Media Magazine- Horror

If you’re studying for AQA’s A2 Mest3, you may be researching your own case study on media representation, focusing on media theories and debates and wider contexts. Here examiner Steph Hendry shows you how to explore the social and cultural contexts of one of our most enduring genres: horror.

The horror genre is one of the media’s most successful genres. Since Le Manoir du Diable (Méliès, 1896), stories that aim to scare their audience have proved immensely popular. Daniel Cohen observes that:

cultures create and ascribe meaning to monsters, endowing them with characteristics derived from their most deep-seated fears and taboosAn analysis of horror monsters in the light of

their cultural contexts can, therefore, give an insight into the anxieties and concerns of the contemporary culture. Of course, not all people have the same worries at any given time, but it is possible to identify general cultural and contextual trends through the monsters created for horror texts.

Pre-World War 2Nosferatu (Murnau, 1922) has been a major

influence on representations of vampires since

its creation in Germany shortly after WW1. The vampire is an ‘invader’; he comes from ‘elsewhere’ and brings pestilence to the local community. His method of attack involves penetration and the exchange of bodily fluids. This can be read as a sexual metaphor but significantly the outcome of a vampire attack is death or infection. At the time Nosferatu was released, Germany was economically and socially devastated after WW1. Poverty and disease was rife and in 1918 hundreds of thousands of people died during a flu pandemic. The vampire Count Orlok is rat-like in appearance and it is perhaps not surprising that a culture that had suffered at the hands of expansionist politicians and was now vulnerable to disease would respond to a monster that represented invasion and infection.

Many horror texts between the wars reflected the social changes in terms of power, authority and class that followed the political upheaval of WW1. Both Nosferatu and Dracula (Browning, 1931) featured a corrupt and abusive aristocratic class who are the sources of horror. In Frankenstein (Whale, 1932) the aristocratic class was also criticised. In the film, the son of Baron Frankenstein turns his back on his aristocratic duty and locks himself away to create life in the form of the monster. Dr Frankenstein takes on a god-like role in the act of creation, but he oversteps his social position. The film shows that he needs to return to his predetermined aristocratic role to help protect the village from the horror he has unleashed. Frankenstein was released during the Great Depression, a time

of great financial hardship across the Western world where unemployment and poverty was widespread. The Russian Revolution showed one response to weak or corrupt governance and mass poverty – a workers’ revolt – something Western authorities feared. Dr Frankenstein’s return to his rightful position allows him to lead and control the village population whose fear and anger can be directed at the monster instead of the ruling class.

Frankenstein has many other possible readings that relate to the context of the time. For example, the sympathetic representation of the monster could be read as a critical perspective

MM

56 MediaMagazine | February 2011 | english and media centre

horrormonsters

MMon the racial tensions that were present in American culture at the time. The monster’s eventual death is represented as a mob lynching of an individual who cannot integrate into the dominant culture. ‘The monster’ himself is not as monstrous as the abuse of scientific knowledge that creates him, the aristocrats’ abuse of power, or the mindless, murderous mob.

Post-WW2 films maintained the focus on monsters that invaded or infected, and the ‘science gone wrong’ motif expanded across both horror and science-fiction. Perhaps this is unsurprising considering the horrors witnessed in the advances in military capabilities, culminating in the nuclear attacks on Nagasaki and Hiroshima in 1945. Add to this the depths of human cruelty seen in the holocaust; and it’s all too clear that mankind had shown itself to have the potential to be monstrous. Horror movies soon reflected this.

The Not So Swinging 60sThe 1960s was a time of social change and

this was mirrored in its horror monsters. The decade begins with Psycho (Hitchcock, 1960) reflecting the impact of Freudian theories on the culture’s understanding of the human psyche. The monster here is a man whose family dynamics created an ‘abnormal psychology’. In the UK a similar story was told in Peeping Tom (Powell, 1960) where a dysfunctional family created another human monster. The monsters in both films were, on the surface, normal people but they brought horror close to home for the 1960’s audience. Arguably the mundane settings make the horror more effective than the distant, fantastical horror of the previous decades and the fact that the monsters now look like ‘us’ creates an unsettling realism.

By the end of the decade horror was reflecting some of the enormous social and cultural changes that had taken place. At the start of the decade attitudes to race meant it would have been unthinkable to have had a black male lead

in an American film but this occurred in Night of the Living Dead (Romero, 1968) which also used vivid and visceral representations of violence, making Psycho look quite tame. The optimism of ‘the Summer of Love’ that is often associated with this period was in fact tempered by the assassinations first of President Kennedy in 1963, and later of his brother Robert and Martin Luther King in 1968. America was at war in Vietnam and audiences in the late 60s were growing accustomed to seeing images of horrific real-life violence. Horror directors could only hope to scare these audiences if they produced horrors as violent and as extreme as the films and photographs that were shown on the evening news.

