Creator of the award-winning web series, Abnormal Fixation. One of the horror genre's "most widely read critics" (Rue Morgue # 68), "an accomplished film journalist" (Comic Buyer's Guide #1535), and the award-winning author of Horror Films of the 1980s (2007) and Horror Films of the 1970s (2002), John Kenneth Muir, presents his blog on film, television and nostalgia, named one of the Top 100 Film Studies Blog on the Net.
Wednesday, October 31, 2018
Universal Monsters Halloween Costumes (Ben Cooper)
award-winning creator of Enter The House Between and author of 32 books including Horror Films FAQ (2013), Horror Films of the 1990s (2011), Horror Films of the 1980s (2007), TV Year (2007), The Rock and Roll Film Encyclopedia (2007), Mercy in Her Eyes: The Films of Mira Nair (2006),, Best in Show: The Films of Christopher Guest and Company (2004), The Unseen Force: The Films of Sam Raimi (2004), An Askew View: The Films of Kevin Smith (2002), The Encyclopedia of Superheroes on Film & Television (2004), Exploring Space:1999 (1997), An Analytical Guide to TV's Battlestar Galactica (1998), Terror Television (2001), Space:1999 - The Forsaken (2003) and Horror Films of the 1970s (2002).
The Films of 1988: Pumpkinhead
Guard dogs prowling in the yard,
Won't protect you in your bed,
Nothing will, from Pumpkinhead.
- Pumpkinhead (a poem by Ed Justin)
A contemporary Grimm Fairy Tale, the 1988 horror film Pumpkinhead (directed by the late Stan Winston) is also something more than that general description implies. The film actually serves as an example of modern, cinematic folklore. In the Jungian sense of that term, it contends explicitly with the human unconscious and human archetypes.
Pumpkinhead is the story of kindly Ed Harley (Lance Henriksen), a man and father who sees his young son, Billy (Matthew Hurley) recklessly killed by a group of irresponsible tourists: dirt bikers led by the brutish Joel (John Di Aquino).
After his boy's death, Harley visits an old witch, Haggis, seeking help.
Alas, even this sorceress cannot raise the dead.
Instead, the old crone suggests a wicked alternative: Ed can make his vengeance manifest in the form of an invincible demon called Pumpkinhead. Ed once saw that very monster in childhood, in 1957, and so he follows the witch's instructions for conjuring this monstrous Personification of Vengeance.
Before long, Pumpkinhead goes on a vicious murder spree -- a surrogate for Ed -- attacking Joel and all his friends and eventually murdering them in horrible, merciless ways.
However, Ed soon begins to see the nature of the terror he has willfully unleashed on Earth, sharing Pumpkinhead's "sight" at critical moments.
Ed then comes to the realization that he must pay the ultimate price to curtail the evil he has loosed on the world...
When discussing folklore, Swiss philosopher Carl Jung pinpointed specific universal character archetypes, many of which are given a new life in this Winston horror film.
Henriksen's Ed Harley, the film's protagonist, is a manifestation of the Ego.
He is a man of gentleness and reason, who has repressed his "emotional" past (the vision of Pumpkinhead) and now lives in relative seclusion with his son, far from the dangers of noisy city life.
We have every reason to believe that Ed is a "good" salt-of-the-earth type character, at least until his quest for justice turns punitive; becoming a quest for vengeance.
Pumpkinhead himself is another Jungian archetype: "The Shadow." He is the opposite of the Ego (Ed) but with qualities nonetheless present in the Ego, only ones not identified or openly acknowledged.
In other words, Pumpkinhead is representative of Ed's buried, undetected blood lust; his vengeance personified. These blood-thirsty, merciless qualities have always been present in Ed, we must believe, but without a catalyst (the death of his beloved boy), they would never have boiled to the surface and found expression.
Ego and Shadow are connected in another way too: inside the very shape of Pumpkinhead. The beast soon begins to take on the facial features of the man who raised him: Ed. So part of Ed -- the ugly part -- is literally inside the demon. They Ego and the Shadow share "sight," they share a face, and they share a destiny: damnation.
Finally, we come to Billy, a blond-haired little boy.
He represents an archetype that Jung believed was present in every one of us: The Child.
The child symbolizes innocence, naivete, the future, tomorrow, even treasure. To Ed, Bill is indeed the greatest treasure in the material world; the innocent thing to be protected from an increasingly cruel, loud, and fast modern world.
Billy is Ed's hope for a better future, and Pumpkinhead features many beautiful, sweet scenes (including one at a kitchen table...) that involve Ed and little Billy -- father and son -- living their life of togetherness and fellowship.
Though Henriksen is often called upon to play sinister roles, it is his tender, fatherly side that resonates most powerfully with me, as both a viewer and a film critic. It's a side you often see on display in two of his best productions: Pumpkinhead and Millennium.
And it's also a side that brings forward, with great power (and emotion...), the scope of Ed Harley's loss; the scope of his pain and suffering.
With Billy gone, Ed has lost his hope for the future; his purpose for living. He has lost all his tomorrows. So when Ed seeks vengeance, the audience is definitely on his side. We know he's a good man; we understand what he's lost and we -- with him -- demand justice.
But folklore -- again in the Jungian definition of that word -- always serves a specific moral purpose.
It excavates the unconscious, the very instincts and failings of mankind as a species. It intentionally deals in stereotypes and absolutes so as to make a cogent point, and in Pumpkinhead that is indeed the case.
