Week Ten: The Thing

This week it’s back to alien horror goodness in the 1982 movie The Thing directed by John Carpenter.

I’d like to preface by saying I’m not easily grossed out or disturbed. I’m the person who tells everyone it’s okay to look when a particularly graphic, gory scene is over or laughs when the Alien bursts out of Kane’s stomach. However, I lost count the number of times I asked myself “What the f*ck am I watching?” during The Thing, and asking myself that question is a first for me.

The Thing was the first monster I had a hard time watching do its bad beastie routine. I wasn't sure what to expect from this movie, which might have contributed to reaction of the monster. I had nothing in mind, and my imagination likes to run rampant when filling in details. Let’s start with the setting. The movie opens with a shot of a flying saucer headed towards earth, which immediately brought Alien to mind. But the setting for this movie was isolated Antarctica rather than deep space. I've got issues with being trapped in the cold, which is a huge reason I found 30 Days of Night to be off-putting. It’s isolated, and there’s the very real chance of freezing to death. Turns out, the flying saucer in the opening scene crashed in Antarctica 100,000 years before the story takes place. The ship and its inhabitant are buried beneath layers of ice and are frozen in a sort of suspended animation.

Fast forward to 1982, and a group of Norwegians are trying to shoot down a dog belonging to the American research team. It didn't take long for me to figure out something was up with the dog, but the bad taste was already in my mouth. While I’m the person with the iron stomach when it comes to gore, I’m also the person who gets upset when the dog dies. However, I supposed the Norwegians had a good reason to go after the dog.

The alien Thing is a shape shifter who can perfectly mimic any living organism after a short period of isolated time with them. The American research team finds the burnt figure of a creature that appears to be a conglomeration of multiple animals, yet the dog the Norwegians were after is the first victim the audience is allowed to see change. The only word I have to describe the dog transformation scene is ewwwww. Eloquent, I know. What makes the transformations so disturbing is that animal characteristics are easily recognized, but it doesn't look like any particular animal. Parts of it might be dog-like, others spider-like, still others almost human.

 

As a monster, The Thing takes the prize this term for freaking me out. It also takes the prize for causing the most psychological turmoil within the characters. I find the most successful monsters to be the ones who are constantly on the minds of their prey, but the Thing takes it a step further. Not only is it constantly on the minds of the research team, but it could be anyone on the team. No one can trust anyone. At least the other monsters throughout the term so far were distinct entities, and the people fighting them knew what they were after. The monsters were obviously monsters. Yet the Thing can mimic the face of anyone—it’s only easily recognized when it’s between forms. Not only is there the fear of the Thing itself, there’s also the fear that it could literally be anyone. I think that’s more disturbing than the fear that the monster could be anywhere.

If given the chance, the Thing could eventually assimilate to every person in the world. Worldwide trust issues? That's almost as frightening as the Thing itself. This distrust seeps into the audience, because the ending is unclear whose face the Thing was wearing last. The open ending forces audiences to wonder if the Thing was actually killed or it survived as one of the remaining crew members to freeze to death. It leaves the audience wondering if the monster was truly defeated or if it will eventually become dormant under the ice, just like it was in the beginning.

Despite every squirm and every expletive uttered while watching this movie, I enjoyed it because it made me uncomfortable. That doesn't mean it’s on my list of favorite movies. All I ask is that we never talk about the spider head…. Nightmare fuel, that is.

P.S. Happy Halloween!

Week Nine: The Wolfman

For this week’s reading, we’re leaving the alien future for the Victorian past in Jonathan Mayberry’s novelization of the movie The Wolfman. I saw the movie back when it came out in 2010 with high hopes. But the movie left me feeling rather… meh. I’ve seen worse, but I've seen far better, and I expected more. When I saw the book on the reading list, my first thought was that the movie was based on the book. After discovering this wasn't the case, I was hesitant. The movie wasn't anything to write home about, and the novelization would be the movie in paper form.

I was pleasantly proved wrong. Author Jonathan Mayberry fleshed out the somewhat flat story of The Wolfman and made it an enjoyable read. Yes, the plot of the book exactly followed the plot of the movie, but isn't that the point of a novelization?