As horror moved into the 1970s the human monster became more sadistic. The Last House on the Left (Craven, 1972) and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (Hooper, 1974) became infamous for their sustained graphic violence. These films, like Psycho before them, located their horror in a mundane present; The Texas Chainsaw Massacre showed the effect of social and economic isolation and on a rural family whilst The Last House on the Left bought the horror into small-town America. Both films

identified a society that, despite idealised appearances, had a brutal underbelly.

The Exorcist (Friedkin, 1972) created a great deal of public and media attention and outrage for its depiction of a possessed girl. Like Rosemary’s Baby (Polanski, 1968), The Omen (Donner, 1976) and The Wicker Man (Hardy, 1973) in the UK, The Exorcist depicted the secularisation of society that had occurred since World War 2 and dealt with the unease and uncertainty this was causing by using devils, demons and pagans as its monsters. The Exorcist was also a film that identified post-war changes in the structure of the family. The possessed child is from a single-parent family headed by a working mother. To try to help her daughter, the mother looks to the ‘grand narratives’ of the day, science, medicine and psychotherapy before reverting back to religion. The modern, secular world fails to help and the demon is eventually expelled by two Catholic priests (or fathers) the implication being that the modern world, with its fatherless families, reliance on science rather than religion, allowed the demon in.

The 1970s ended with more homespun monsters when in 1978 the archetypal slasher

MM

english and media centre | February 2011 | MediaMagazine 57


MM

horrormonsters

MMfilm Halloween (Carpenter, 1978) was released. Owing a lot to Psycho, the monster in this film is a boy traumatised by rising sexual liberation and his violent attacks against teenagers are often seen as punishments for ‘immoral’ behaviour.

The End of an Era The 1980s saw a glut of slasher films as horror

became a staple of the home video market. As the audience grew used to the genre’s visceral assaults, more outlandish and extreme spectacles were needed to maintain interest. Film franchises replicated the same ideas over and over, and the genre grew tired and clichéd, becoming less economically viable. In the mid-90s horror engaged with this familiarity for both comic and horrific effect. Scream (Craven, 1996) uses an ironic approach to the genre that is self-aware and self-referential. It uses the codes and conventions of the genre as a plot device, and the monster in the first Scream film is finally defeated by being hit with a television after a discussion of the effects of horror films on audiences.

Contemporary MonstersRecently horror has looked to its past and

there have been remakes of many of the films mentioned in the earlier sections. Whether bringing them up to date has added anything more than CGI effects is a matter of personal opinion; but what is often lost in a remake is a sense of cultural context. Many remakes appear to be ‘style over substance’ as, whilst they may be more polished, slicker and gorier, they are more interested in the visceral experience rather than an exploration of cultural fears. Hollywood also looked to the Far-East in the 2000s and re-made a number of Asian horrors films. Eastern cultural meanings were adapted for the Western audience. J-Horror uses the supernatural monster, often ghosts, linked to the traditional veneration of ancestors. Whilst these ideas are not common in the West, these films do touch on globalised concerns such as over-crowding (Dark Water: Salles, 2005) and the impact of technology (The Ring: Verbinski, 2002) and One Missed Call (Vallette, 2008).

Aside from remakes, perhaps the most notable development in contemporary horror is torture-porn which focuses on extreme visceral violence, nudity and sadistic torture. Saw (Wan, 2004) is a long-running series of torture porn films, utilising CGI to maximise the extreme nature of the violence depicted. It’s been suggested that perhaps audience desensitisation is at the heart of torture porn’s success. Mainstream television shows such as CSI (CBS) uses graphic imagery; and computer games have long used ‘splatter’, exposing players to more and more extreme violence. Torture porn does what horror has always had to do: attempt to find more and more extreme ways to scare (or repulse) the audience. However, the rise of torture as a subject in horror also parallels contemporary concerns over the post-9/11 treatment of terror suspects and prisoners of war as stories of Western government endorsed torture was reported. Despite its violence, Saw began by presenting the audience with a deeply moral monster. The monster acts as judge offering second chances (or punishments) to those he sees

as having transgressed. His torturous games can be seen to be potentially ‘good for’ his victims and society even if his methods are extreme. Later examples of the sub-genre however show torture as a game and a pleasure with the monsters in Hostel (Roth, 2005) being wealthy clients who pay for the ultimate consumer thrill in a manner that echoes recent concerns about human trafficking.