Billy is not just sweet...he is angelic.
And Pumpkinhead is not just Vengeance made manifest, but the epitome of Vengeance Made Manifest: an ugly, snarling, horrible, murderous, unstoppable, sacrilegious demon.
Ed is not just tortured, but he is tortured in a Biblical sense, like Job himself.
The point of Pumpkinhead, of course, is that "two wrongs don't make a right," and that vengeance is not the same thing as justice.
Vengeance is something else entirely: the unquenchable need to inflect some greater pain on a person who has wronged you. The Bible writes of "an eye for an eye" because violence tenfold against your enemy was too draconian, too horrible. That's explicitly Ed's sin in Pumpkinhead, seeking an out-of-proportion punishment for the crime of murder.
But our emotions are engaged in this remarkable horror film -- and our imaginations are stirred -- by the universal, almost stereotypical nature of the beautiful child, the bereaved Dad, and the monster from Hell.
Like the best horror films ever made, Pumpkinhead remains determinedly anti-violence (and anti-vengeance) -- in much the same manner as Wes Craven's misunderstood Last House on the Left (1972) -- because it it points to a painful and often forgotten human verity: vengeance solves nothing.
And the cost to the person pursuing vengeance is often, literally, his soul.
In Pumpkinhead, Ed is forced to reckon with the fact that he has called an unearthly presence to right an earthly wrong. His response to a tragedy was understandable, but ultimately out-of-proportion. The teens in the films are careless and rude, and they did kill Billy in that incident. But Joel -- who is reckless and negligent -- is actually guilty of simply being an arrogant, thoughtless asshole. He never set out with malice to hurt anyone.
The wronged Ed, by contrast, does proceed with malice. He calls a demon that doesn't discriminate between victims, that doesn't weigh evidence, but merely judges ALL the involved teens as guilty, despite their varying levels of responsibility. Again, this is not justice, and Ed learns that fact the hard way.
In Pumpkinhead, the Ego unleashes the Shadow, a force of incredible evil, and in process poisons his own soul.
I always wonder: what would Billy think of his father's conjuration of the beast? Isn't Ed's decision to revenge Billy's death, actually, the very thing that destroys Ed's goodness? That destroys the innocence inside him?
These are the questions that the original Pumpkinhead contemplates with great style and intelligence, and it is rewarding to view a horror film in the decade of Death Wish-sequels, Chuck Norris, Dirty Harry and Rambo that advocates a stance against vigilantes and eye-for-an-eye "justice."
These are the questions that the original Pumpkinhead contemplates with great style and intelligence, and it is rewarding to view a horror film in the decade of Death Wish-sequels, Chuck Norris, Dirty Harry and Rambo that advocates a stance against vigilantes and eye-for-an-eye "justice."
Pumpkinhead sees no benefit, no reward, no healing in blood lust. Even more commendably, the film offers a didactic lesson: Ed sought revenge but didn't understand how how messy and monstrous revenge could be until faced with it through Pumpkinhead's inhuman, eyes.
Pumpkinhead is a beautifully crafted horror film, one routinely aglow with a cold, blue-gray palette, and heavy on oppressive atmosphere and atmospherics (including fog and mist). The film seems to exist outside any specific modern decade, granting it a timeless, universal quality that matches the theme about unchanging human nature. And the pumpkin patch where Pumpkinhead is born is not soon forgotten: a Stygian landscape of ruin...as though vengeance has made the earth itself lifeless and decrepit.
So many horror films trade in black-and-white homilies, but Pumpkinhead even opens the door to ambiguity, particularly in the depiction of the sorcerer witch, Haggis.
Essentially a "neighborhood witch" that expresses the tensions between country-folk and city folk and between the natural and supernatural worlds, her role is never exactly clarified in the screenplay or by director Winston. Essentially, she sends Ed to Pumpkinhead, but is it because she divines his purpose (vengeance) and wishes to expedite that purpose? Or is it because she seeks to destroy Ed's soul? Is she just using necromancy and other tricks of her trade to facilitate a "customer's" order, or is she a more sinister agent who gets something personal from the corruption of the innocent?
By utilizing Jungian archetypes (the Ego, the Shadow, the Child), and by focusing intently on a shared trait of our contemporary culture (the desire for personal revenge after a crime), Pumpkinhead dramatizes a universal tale about the human condition. The film's characterizations are "well-developed for the genre," (The Houston Chronicle, October 14, 1988), and the film has "heart...and a touch of sweetness" (The Daily Morning News), but more than that, it serves as a statement against the times in which it was crafted. It sees revenge as a wrong doubled; not as a wrong corrected.
Shakespeare wrote that "The rarer action is /In virtue than in vengeance." (The Tempest, Act V: Scene I), a plea for people to forgive their enemies rather than punish them. It's human nature, perhaps to hate those who hurt us, but Pumpkinhead is a reminder that revenge actually solves nothing. In presenting this moral point with archetypal clarity, Pumpkinhead serves ably as modern American folklore, not to mention thought-provoking cautionary tale.