Werewolves are some of the classic bad beasties, but recently—like pretty much all monsters—they've turned into brooding heartthrobs with washboard abs who aren't evil, just misunderstood. I don’t mind a sexy werewolf every now and then (and there are some sexy times thrown into the book), but it’s refreshing to get back to basics. Werewolves represent the most base, primal, violent urges of mankind that (hopefully) lay dormant in most, but are exaggerated and acted upon when in the wolf state. They don’t represent, well, puppies.

Lawrence Talbot, the Wolfman, is a true werewolf, and unlike the movie, I was better able to get inside his head. While I watched Benicio Del Toro who played Talbot turn into the Wolfman on screen, I felt Talbot turn into the monster on the page, and it was a cringe-worthy experience. Every bone in the body broken to be reshaped, every tooth pushed free by a fresh set of fangs.

Ouch is an understatement.

The Wolfman is his own creature, with no hint of the man he used to be. Mayberry makes a clear distinction between Lawrence and the Wolfman by giving them their own POVs and not using their names interchangeably. While I found myself looking at the monster in the movie to try to figure out how they did the makeup, I was right there when it was completely lost to instinct and went on its killing spree when I read the same scene.

I watched the horror of realization spread over Del Toro’s face when Talbot understands he’s the monster, but I experienced the horror of this realization with him as I read. I’ve always been a fan of werewolves, but never really thought about how terrifying it would be to completely lose control and commit horrible acts, then later comprehend the extent of what happened because of that loss of control. Not to mention the fear of what would happen if control was loss again, but in the presence of a loved one.

I loved this full access into the monster’s head that I didn't get while watching the movie. It isn't a werewolf reinvented, but a werewolf examined as a monster rather than a tortured soul. There is some tortured soul action, but from Lawrence’s point of view instead of the Wolfman's. And the reactions to being a werewolf are compared and contrasted between Lawrence who hates what he is and his maker who fully embraces the monster within.

Overall, the novelization took the story to the next level, which the movie failed to achieve. Instead of being just another monster story, The Wolfman novelization helped the reader to participate in what it could be like to be a werewolf by engaging the imagination, which isn’t the most glamorous way to portray these monsters in most books on the shelves. But this was the first time I've cringed during a werewolf transformation, book or otherwise, and there’s nothing wrong with that. 

Week Eight: Alien

This week, we’re leaving the earth-dwelling zombies behind and looking upward to the stars in the 1979 Ridley Scott movie Alien.

This was my first time watching Alien, and I honestly wasn’t sure what to think going into it. I have a bad track record with horror movies—either I laugh at parts I should be cringing at, or I can’t suspend my disbelief. The former typically happens with older horror movies, the latter with more recent releases. Now I will readily admit to laughing at an inappropriate part of this movie because something must be wrong with me, but I was able to suspend my disbelief. Maybe the sci-fi setting helped me to do so, but no matter the reason, I truly enjoyed this movie.

The plot is a basic predator hunts prey story. A crew of seven on the mining ship Nostromo is on its way home from a routine ore mining trip, when the main computer, Mother, detects an alien signal. By law, the crew is required to respond. They land on the alien planet and damage Nostromo in the process. While the ship undergoes repairs, some of the crew explore their new surroundings, and it all goes downhill after that. I’m sure just about everyone has already seen this movie, or at least know enough about it to guess the rest. If not, go watch it.

Since this is a class on monsters, let’s look at the monster itself. The Alien is a creature unhindered by a conscious that can adapt to almost any climate and has many natural defenses from egg to adult. In order to develop, it must become a parasite and latch on to a host via a facehugger. This is the second instance in this class where the fear of pregnancy and birth is explored. It’s ‘born’ by ripping free from one of the crew member's abdomens, and its birth kills it’s host. The violent birth and parasite/host relationship between the crew member and the Alien reminded me of Breeding Ground. This birth sets the tone for the Alien for the rest of the movie by introducing it through violence and good old fashioned ick factor.

Much of the movie after the Alien’s birth is spent trying to determine where it is and how to kill it as it slowly picks off the crew one by one. While the Alien is monstrous in the sense that it acts upon its desire to kill, it’s generally off-screen during the movie. Most of the fear comes from the dread of anticipation the Alien causes. However, it’s not a passive monster, like the monsters from the beginning of the class. Even though the Alien isn’t in every scene, it’s always on the crewmembers’ minds, which I liked. How monstrous is a monster when no one’s scared of it?