Contemporary culture is media-saturated. Entertainment is available anywhere and anytime. From on-demand TV, the apparently infinite nature of the internet and mobile technology, contemporary culture is arguably running the risk of over-stimulation and the impact of our reliance on technology for entertainment and social interaction is often questioned. It is frequently argued that over-stimulation could lead to extreme desensitisation, and this idea can be seen in recent horror monsters. Dehumanised ‘feral youth’ are the monsters of Eden Lake (Watkins, 2008); and the monsters in Funny Games (Haneke, 2008) and The Strangers (Bertino , 2008) are disconcertingly emotionally removed. These monsters are also anonymous; Eden Lake makes ‘the group’ the monster and masks are worn by ‘the strangers’. The nondescript clothing and appearance of the killers in Funny Games emphasises the impersonal nature of this violence and there is a of lack clear motive for the violence in these films other than the monsters’ desire to seek stimulation. These monsters appear to be the culmination of a desensitised culture which has chosen to seek entertainment through the

terrorisation of others. They are calculating and deliberate, implying that they are making violent choices simply as a stimulus in their otherwise over-stimulated and desensitised lives. The Saw franchise shows how the monster’s victims become monsters themselves and the monsters in these recent films could easily be those selected by Jigsaw for punishment. Unlike those of previous eras, these monsters are not invaders or creations of science or poor parenting; they are selfish, nihilistic creations of the culture itself.

Whether re-working traditional conventions (the mad scientist in The Human Centipede (Six, 2009); re-inventing itself for an adult TV audience in The Walking Dead (AMC) and True Blood (HBO); framing itself as parody or domestic comedy in Dead Set (C4) and Being Human (BBC3) or as soap opera and high-romance in The Vampire Diaries (CW) and The Twilight Saga, horror still attracts audiences. The genre has the ability to adapt to allow it to tap into each generation’s preoccupations and concerns and its metaphorical approach can be used to deal with ideas and issues that appeal to a range of audience groups. Other genres such as Westerns may not be able to speak to modern audiences in the way they used to but horror continues to provide a cultural catharsis over 100 years since it first hit celluloid.

Steph Hendry teaches Media at Runshaw College and is an

examiner for AQA.

MM


Bloody, brutal or just banal? For many, the slasher film epitomises ‘low culture’. Gabrielle O’Brien thinks the genre is worth a closer look...

‘We’re here. Wherever here is.’ ‘It’s one of those places people have forgotten about’.Three ecstatic young backpackers are having

the time of their lives travelling around Australia. Their sun-and-booze-drenched trip bears all the hallmarks of the clichéd ‘gap year’ experience. But the party ends when they leave the coast and head for the dusty, desolate, unchartered terrain of the Outback. Here the landscape dwarfs them; they are struck silent by the vast emptiness of this alien place. Their car breaks down. And then along comes a native who knows this place like the back of his hand…

The narrative exposition for 2005’s critically and commercially successful Wolf Creek is not a particularly original one. Director Greg McLean revisits genre conventions that have been around since Alfred Hitchcock’s seminal Psycho. In doing so, he creates a vivid nightmare that’s capable

of shocking the pants off even the most cynical horror aficionado, and breathes new life into this feral breed of cinema.

Crouching in the shadows of ‘serious’ cinema, the slasher, stalker or splatter film has always had its fair share of detractors. Generations of critics have asserted that the genre is artless, morally depraved and flagrantly misogynistic. Yet even in the midst of such incendiary name calling (and perhaps even because of it), slasher films have continued to turn a profit. This horror sub-genre has always had the power to polarise. When Tobe Hooper’s The Texas Chainsaw Massacre was released in 1974, audience responses veered from shrieking indignation (‘…a vile piece of sick crap’ with ‘a complete lack of imagination’ – Stephen Koch, 1976), to awed reverence. The Museum of Modern Art in New York clearly rated the film; it is housed in the museum’s permanent collection as an example of uniquely powerful film-making.

Wolf Creek takes up this schizophrenic heritage with frenetic vigour, making overt nods to its most infamous forebear. Once the somewhat tedious First Act is played out, and night darkens the outback sky, Hooper’s landmark film is repeatedly referenced. The

atmosphere of dread so skilfully evoked in Chainsaw is similarly foregrounded in Wolf Creek. Canted framing is used to reinforce the ominous sense of a disrupted state of play; the mise-en-scène features iconography associated with the barren, isolated landscape of the film’s setting. We see the outlines of dead animals, obscured by the blurring effects of a desert heat haze. A battered road sign points out that it’s a day’s drive to the next township.

These visual signifiers emphasise a chain of cultural associations (foreign/rural/backwards/threatening) that position it within a familiar ideological framework for the slasher movie. A series of binary oppositions is deployed to structure and control audience expectations, while aligning the spectator with the young backpackers. The connotations of the setting as an otherworldly, hostile space are essential in shaping meaning for this binary system. This is how setting comes to assume the significance of a principal character in Wolf Creek.