Labels:
Pumpkinhead,
The Films of 1988
award-winning creator of Enter The House Between and author of 32 books including Horror Films FAQ (2013), Horror Films of the 1990s (2011), Horror Films of the 1980s (2007), TV Year (2007), The Rock and Roll Film Encyclopedia (2007), Mercy in Her Eyes: The Films of Mira Nair (2006),, Best in Show: The Films of Christopher Guest and Company (2004), The Unseen Force: The Films of Sam Raimi (2004), An Askew View: The Films of Kevin Smith (2002), The Encyclopedia of Superheroes on Film & Television (2004), Exploring Space:1999 (1997), An Analytical Guide to TV's Battlestar Galactica (1998), Terror Television (2001), Space:1999 - The Forsaken (2003) and Horror Films of the 1970s (2002).
Lunch Box of the Week: Universal Monsters
Labels:
Lunch Box of the Week,
Universal Monsters
award-winning creator of Enter The House Between and author of 32 books including Horror Films FAQ (2013), Horror Films of the 1990s (2011), Horror Films of the 1980s (2007), TV Year (2007), The Rock and Roll Film Encyclopedia (2007), Mercy in Her Eyes: The Films of Mira Nair (2006),, Best in Show: The Films of Christopher Guest and Company (2004), The Unseen Force: The Films of Sam Raimi (2004), An Askew View: The Films of Kevin Smith (2002), The Encyclopedia of Superheroes on Film & Television (2004), Exploring Space:1999 (1997), An Analytical Guide to TV's Battlestar Galactica (1998), Terror Television (2001), Space:1999 - The Forsaken (2003) and Horror Films of the 1970s (2002).
Tuesday, October 30, 2018
Horror Movie Lexicon #7: Based on a True Story
From: The Last House on the Left (1972) |
One long-standing trick of the trade designed to enhance further a horror film's sense of urgency and "closeness" to the audience is to suggest on-screen -- usually before the opening credits -- that the film is actually "based on a true story."
From: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) |
Of course, a whole lot of territory is covered in those words "based on," right?
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) is very loosely based on the story of serial killer Ed Gein, but the details of the narrative and the incredible presentation both arise from Tobe Hooper, Kim Henkel and DP Daniel Pearl, among others, not from accurate historical details.
The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) is very loosely based on the story of serial killer Ed Gein, but the details of the narrative and the incredible presentation both arise from Tobe Hooper, Kim Henkel and DP Daniel Pearl, among others, not from accurate historical details.
Even though as intelligent viewers we absolutely realize that the claim of being "based on a true story" is often total bunk, it works on our psyches anyway.
It gives us pause. It creates uncertainty.
It also makes us sympathize, and consider what it might be like to drive to rural Texas and run out of gas, or to accidentally pick up a gang of four criminals, etc.
It gives us pause. It creates uncertainty.
It also makes us sympathize, and consider what it might be like to drive to rural Texas and run out of gas, or to accidentally pick up a gang of four criminals, etc.
Do we fall for this "based on a true story" trick because we're all just suckers at heart? Or is it because we have all heard atrocious but mesmerizing true stories that expose the dark side of human nature?
The horror movies that employ the on-screen "based on a true story" card deliberately play on this fact; the fact that the darkness inside us is very real, and present in reality.
The horror movies that employ the on-screen "based on a true story" card deliberately play on this fact; the fact that the darkness inside us is very real, and present in reality.
From: The Blair Witch Project (1999) |
Sometimes, just a screen card's positioning at the front of the film suggests to us we're about to see a true story. The Blair Witch Project (1999) and Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975), for instance, both provide details about a story...but neither film actually out-and-out declares the story is true.
In this way, I suppose, the filmmakers' avoid an outright lie. We just think the films are claiming a truthful basis because that's what we are conditioned to expect.
In this way, I suppose, the filmmakers' avoid an outright lie. We just think the films are claiming a truthful basis because that's what we are conditioned to expect.
In the horror movie, claims of veracity hook us, render us unsettled, and prepare us for what is to come. All the while, in the back of our traumatized minds, we wonder: did this really happen? Could this even happen at all?
Or even better: I'm sure as hell glad this didn't happen to me...
From: Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975) |
From: Return of the Living Dead (1985) |
Labels:
Horror Lexicon
award-winning creator of Enter The House Between and author of 32 books including Horror Films FAQ (2013), Horror Films of the 1990s (2011), Horror Films of the 1980s (2007), TV Year (2007), The Rock and Roll Film Encyclopedia (2007), Mercy in Her Eyes: The Films of Mira Nair (2006),, Best in Show: The Films of Christopher Guest and Company (2004), The Unseen Force: The Films of Sam Raimi (2004), An Askew View: The Films of Kevin Smith (2002), The Encyclopedia of Superheroes on Film & Television (2004), Exploring Space:1999 (1997), An Analytical Guide to TV's Battlestar Galactica (1998), Terror Television (2001), Space:1999 - The Forsaken (2003) and Horror Films of the 1970s (2002).
Monday, October 29, 2018
The View From My Screen #7
Labels:
The View from My Screen
award-winning creator of Enter The House Between and author of 32 books including Horror Films FAQ (2013), Horror Films of the 1990s (2011), Horror Films of the 1980s (2007), TV Year (2007), The Rock and Roll Film Encyclopedia (2007), Mercy in Her Eyes: The Films of Mira Nair (2006),, Best in Show: The Films of Christopher Guest and Company (2004), The Unseen Force: The Films of Sam Raimi (2004), An Askew View: The Films of Kevin Smith (2002), The Encyclopedia of Superheroes on Film & Television (2004), Exploring Space:1999 (1997), An Analytical Guide to TV's Battlestar Galactica (1998), Terror Television (2001), Space:1999 - The Forsaken (2003) and Horror Films of the 1970s (2002).