Overall, I’m glad I saw this movie. It’s been on my to-watch list for a while, and while aspects of it are a little corny because the special effects are outdated, I understand why it’s a cult classic. The Alien invokes fear from its victims before it attacks, and it’s this fear and the anticipation of the next attack the drives the film. For me, that’s absolutely necessary for a monster to be frightening, whether it’s on the screen or on the page.

On a side note, I love how all the Alien seems to want is some quality time with the cat. Maybe my cat-lady bias is clouding my judgment, but I a part of me just wanted to see what the Alien would do when left alone with Jones. I’d like to think after a stressful day of human hunting, Alien would have come home to snuggle the cat.

Week Seven: World War Z

With all the hype over zombies recently, it was only inevitable they’d pop up in my readings. This week, the zombies are courtesy of Max Brooks’ novel World War Z. You might have heard of it. It was recently the inspiration for a movie starring some guy called Brad Pitt. It only grossed over $500 million and a sequel’s in the works. No big deal. I haven't seen it.

Anyway…

The book was on my to-read list for a while. One of my coworkers is nearly obsessed with it he loves it so much. I was excited to read it because of how much said coworker loves it—we have similar taste in movies and video games, so I thought maybe we have similar taste in books too.

I might’ve broken his heart when I told him I wasn’t a big fan of the novel.

I really wanted to like this book. I've always found the idea of zombies interesting, and like so many people, thanks to the impending 2012 zombie apocalypse that never happened, I had a plan on how to survive the outbreak (hide out in Cabela's with all the weapons and ammo. Walmart is next door for all everyday essentials Cabela's doesn't have and a state police barracks is across the street for additional weapon supplies).

But when I read this book shortly after watching the first two seasons of The Walking Dead on Netflix, my reactions to the monsters wasn't anything to write home about. They’re brainless, just acting on survival instinct. Yes, they’re practically indestructible, but most monsters are. At first, I thought the main reason people were so scared of them or fascinated by them was the possibility of being bitten and “dying.” Again, that’s true of most, if not all, monsters—death is typically the outcome when dealing with beasties.

If nothing else, World War Z helped me realize that people are more afraid of the mass fear, chaos, and anarchy a zombie outbreak would bring rather than the zombies themselves. Yes, zombies kill people, but that’s their job and their only driving force. They don’t have the ability to be cold, calculating killers. I personally find a monster who plots more frightening than one who acts solely on instinct.

No matter my personal preference, the driving force of World War Z is the question of how would the world react to a global zombie outbreak. Brooks did a solid job mapping out the events of the zombie war and linking them. He explored the what-if? factor of a world flung out of its comfort zone forced to react to a debilitating horror and rebuild once the threat was controlled. I give him full marks for that. The amount of planning Brooks had to do to create an entire war shows, and the book wouldn't have been half as successful if he wasn't a thorough planner. Details that never crossed my mind, like how dogs could aid in the detection of zombies, he included.

The novel’s structure is also unique. The story of the zombie war is told through interviews with people throughout the world. On one hand, using the interview structure was a clever way for Brooks to show how widespread his zombie war truly was, and how any person no matter their sex, race, or creed was affected.

On the other hand, this structure didn’t work for me at all. I need a character or two to connect with while I’m reading. They could be the scum of the earth, but just so long as I empathize with them, I want to know what happens to them. Because of the interview style, I never had a chance to truly care about any character. I couldn’t remember their names at the end of their sections. So while almost every interview was packed with information that made me think, “Whoa, okay, that’s intense,” I still felt detached. It was sterile, like reading a newspaper, which seems like an easy problem to have when using the interview style.

As for the zombies themselves, they weren’t reinvented in World War Z. They were infected and could pass the virus onto a healthy person via a bite or any bodily fluid making its way into the uninfected. They were fast if they had their legs, for all intents and purposes dead, and the only way to kill them was to destroy the brain. These zombies were able to survive just about anything, including total and prolonged submersion in salt water. They were bad-ass for their near-indestructibility.

But I don’t think the zombies were the true monster in the story. Like I said before, this book helped me to see that the underlying fear of a zombie apocalypse goes beyond the superficial fear of the zombies themselves. The zombie war caused daily life to change. Most household technology was rendered useless. There was no more gas to run cars. Those with desk jobs no longer had desks to work at and had to learn trades. Also like I've said before, Brooks is thorough with his details. I read the fear of change on a global scale and the subsequent chaos to be the true monster of the story. Humans can be adaptable when they need to be, so the monster is vanquished when the zombies are controlled and there’s global rebuilding to accommodate a world where the dead walk.

