-guess their instincts. They begin making observations like, "Why do I have Arsenic and Old Lace two points behind Jackass 2?" or, "I haven't even seen What About Bob? in fifteen years, and I don't remember any of it."

It's not a coincidence; this happens to everybody. It's the direct result of the Baumbach/Raimi Dichotomy. The film rule that comedies cannot be objectively compared to each other.

Let me explain:
Sam Raimi makes films that are funny, which are not comedies.
Noah Baumbach makes comedies, but they are not funny.

Raimi employs heavy black humor, over-the-top acting and ridiculous situations, but ultimately stay in the horror/thriller genre.
Baumbach makes slice-of-life dramadies more akin to the ancient Greek definition of comedy, providing uplifting lighthearted tales rather than belly-laughs. There are humorous instances, but none that provoke belly-laughs or actual guffaws.

Comedy is not a fair or accurate word. The spectrum is too broad, too grand, too all-encompassing to accurately define a film. It could mean any number of things, and does mean any number of things. The word can be used to describe both Noah Baumbach and Sam Raimi's works, but the two filmmaker's catalogues could not be any more different.

The real irony is, neither are truly representative of the modern definition of comedy.

The Tete-A-Tete Of The Cineplex!

Ladies and Gentlemen, the incredible match-up you've all been waiting for!

In the red corner, weighing in at a combined 14 metric tons, an all-star cast in a battle royale at least ten years behind its necessity. For those among us who refuse to accept the 80s are over and refuse to let action heroes retire, even in their sixties. Nearly a dozen of the most heralded action stars side-by-side, plus two former professional wrestlers and the dad from Everybody Hates Chris.

Touting serious gunplay, graphic violence, and military overtones, they've recycled the same six plots for their whole careers, and they're doing so once again to defend their title as the reigning action film standards.
They are the cast of THE EXPENDABLES!

In the blue corner, weighing in at a combined 225 pounds, a cast of relative unknowns hailing from parts mostly unknown. For those who like things shiny and new, if only because their parents don't. They're young, but they're wild, and they're out to change the way we see action films. You may not know their names, but you know their faces... if you follow the indie circuit.
They're underground, and that's the way they like it.

They're blazing a trail using over-the-top violence, comedic elements and neo-futuristic art direction. With the exception of not being animated, they're basically cartoons, and they're dropping a safe and the old-timers. They are the challengers.
They are the cast of SCOTT PILGRIM VS. THE WORLD!


This Friday, these two action movie interpretations square off at your local movie theater. For all the marbles, the winner will decide the future of the genre and Hollywood's new direction for the new decade. The celluloid rumble which will decide the future of the action movies:

The Tete-A-Tete Of The Cineplex!

Films, to your corners. Come out fighting.

Going Against the Family

There has always been one scene in Fight Club that I found particularly engaging. Amidst the scenes of anti-consumerism, neo-facism, psychological debate, nihilism, bitch tits and bouts of fisticuffs, there is a scene where Fight Club begins to grow in popularity and notoriety (despite this being a direct violation of Fight Club's first two rules). In doing so, Fight Club is visited one night by a local mob boss. I don't care enough at the moment to look up his name, so I'll simply call him Johnny Mafia. It doesn't matter, anyway. Johnny Mafia senses opportunity in Fight Club, and he hopes to persuade Tyler Durden into seeing things their way, but Tyler wants nothing of it.

In the Chuck Palahniuk novel, there are two unwritten rules to Fight Club never mentioned in the film

A) Nobody is the center of the fight club except for the two men fighting.
B) Fight Club will always be free.

The very fact that Johnny Mafia wants to violate both these ordinances by assuming control of Fight Club and capitalizing it is in direct conflict with Fight Club's ideals and purposes. We've all seen the film, so we know what happens next. Tyler refuses the offer, Johnny Mafia starts beating the shit out of Tyler, then Tyler goes bananas and starts screaming, drooling and spitting blood on the Italian American gentleman's face. Reasonably disturbed at the batshit craziness in front of him, the mafia disappears from the film and is never mentioned or heard from again.

It wasn't until recently that I realized why this moment has stuck with me. This wasn't just a throwaway scene to demonstrate Fight Club's presence in society, or a punctuated illustration of Tyler Durden's unstable nature, this was a cinematic changing of the guard.

Before 1999, the manliest man movies possible were westerns, war movies, cop films, and mafia movies. By this time, westerns were distant memories, war movies were transitioning into Oscar Bait, and cop movies were little more than 90-minute cliches. As such, the most adrenaline fueled, testosterone pumping, ball-scratching pieces of cinema were laced with references to mob bosses, families, and made men. Basically, everything by Quentin Tarantino.