The Twilight Zone: "Where is Everybody" (October 2, 1959)
Nearly sixty years ago, Rod Serling's The Twilight Zone (1959-1964) premiered on network TV (CBS) with this story: "Where is Everybody?"
Written by Serling and directed by Robert Stevens, "Where is Everybody?" follows the lonely trek of a wandering amnesiac, played by Earl Holliman. This adult man, dressed in military overalls, comes upon a lonely town called Oakwood.
Although there are signs in the diner and at other locales of recent habitation, the man cannot find any other human...anywhere. He seems entirely alone, not just in Oakwood, but in the world itself.
Increasingly, the lonely man, fears he is going mad.
Finally, he can't take it anymore, and the truth is revealed. He is actually Mike Ferris, an American astronaut-in-training who has just hit the panic button in an isolation tank on a military base.
For his long trip to the stars, Mike has been learning how to contend with being alone...for 484 hours and 36 minutes, precisely.
But now, finally, he has cracked. The town and all its locations were delusions.
The next time there is a man alone like this, Mike's superior tells another officer, there will be no escape, no panic button as man faces "an enemy known as isolation."
That enemy is a force waiting..."in the Twilight Zone."
The pop culture journey of The Twilight Zone begins with "Where is Everybody?" and with an opening narration from Serling which orients audiences to the fact that "The place is here. The time is now." He also alerts viewers to the fact that "this could be our journey."
Today, few critics or viewers would place this particular story -- basically a one-man show -- in the upper tier of series episodes, and yet "Where is Everybody?" still casts an incredibly creepy spell. What the episode lacks in supporting cast members and pacing, it makes up for in symbol-laden imagery.
Throughout the episode, for example, Ferris keeps encountering *almost* companionship. He sees himself in a mirror at one point. So there is a "second" person to talk to, but it is merely a reflection. At another point, Mike encounters a woman, but again, not the companion he would seek. Instead, she is a mannequin. He is like the mythic Tantalus, always near companionship but forever without real companionship.
The modern technology that should connect Ferris to other individuals also fails him throughout the episode. He attempts to use a telephone, but again, doesn't find the human connection he seeks. An operator's voice tells him that the number he has dialed is not working. Failure, once more!
And in the diner, another bit of technology, a jukebox, is playing, but there is no sign of any other person for Mike to interact with. The world seems to be spinning on, with all its devices, only devoid of human life. One wonders if this could be Purgatory, Hell, or even a weird alien experiment.
Other symbols suggest Ferris's isolation throughout "Where is Everybody?". The audience sees the lonely town through his eyes, and through a barrier (a chain link fence) in one shot, suggesting his constant separation from home, safety, and the rest of the human race.
Intriguingly, it is via the mass media that Mike begins to put together the pieces of his mysterious past and his frightening present.
For example, the only paperback on a kiosk is one titled "The Last Man on Earth," which seems to indicate (and be aware of...) his plight. And at the local movie theater, a film called "Battle Hymn" is showing. An image on the poster reminds Mike that he is in the air force officer.
A label on the movie poster reads "Now Playing," which is a remarkable self-referential touch. The TV audience watches the story of a U.S. military officer, while the movie theater shows a movie starring a military officer at the same time. Both stories are "now playing." The poster and the label, "Now Playing" also function as a suggestion that Mike's plight, like a movie now unfolding, is not quite real.
These visuals very much carry the story, as do the sounds of life everywhere, which constantly haunt Mike. It all feels very much like the dream that Mike fears he cannot awake from.
The episode's final reveal is not one of the more stunning ones in the Twilight Zone canon. The surprise ending (that the town is a delusion of a cracked mind) doesn't feel particularly special or shocking, even if it does foster empathy for the lone, wanderer. The audience learns that Mike has been wandering in his mind, not a real town, and that another astronaut will be doing the same thing soon, only for real...in space.
A few weeks back, I wrote about the early Twilight Zone's focus on the advent of the space program, and that new and unknown age of space travel seems to be the basis for this story. Can man survive in space alone? For long spells? Without the sights and smells and companionship of home? This episode is very concerned with that idea, noting that man possesses a hunger for companionship, and that such companionship is the "one thing we can't simulate" on a space journey.
It's a good, solid point, and one buttressed by the overall eeriness of the episode's central scenario, an abandoned town, and a man without memory, or company. Yet with sixty years of hindsight it is also easy to see how this episode doesn't necessarily play to Serling's writing strengths. This is a series that consists often of great dialogue and stunning narrative u-turns.
"Where is Everybody" depends on visuals, not Serling's brilliant use of language, and the final u-turn is a little ho-hum in the context of the series, overall.
Again, there's cleverness in abundance here, especially in visual execution: the idea of the cracked mirror as a reflection of Ferris's cracked mind, for example.
But if anything, "Where is Everybody?" is a potent reminder of the fact that at the beginning, The Twilight Zone still had some growing to do before becoming the classic it is recognized as today.
Next up: "One for the Angels."
Labels:
Rod Serling,
The Twilight Zone
award-winning creator of Enter The House Between and author of 32 books including Horror Films FAQ (2013), Horror Films of the 1990s (2011), Horror Films of the 1980s (2007), TV Year (2007), The Rock and Roll Film Encyclopedia (2007), Mercy in Her Eyes: The Films of Mira Nair (2006),, Best in Show: The Films of Christopher Guest and Company (2004), The Unseen Force: The Films of Sam Raimi (2004), An Askew View: The Films of Kevin Smith (2002), The Encyclopedia of Superheroes on Film & Television (2004), Exploring Space:1999 (1997), An Analytical Guide to TV's Battlestar Galactica (1998), Terror Television (2001), Space:1999 - The Forsaken (2003) and Horror Films of the 1970s (2002).