The location is pictorialised, shot as something to be admired and ‘taken in’, like a painting or a wall mural. It is always shot from the perspective of the outsider. The audience is cast as voyeur, looking in on what he or she is unacquainted

WOLF CREEK

(dis)Location and the culture of the slasher genre


MM


MMwith outside of the world of the film. In this way, the camera’s eye enacts a distancing and an ‘othering’ that the spectator is encouraged to accept.

The outback then easily becomes the ‘backwards’ terrain of the cultural ‘other’, and an intimidating stranger to the young tourists. Here the urban (safe) rules so familiar to both the young characters and the audience, no longer apply. We are now on rural (dangerous) ground. Extreme long shots help to symbolise this binary premise, showing the three backpackers struggling against an immense and hostile background. Later, the amount of space only elevates the sense of horror for the audience. We realise that despite being surrounded by seemingly limitless space, there is nowhere to run for sanctuary. This is the ‘uncivilised’ domain of the monster/killer figure. The convergence of menacing character and hostile setting charges the film with an almost unbearable tension. The Australian outback perhaps taps a direct line to audience paranoia about the cultural ‘other’.

This kind of socio-geographical positioning is not new to the slasher genre. The American

‘backwoods’ has often been exploited as shorthand for a hotbed of regressive psychology. In classic slashers like The Hills Have Eyes, American Gothic, and of course The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, the violence and terror seems to originate from within the setting itself. The world of these films is a breeding ground for uncivilised behaviours, and this is always juxtaposed with the arrival of the more worldly out-of-towners. Setting acts as a mirror for the class divide, using an ‘us versus them’ polarity of representation. It also becomes a metaphor for boundaries being dismantled and infringed upon, out on the fringes of society, of culture, of ‘good taste’. This is the disquieting filmic space occupied by the slasher film.

Horror films generally play on audience anxieties, and provide a kind of catharsis, often with the eventual reinstatement of the status

quo. Slasher films go one further, routinely having the threat re-established with the return of the killer/monster figure in the film’s final frames. Indeed, part of the pleasure for fans of the genre, lies in waiting for the inevitable (and usually implausible) ‘resurrection’ of the killer figure, who is given superhuman (and often supernatural) powers of resilience.

Wolf Creek disrupts this narrative convention, instead running with Hitchcock’s notion of horror being located in the real world. Serial killer Mick Taylor is just a mortal, and this renders his psychopathic actions all the more frightening for the spectator. He is human and relentless, and capable of the most perverse acts of cruelty. Such characterisation complements the realistic aesthetic of the film, along with shaky hand-held camera work, a preference for diegetic sound, and an emphasis on the natural environment in the mise-en-scène. Mick is a character who fits neatly into the critical landscape of the slasher film. He is a crudely drawn ‘monster’ with a psychology that is never really delineated. This is a recurring feature of the slasher killer, from Michael Myers to Leatherface to Norman Bates. In Wolf Creek, it makes Mick’s sickening enjoyment of torture for sport all the more appalling. It also facilitates another feature of the slasher picture: that it may well make the spectator feel physically sick.

The darkly humorous intertextuality of his name sets the tone for Mick’s representation. He draws on all the Crocodile Dundee stereotypes of the rough and ready, uncultured Aussie bloke. A few thinly disguised cultural clichés inform John Jarrat’s performance, channelled into a catalogue of unnerving physical tics. He has an unhinged laugh that flies in the face of ‘proper’ social cues, and a nasty guttural throat clearing habit. Mick is also a prolific gun owner who makes a regular

show of readjusting his swagman’s hat. Sitting around the campfire with the three backpackers, Mick represents a collision between low and high culture, age and youth, masculine and feminine, danger and safety.

Mick also represents the dispossessed loner who has been left without a regular job because of technological advances. He tells the young people that he used to kill vermin as a ‘head shooter’, but now the use of poisons dropped from helicopters has made his skills redundant. This motif of social displacement due to industrialisation appears in several films from the slasher canon. Norman Bates’ motel gets little business because of the new highway bypass; the family of cannibals in The Texas Chainsaw Massacre formerly had gainful employment as butchers. Like Mick, they were replaced with factories and machines. This subtext infers that ‘cultured’ society is somehow responsible for these spurned, inhuman beasts – that they are the product of the family that abandoned them to pursue its own self-interests.

Perhaps then, characters like Wolf Creek’s Mick perform a further psychic function for the spectator. If he is a symbol of the dispossessed, then his acts of screen violence permit the middle-class spectator to shrug off any guilt at their own comfortable existence. The audience’s emotional investment in the relentless horror of Wolf Creek comes with a trade-off: the chance to project their fears, anxieties and prejudices onto the loathsome face of the very figure of ‘backwards’, lowbrow culture, – the figure of the slasher monster.

Gabrielle O’Brien teaches English and Media Studies and is

studying for an MA in Film Studies at Kingston University.


MM

Documents

Media Magazine- Horror