But the 90s changed things. While the decade opened with Goodfellas (in my opinion, the best mafia film ever), culture norms began shifting. The word 'Gangster' no longer elicited images of beefy Italians in pinstripe suits. Gangsters were street thugs. They were Crips or Bloods, they lived in the inner city. They didn't have number games or heists, they mugged people, murdered people, dealt drugs, and were concerned with street warfare over family honor.

This was indicative of the 90s as a whole. As the decade progressed, people were less concerned with formality and regulation. People just wanted to be people. They couldn't be bothered with full-on commitment. Technology and lifestyles created a mindset of speed and impulse. Everything was sample sized. This even rippled out to the latent proto-anarchist impulses of society. In films about crime, audience didn't want an entire history spanning back to the old country. We wanted hedonistic bad dudes blowing shit up and creating mayhem.

Returning to Fight Club, released at the tail end of the 1990's, let's examine the previously mentioned changing of the guard. Giving into societal pressure/demand/disinterest, we have Tyler, the personification of 1990's hedonism and impulse squaring off against Johnny Mafia, a caricature of the soon-to-be-retired mobster motifs. It begins with Johnny telling Tyler to give up; he owns the town, he made the rules, he has power and influence. But Tyler just shrugs it off. Tyler is younger, stronger, and better connected to the people Johnny erroneously believes he governs. More importantly, Tyler just doesn't care. He's a nihilist. Johnny's power of persuasion and deliverance of physical harm is completely ineffective as Tyler beams his blood-soaked teeth, terrifying and emasculating the once proud Don.

Movie audiences made it clear; we don't want long monologues about character and honor, we don't debates about respect and obligation, we don't want redemption and justice. When we want crime, we want criminals and fuck all else. We want brash, we want bold, we want cocksure, we want arrogant. We want small time crooks forced into big situations. We want nice guys forced into bad decisions. We want people knocking over liquor stores because they want money, not because the shopkeeper didn't pay for protection.

We just want somebody to hit someone as hard as they can.

That's a Fair Gloopy Title

A few months ago, I watched A Clockwork Orange for the first time. I liked the film, but there's one thing about it that pisses me off.

Every single source I've come across labels this film as Science Fiction.

I don't get it. I watched this film intently, and except for a few pieces of mis-en-scene, this film cannot justifiably be called science fiction.

Before I begin this lengthy diatribe, let's establish what science fiction is exactly. Science fiction is a branch of speculative fiction, wherein fictional worlds exist with their own fictional rules, and in these differences from our normality, drama lies. In order for a particular piece of speculative fiction to be considered science fiction, a storyline must contain one or more of the following:

• A setting in the future, or alternate timeline that differs from or contradicts historical facts.
  
• A setting in outer space, or other alien world.
• Technology or scientific principles that violate the laws of nature.
• Extra-terrestrial creatures.

So let's break it down a bit: A Clockwork Orange takes place in 1970's era London, has no space travel, and has no aliens. So the final remaining element that could possibly qualify it as sci-fi is futuristic technology. And what's there? Not much. As mentioned, there are a couple futuristic, mis-en-scene elements but all are negligible.

The Korova Milk Bar is the first such example. It's where the film begins, and the first lines of dialogue refer to it. The milk in question is infused with recreational drugs, totally legal, and even sold to minors. I haven't read the original novel, so I don't know the full importance of this aspect, but in the movie, it's mentioned and forgotten. It has no bearing on the plot, and for all intents and purposes, might as well have been plain old milk.

Second; the decor. Fusing a 1950's amalgamation of pop art with 70's era glamour, Kubrick tries to create a retro-futuristic setting. This is abundantly clear in all scenes set at F. Alexander's home (the writer). But more than anything, the architecture, hairstyles, wardrobe and general demeanor just scream 1970's London. What may have looked sci-fi back then might as well be a period piece, now.

Next, the brainwashing. This is the central plot point of the film, and it's probably the best argument for the sci-fi nature. There's only one problem: It's not science fiction, it's just science. Brainwashing and other forms of psychological manipulation have been documented as actuality. It's totally possible to coerce someone away from violent behavior using operant conditioning, the people in the film just used a very roundabout method. By this logic, The Manchurian Candidate would be science fiction.

Finally, the notion of dystopia. Many film and literary experts include dystopian novels and films among the ranks of science fiction. And while a number of science fiction stories do in fact take place in dystopian societies, it's not an automatic signifier. In my personal opinion, dystopia does not a sci-fi film make. It's just another segment of speculative fiction. Dystopias are characterized by totalitarian rule, a lack of personal freedoms, and constant military force. That's not science fiction, that's China!

There are probably other aspects I'm forgetting, but I believe I've made my point clear. A Clockwork Orange is a great movie with great art direction, great directing, great acting, a great score, but is nowhere near a science fiction film.

So what is it then? I'll call it a surreal crime film. Good luck establishing an entire shelf at Blockbuster with that name.