Sunday, October 28, 2018
Advert Artwork: Universal Monsters
Labels:
Advert Artwork,
Universal Monsers
award-winning creator of Enter The House Between and author of 32 books including Horror Films FAQ (2013), Horror Films of the 1990s (2011), Horror Films of the 1980s (2007), TV Year (2007), The Rock and Roll Film Encyclopedia (2007), Mercy in Her Eyes: The Films of Mira Nair (2006),, Best in Show: The Films of Christopher Guest and Company (2004), The Unseen Force: The Films of Sam Raimi (2004), An Askew View: The Films of Kevin Smith (2002), The Encyclopedia of Superheroes on Film & Television (2004), Exploring Space:1999 (1997), An Analytical Guide to TV's Battlestar Galactica (1998), Terror Television (2001), Space:1999 - The Forsaken (2003) and Horror Films of the 1970s (2002).
Sci-Fi Headline of the Week #7
Labels:
Sci-Fi Headline of The Week
award-winning creator of Enter The House Between and author of 32 books including Horror Films FAQ (2013), Horror Films of the 1990s (2011), Horror Films of the 1980s (2007), TV Year (2007), The Rock and Roll Film Encyclopedia (2007), Mercy in Her Eyes: The Films of Mira Nair (2006),, Best in Show: The Films of Christopher Guest and Company (2004), The Unseen Force: The Films of Sam Raimi (2004), An Askew View: The Films of Kevin Smith (2002), The Encyclopedia of Superheroes on Film & Television (2004), Exploring Space:1999 (1997), An Analytical Guide to TV's Battlestar Galactica (1998), Terror Television (2001), Space:1999 - The Forsaken (2003) and Horror Films of the 1970s (2002).
Thursday, October 25, 2018
The Films of 1979: Phantasm
In some fashion direct or indirect, all horror films grapple with the ultimate human fear, mortality. But Don Coscarelli’s landmark 1979 horror Phantasm is a film veritably obsessed with the cessation of life, and also the terrible grief that accompanies death for those left behind on this mortal coil.
In fact, it is not at all difficult to interpret the
film’s events as one teenager’s powerful subconscious
fantasy, his sublimation and re-direction of grief as he attempts to make
sense of all the death happening around him, in life and in his immediate
family. The film’s almost childish tale
of a Fairy Tale monster -- a witch-like “Tall
Man” (Angus Scrimm) who enslaves the
dead -- is actually but Michael’s (Michael Baldwin’s) self-constructed mythology
regarding mortality.
Simply put, it’s easier to deal with that orderly
“horror” – a world of monsters and
villains and happy endings – than one in which those Michael loves are lost
and gone forever.
Surreal and haunting, Phantasm confidently moves
and tracks like almost no other horror movie ever made. It vacillates between scenes of outright
terror and ridiculous comedy, and treads into terrains not exactly…realistic. The universe as expressed in the film doesn’t
seem to conform to order or rationality as we understand it, frankly. But importantly, all of this disorder, chaos
and pain feels as though it arises from a deep understanding and sympathy for
childhood. The film’s trademark soundtrack
composition -- which repeats frequently and effectively -- adds to the overwhelming
sense of a lullaby or trance, one we can’t quite awake from.
So many horror fans (rightly) love and cherish
Phantasm because of the horror, because of the flying silver “ball” and
the gore it creates in its monstrous wake.
Yet for me the film is actually a horror character-piece of the highest
magnitude, and actually a tender, even
whimsical reminder of how the world might appear to a sad and lonely adolescent.
“I just don't get off on funerals, man, they give me the
creeps.”
The shadow of death hovers behind Michael. |
Michael
attempts to convince his older brother, Jody (Bill Thornbury), of this bizarre
truth, but Jody is burned out and skeptical.
Since their parents died, he’s been caring for Michael full time, and wants
to leave town. Michael knows this, and
is deathly afraid of abandonment. But
soon, however, Jody is swayed by Michael’s evidence and together with a friend,
Reggie (Reggie Bannister), the trio launches a frontal assault on the Tall Man…
After the Tall Man is defeated,
Michael awakes from the long dream to face hard reality. Not only are his parents dead, but Jody is
gone too. He died in a car crash. Now Reggie promises to take care of him, but
the specter of death is not yet gone from Michael’s life…
“First he took Mom and Dad, then he took Jody, now he's after
me.”
Surrounded by the trappings of death |
In some instances, however, teenagers do not
react to such losses as expected, with tears and outright declarations of
sadness or pain. Instead, they may not
confront their grief at all. Rather they
sublimate and deny it, even crafting complex stories and belief systems around
the death of their loved ones, such as the fiction that they are somehow
responsible or guilty for those deaths.
We are confronted in Phantasm, then, with a young
protagonist, Michael, who has seen the death of both his parents, and also -- as we learn at film’s end -- the death
of his brother, Jody. Instead of coping
outright with the grief, however, his mind has fashioned a phantasm, a dream which
to attempts to “re-order” his disordered life.