While World War Z was successful in some ways, it didn't resonate with me. I’m no more afraid of a possible zombie apocalypse than I was before I started reading. A part of me is curious to see how the book translates on film. Maybe one of these days I’ll watch it. If nothing else, I hope Cabela's never closes so my zombie survival plan isn't rendered moot. Just in case. 

Week Six: The Yattering and Jack

I was excited to read more of Clive Barker this week after how much I enjoyed reading “Rawhead Rex.” Instead of baby-eating bogeymen, Barker’s short story “The Yattering and Jack” from the collection Books of Blood Volumes One to Three centers on my all-time favorite monsters: demons.

My reaction to finding out the story was about demons

As soon as it was clear the monster of the story was a demon, and even more specifically a demon based on Christian tradition, I pretty much fan-girled. I was raised Catholic, and even though my job doesn’t always allow for me to go to church and say hi to Jesus, all the catechism, dogmas, and traditions stuck, or are at least floating around somewhere in my brain. One of these many traditions that always scared me was demon possession. The first and so far only horror movie that truly scared me was The Exorcism of Emily Rose because it was based on a true story. I’m still freaked out by 3 a.m. because of it. Even though demons scare me, they fascinate me.

But before I completely get off track with all my fan-girling (I can feel it coming on), let’s swing back around to the Yattering. It’s a minor demon, a grunt, the bottom of the totem pole. I love that there’s a hierarchy in Barker’s Hell—it’s a parody of the angelic hierarchy in Heaven. As a minor demon, the Yattering is sent by one of its superiors to collect the soul of gherkin importer Jack J. Polo.

There’s nothing remarkable about Jack. He is the living, breathing definition of unflappable to the point of being boring. His mantra is Que sera, sera, and he likes to mutter it to himself often. I caught myself wondering if he liked to sing the song to himself, too.

Yet as ordinary as he might be, his mother promised his soul to Hell. She never upheld her end of the deal. As a result, Jack is to be punished for his mother’s sins.

This is where the Yattering comes in. In order to collect Jack’s soul, it must push Jack into a state of pure fury. But there are laws the Yattering must follow. I read these laws as the Hellish parody of the Ten Commandments. One of the most important laws the Yattering must follow is never touch a victim. Because of this, the Yattering must resort to actions most often associated with poltergeists. It also can’t leave the house, or else it will be bound “to the mercy of humanity” (Barker, 46). After months of causing household mischief, Jack is as unflappable as ever. The Yattering eventually does get a bit of a reaction from Jack, but not the one it wanted. Jack knows he has a demon in the house and he’s knows the demonic laws. He lures the Yattering out of the house and earns the demon as a slave because it broke the law.

Now, I wouldn’t call the Yattering scary. Of all the monsters I’ve read about so far this term, it’s the most endearing. Just like he did in “Rawhead Rex,” Barker head hops between characters, but most of the story is told from the Yattering’s point of view. The reader clearly sees it’s frustration at not being able to crack Jack, its fear of its superior, and its childlike excitement when it finally says the word “Heaven.” If anything, the Yattering is almost like a petulant child who just wants its way, but doesn’t get it because it misbehaved, or in this case broke the demonic law (I love the irony of there being laws in Hell).

Even though the monster in this story wasn’t as terrifying as some others, what made the Yattering work as a monster was the details. I loved the details of Barker's Hell, such as the hierarchy and the law. How the Yattering behaves by wrecking Jack's house made me wonder if maybe I don't have my own Yattering floating around--weird sounds come out of my kitchen, and my overactive imagination jumps to the conclusion that my apartment's haunted. Even the Yattering’s name implies something annoying: to yatter is to chatter incessantly, and having a demon chatter in my ear is not high on the things I want to experience. To top it off, a turkey launching itself out of the oven for no apparent reason would be terrifying. 

Maybe the Yattering isn’t as monstrous as some monsters, but it does have the creep factor working for it. Hands down, it's one of my new favorite beasties.

Works Cited

Barker, Clive. “The Yattering and Jack.” Books of Blood Volumes One to Three. New York: Berkley, 1998.