In this story, Michael and Jody are still a team, defeating monsters and
solving the mystery of Morningside. In
this dream, death has become embodied in a person, the Tall Man, and as
something that Michael, importantly, can combat and defeat.
Michael (left, background) is left behind, while Jody heads...where? |
In terms of grappling with the idea of death, the
film proper actually opens with it, as a friend of Jody’s named Tommy is
killed. Michael observes the funeral
from a distance, with a set of binoculars.
This particular shot stresses the importance of how Michael sees, and later scenes in the film are similarly composed
to reflect the same thing: effectively highlighting Michael’s eyes (as he sees
through a crack in an open coffin, for instance) as he views the world. This visual framing is our cue that the film
itself is Michael’s “phantasm,” his way of perceiving and interpreting the
things he experiences.
How Michael sees #1 |
As adults, these things are accepted, perhaps
reluctantly, as part of the landscape, and don’t necessarily have the power to
frighten or disturb us. We know such things
exist, and we deal with them. But because Michael is obsessed with death, the
film reflects his fetish most vividly, creating a world where the trappings of
death are visible and prominent in nearly every frame, and suffused with a dark
malevolence. The funeral director is a
monstrous crone (The Tall Man), the graveyard is a place of darkness, danger
and entrapment. The hearse is a vehicle
for the enslaved “dead” dwarves employed by the Tall Man, and so on. The Tall Man hovers in the background of some
shots like the Angel of Death himself.
He marshals all these familiar trappings of death and renders them
frightening once more. They serve him.
How Michael sees #2 |
I’ve written above that some aspects of Phantasm
seem childish or childlike. This is not
an insult or a put-down. For instance,
Michael and Jody easily destroy the Tall Man, essentially trapping him in a
hole in the Earth (a mine shaft). That
this simple, almost cartoon-styled plan works against a Dedicated Agent of Evil
reminds us that we are dealing with a child-like intelligence as the primary mover of the action. We are seeing Michael’s dreams made manifest
before our eyes. We can destroy the devil by burying him up on that mountain!
How Michael sees #3 |
I believe this interpretation is borne out, to
some degree, by the depiction of the film’s deadly siren, the Lady in
Lavender. She is a mysterious figure
promising sex but delivering death. She
is very much a product of a fearful teen’s imagination and fear. That teen does not yet understand what sex
is, or the power of sex as a desire and appetite. Instead, the “unknowns” of sex become, in the
film, disturbingly intermingled with death.
The moans of love-making transform, in short order, into the groaning of
a monster lurking in the nearby bushes. Both
sex and death are things that seem to take Jody away from his brother, after
all.
Although all the Phantasm sequels surely
preclude the possibility that this film is but the dream of a sad, grief-ridden
teenager, the interpretation tracks admirably if you take Coscarelli’s original
as a standalone effort and not part of a “franchise.” As I have also written before, I believe this
quality of the film (as a teen’s dream) is also made clear by Michael’s
unbelievably good survival rate. He
tangles with the Tall Man and his minions no less than four times in the film,
and always emerges unscathed, only to prove, finally, victorious in his
campaign. I submit that this “luck” too
is a reflection of a youthful mentality: the belief that you are somehow immune
to death. Furthermore, it reflects the
idea that we all place ourselves at the center of our fantasies, as the heroes
in our own adventures. Here, Michael
deals with death by becoming a superhero of sorts, one who conquers long-lived
monsters and solves mysteries.
I admire the film because its distinctive visuals so beautifully mirror Phantasm's themes. In some shots, the Tall Man seems to be the shadow of death himself. And in one haunting composition, Michael sees Jody for the last time (before waking up into a world where he is dead). Jody stands high in the frame, atop a mountain. Jody stands on that pinnacle, a heavenly light (like angel wings?) behind him. It's the distant, final view of a man going to the great beyond, and Coscarelli's imagery captures it with wonder and a degree of lyricism.
Our last, wistful view of Jody, from a distance and bound for parts unknown. |
Charting the disturbed mental landscape of a
grieving boy, Phantasm gets to a very simple and emotional truth about human
existence. It is often easier to live in
a fantasy world (even one with monsters, dwarves, giant flies, and alien worlds…)
than it is to face head-on the fact that, in the final analysis, we are all
going to lose our loved ones. Because it
deals so sensitively and succinctly with that tough, hard-to-accept idea, Phantasm
always gets to me on some deep level. The
film makes me ask myself an important question: Why do I like and enjoy horror
movies so much? Why do I love being
scared and challenged by them?
With films like Phantasm, am I actually
preparing myself, in some way, for the inevitable?
Perhaps
so.
I know only this: I deeply fear death, and
sometimes obsess on it, both in relation to the end of my own life, and deaths
of those I love. In Phantasm Michael reveals
one way to grieve, or perhaps to escape grieving. Phantasm makes me wonder about my own
solution to the Phantasm equation. Am I
going to be that boy, left behind on the bike while others leave me behind? Or
will the Tall Man show up for me first?
At some point, the Tall Man is going to look all
of us straight in the eye, commend us for a good game -- now finished -- and remind us it is time to die. You don’t have to be a teenager to fear that
day, and in some way Phantasm helps us to explore
meaningfully the ideas of grief, loss, and the inevitability of death.
award-winning creator of Enter The House Between and author of 32 books including Horror Films FAQ (2013), Horror Films of the 1990s (2011), Horror Films of the 1980s (2007), TV Year (2007), The Rock and Roll Film Encyclopedia (2007), Mercy in Her Eyes: The Films of Mira Nair (2006),, Best in Show: The Films of Christopher Guest and Company (2004), The Unseen Force: The Films of Sam Raimi (2004), An Askew View: The Films of Kevin Smith (2002), The Encyclopedia of Superheroes on Film & Television (2004), Exploring Space:1999 (1997), An Analytical Guide to TV's Battlestar Galactica (1998), Terror Television (2001), Space:1999 - The Forsaken (2003) and Horror Films of the 1970s (2002).
Wednesday, October 24, 2018
The Tao of the Tall Man
A phantasm has been defined as a "fantastic sequence of haphazardly associative imagery, as in dreams."
But in terms of the Tall Man -- Angus Scrimm's iconic cinematic Bogeyman -- a phantasm can certainly be defined as a nightmare.
In Don Coscarelli's four Phantasm films
-- spanning the years 1979 to 2016 -- the Tall Man has
destroyed small-town America (not unlike Wal-Mart...), overturned the order of
human life itself, and terrorized a triumvirate of heroic friends: Michael
(Michael Baldwin), Reggie (Reggie Bannister) and Jody (Bill Thornbury).
Loping in gait,
exceedingly grave of visage and utterly imposing in stature, The Tall Man
reigns as one of the horror cinemas most fearsome, beloved, and long-lived
Bogeyman. But what makes this creepy old ghoul tick? Why has
The Tall Man endured as a figure of silver screen fear for so long?
The first answer, of
course, rests with the actor essaying the role. The late Scrimm's menacing, growling performances
are unforgettable, and that deep tenor voice is positively nightmare-inducing.
Yet the character's mystique goes deeper. And so today, we must examine...the
Tao of the Tall Man...
1.) He's the
Personification of Death; the Personification of Adult "Knowledge:"
In my 2002 book Horror Films of the 1970s I wrote that the
original 1979 Phantasm functions on many levels, but
most effectively as the heroic dream fantasy of a lonely, sad boy (Michael) who
feels haunted by the presence of death and betrayed by life; by reality itself.
This was my manner of
accounting for the original film's captivating, almost child-like quality,
wherein "something sinister" is lurking at the local cemetery
and must be investigated...by a rwelve-year old kid.
I don't mean that brief
description of the inventive plot as any sort of put-down. Rather it is my
belief that the film beautifully captures the world-view and
perspective of a pre-adolescent boy, the film's protagonist and
primary participant. I wrote in the book that "every bizarre event that
happens in Phantasm can easily be interpreted as
having occurred in one of the boy's twisted dreams/nightmares."
In the movie's sad "real life," depicted momentarily at the film's conclusion, Mike's beloved older brother Jody is -- like the boy's parents -- dead and gone. Mike is pretty much alone, at least in terms of biological family.
In the movie's sad "real life," depicted momentarily at the film's conclusion, Mike's beloved older brother Jody is -- like the boy's parents -- dead and gone. Mike is pretty much alone, at least in terms of biological family.
The preceding dream (the
text of the film itself...) in which Jody is alive and well may thus be
interpreted as a disturbed kid's anxiety dream. In that lengthy
"phantasm," Michael represses knowledge of Jody's death and imagines
he can conquer mortality. His enemy is Death Itself, the Tall Man.
Michael destroys him; he buries the Tall Man in the ground with his brother's
able assistance. But when he wakes up from this heroic dream, Michael sees that
his victory was imaginary, illusory; that in real life, death is never
defeated. Jody recedes into the wind...growing smaller and smaller in the
imagination (and in the frame too...) because of his status as dead. The
unchangeable fact here is that Jody is the one who is gone, not some menacing
monster.
Mike can't play the hero
in real life...only in his dreams. In the film's epilogue, the Tall Man
returns for one last attack and that's because in real life death always
returns too. The Tall Man takes Michael, and that act represents, perhaps, the
ultimate childhood fear. Of being dragged into the darkness of death, kicking
and screaming, with no one to help.
Throughout the film,
Coscarelli transmits the idea of Mike running away from reality (and into
dreams.) The notion is expressed in both the dialogue and the visuals. For
instance, Mike literally can't keep up with his brother. "Jody's
leaving soon," he notes (rather cryptically...) in the dream,
processing his brother's real life death as but a
"departure" that he might be able to stop.
And, in one particularly
affecting shot, Mike's feeling of abandonment and isolation is portrayed in
starkly visual terms. Mike follows desperately after Jody as his older brother rides
down a long road on a bike...oblivious to his brother's pursuit. This moment
embodies the idea that Jody is on a one-way journey, moving away from Mike. Forever.
Mike can run and run, but he can't catch up with Jody. Jody is dead.
In Michael's powerful,
movie-long dream, The Tall Man represents inexplicable, baffling adulthood; or
even, simply, adult knowledge. For instance, when The Tall Man
first appears, he is explicitly connected to the adult mystery of sex. Jody
and one of his friends are "lured" into the grave yard by a sexy
siren...really the Tall Man (shape-shifted to appear as a gorgeous female).
Mike doesn't understand sex, and so he imagines it as something mysterious and
fearsome...manifested in his dream as the Tall Man, also the vehicle of Death.
After all, both sex and death threaten to take Jody away from
Michael, right? Both are elements of life that a child isn't equipped to
understand.
The Tall Man is thus the
personification of fears surrounding growing-up. Encoded in that term "growing
up" is the realization of one's own mortality; and sex, among other
things. The Tall Man symbolizes the mysteries of human life that Mike doesn't
yet understand...but deeply fears. Further enhancing the dream metaphor, The
Tall Man seems to appear frequently in Michael's bedroom...the very place where
a boy will worry about death or first grope with the mysteries of sex.
2.) Imagine There's No
Heaven. Or He Doesn't Just Kill You:
I have long subscribed to the belief that many of the scariest "monsters" in horror history (on both TV and in film) are those beings that don't actually kill their victims.
What they do to their
victims is -- actually -- far worse than death, and promises
lasting, spiritual suffering well beyond a quick mortal demise.
Consider the Creeper, in Jeepers
Creepers (2001), a monster who steals body parts to replenish his
own life. The owners of those appropriated body parts eternally become a
part of the horrifying monster; forever at one with Something Evil.
Or recall the cybernetic
Borg on Star Trek.: The Next Generation...they
don't want to kill you; they want to use your body and your mind against
you, and make you serve an "evil" cause as a drone.
Again, that loss of
identity, that loss of sovereignty, is much scarier than dying by a
painful (but quick...) machete wound.
The Tall Man fits very
well into this category of villain or monster. When mortals die, we learn
quickly in Coscarelli's films, they are revived (with yellow blood in their
veins), crushed to diminutive proportions and re-purposed as slaves, as dwarves
on the Tall Man's barren, arid world (which could be Hell, really). The Tall
Man thus harvests our human bodies, making us all slaves to his insidious,
inhuman agenda.
An eternity spent as a
monstrous, prowling, subservient dwarf isn't exactly something to eagerly look
forward to, especially if you've been indoctrinated to believe the Kingdom of
Heaven awaits in the after-life. As the Tall Man acknowledges in Phantasm
II (1988): "You think that when you die, you go to Heaven.
You come to us!" Thus the iconic character is frightening to
audiences because he promises that the mystery of death is not a mystery at
all, but a doorway to eternal servitude, eternal damnation in sub-human form. Yikes!
3.) There's Something
Scary About Old People:
Technically, it's called Gerontophobia. And no, it's not nice, and it's not really fair...or even remotely rational.
But -- at least
for a very young person, like Mike --- there's something deeply
unsettling about very old people. Their ways seem alien. Their values are not
yours, necessarily. They seem angry and temperamental. They want you to
stay off their lawn, and they always seem to be hovering behind you,
watching, making sure you are following "the rules." A kid might even
note that they smell of death; they have one foot in the grave
already...
Old people are not, in
some cases (perhaps because of dementia, or extreme pain...), the trustworthy,
capable, helpful adults a young child is familiar and comfortable with (think
teachers, and hopefully, parents too.)
Some old people actually look scary
too, like witches or monstrous crones. And that's part of The Tall
Man's Tao: his frightening appearance as an angry, unapproachable,
even inappropriate old man. Even his trademark shout, "Booooy!" is
coded specifically to terrify the young; to spark a fear of the elderly...the
dying.
4.) Last But Not
Least...He's Got Balls:
As far as horror bogeymen go, an important rule is this: the right tool for the right job.
Freddy has his finger
knives, Jason has his machete, and Leatherface has his trusty chainsaw.
The Tall Man too is
associated with a weapon and, appropriately, it's a literal nightmare weapon
(reflecting the dream-like/phantasm nature of the films).
That weapon, of course,
is the famous silver sphere, the sentinel...the ball. Many of the
franchise's most memorable and gruesome scenes involve these chrome, flying,
autonomous things. These devices home in on an unwitting victim, sprout blades,
embed themselves in the human skull...then drill into it. Finally,
they spit out a torrent of blood, until the victim is dead, dead, dead. The
balls are fast, utterly unreal, and even sentient.
In short, the chrome,
reflective spheres are among the most inventive horror weapons ever devised and
as the keeper of the balls (so-to-speak), the Tall Man controls them.
Personifying death and
mortality (through his aged appearance), boasting a tragic past (as we see in 1998's OblIVion),
procuring slaves and harnessing the power of the bloody ball, the Tall Man
walks tall in the imagination of horror fans.
Labels:
Phantasm
award-winning creator of Enter The House Between and author of 32 books including Horror Films FAQ (2013), Horror Films of the 1990s (2011), Horror Films of the 1980s (2007), TV Year (2007), The Rock and Roll Film Encyclopedia (2007), Mercy in Her Eyes: The Films of Mira Nair (2006),, Best in Show: The Films of Christopher Guest and Company (2004), The Unseen Force: The Films of Sam Raimi (2004), An Askew View: The Films of Kevin Smith (2002), The Encyclopedia of Superheroes on Film & Television (2004), Exploring Space:1999 (1997), An Analytical Guide to TV's Battlestar Galactica (1998), Terror Television (2001), Space:1999 - The Forsaken (2003) and Horror Films of the 1970s (2002).
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
60 Years Ago: Goldfinger (1964) and the Perfect Bond Movie Model
Unlike many film critics, I do not count Goldfinger (1964) as the absolute “best” James Bond film of all-time. You can check out my rankin...
-
Last year at around this time (or a month earlier, perhaps), I posted galleries of cinematic and TV spaceships from the 1970s, 1980s, 1...
-
The robots of the 1950s cinema were generally imposing, huge, terrifying, and of humanoid build. If you encountered these metal men,...