But graphic violence and brutality are not at all the only means that horror filmmakers use to manipulate the spectator’s senses. On the contrary, an equally popular trend takes the complete opposite road: A cinema of the unknown. In this mode, the film leaves much up to the viewer’s imagination; rather than show you the monster or killer slicing up their victims, the content is only implied, and the spectator’s own mind fills in the gaps.

One of the most notable entries making use of this effect is The Blair Witch Project, released in 1999. The film is presented as “lost footage” shot by three filmmakers who disappeared into the woods of Virginia while searching for the legendary Blair Witch, and from start to finish, nothing breaks that illusion (unlike Cannibal Holocaust, there is no inherently fictional storyline being cut to between the footage). The basic plot within the footage has the team getting lost after a few days, hearing and seeing increasingly strange events, and eventually deciding that someone or something is following and harassing them, ultimately leading to their deaths. (20)

The Blair Witch Project (1999)

The methods used to create horror in Blair Witch take a very minimalist approach, relying more on sound design than visual elements. Early on, when the trio attempt to sleep in their tent, they hear crashing and cracking from deep within the woods. When they investigate, they do not venture away from their camp, and the only visual element the audience is presented with is that of the camera’s headlamp pointing into the dark forest (with the sound still occurring). There are several more instances of this throughout the film, with the only true “visual” scares coming in the form of mysterious rock piles and occult-like symbols dangling from trees.

More recently, Paranormal Activity (2009) used the same methods of minimalism in order to create atmosphere, in fact using an even simpler method: A couple thinks they may be experiencing ghostly encounters at night while they are asleep, so they set up a video camera in their room at night to monitor activity. This activity escalates from singular noises in the dark to full-on possession by the end, and the view never leaves the single camera (which does become handheld at certain points). (21) Whereas Blair Witch implied a two-camera setup and the use of a DAT, thereby breaking the illusion somewhat and offering a more “cinematic” feel, Paranormal Activity never does. In fact, the film goes so far as to eschew end credits (again, unlike Blair Witch), so there is even less relief that it was “just a movie” at the end.

Paranormal Activity (2009)

In doing this, the filmmakers are able to achieve two things, suspension and atmosphere. The suspension comes from an expectation that something should be seen, when in fact it is not. Part of this is likely entirely psychological, but it could also be looked at in the context of spectatorship in general: Audiences, especially those attending horror films, are conditioned to see “money shots”- the monster jumping out, the killer with the knife, etc.- after tension. Here, the filmmakers prey on that conditioning by using up tension and giving it no release, instilling a sense of unease that, as a result, never lets up. This then effectively creates the atmosphere for the audience.

In order to not clutter the point with strictly cinéma vérité films, it is worth noting some more traditional narratives that follow this same vein, but allow for more release, making what would otherwise be small visual moments become ones that are quite definitive.

M. Night Shyamalan’s “Signs” (2002) follows a family at a remote farmhouse during the course of an alien invasion. (22) By most standards, it is fairly traditional in terms of narrative and cinematography. What makes it psychological horror, though, and not just a thriller, is Shyamalan counts on your fear of the unknown. The fact that there are alien beings running around is introduced narratively, not visually, shortly before most of the encounters with them occur, which has a definitive effect on the viewer’s perspective.

For example, there is a moment where the main character is running through his crops at night, when he drops his flashlight. He picks it back up, turns it on, and points it just in time to glimpse a leg moving back into the stalks. (22) In a traditional sense, this “money shot” would be very poor- we see next to nothing. But the viewer is so conditioned up to that point with the atmosphere- newscaster talking about aliens, crop circles, shots that linger on seemingly empty spaces just a little too long- that they are effectively, already scared. By introducing just a small element of the unknown (what was that leg from?), Shyamalan is able to further frighten viewers.

Two other films play more literally with that fear, via an actual obscured view: The Fog (1980) and The Mist (2007). The Fog is a basic ghost story- every one hundred years a fog rolls over the town of Antonio Bay, and in the year that the plot takes place, it brings with it the ghosts of a shipwrecked crew. Over the course of two hours, the most that is ever shown of the ghosts are outlines, glowing eyes, and part of a hand, leaving their actual physical presence almost completely ambiguous. The Mist takes place in a small town after a mysterious thunderstorm knocks out power, and follows a man and his young son as they go to the supermarket to get supplies. As they do so, a mist rolls in and engulfs the entire town, with strange, alien creatures lurking inside of it. In the real world, water particles are not often considered in themselves, scary. But in film, it heightens the sense of not knowing what is coming, by shrouding it in a veil.

The Mist (2007)

As shown in the preceding examples, the cinema of the unknown asks the spectator to actively engage in the viewing experience, thereby actively participating in their own fear. Without their own experiences and their own fears, none of these films would be even remotely frightening. This also tends to generate more controversy in terms of “what is scary?” than gore-centered horror films do: with Paranormal Activity, many simply found it dull. Lori Hoffman of Atlantic City Weekly wrote “…One has to sit through nearly 80 minutes of mind-numbing tedium before the payoff, a payoff that isn’t really worth the wait.” (25) The relationship between horror and the viewer within this mode is much more subjective- it may scare you, or it may not.

These are the two largest modes of horror, and many of its subgenres operate within them. There are some, though, that play on slightly different fears. “Slashers” such as Friday the 13th, Halloween, and A Nightmare on Elm Street fall somewhat into both categories, but rely on societal fears of serial killers to achieve their goals. Occult-based films like the aforementioned The Exorcist, Rosemary’s Baby, and The Omen all deal with demonism, a fear firmly rooted in religion, especially Christianity. There is also a more recent trend in American cinema of remaking or imitating Japanese horror, with films like The Grudge, The Ring, and The Eye. Stylistically, these films prey upon an aversion to the supernatural without any specific religious connotations, which likely offers a much broader appeal.

Conclusions

We live vicariously through movies, and it is certainly one of the greatest strengths of the art form. But with horror, that vicarious experience is different. For instance, if one watches a film about an expedition to the top of Mt. Everest, they might think “it’s so beautiful, I would love to see that view” or “what an accomplishment, I wish I could do something like that”. On the other hand, nobody wants to be eaten by cannibals. Nobody wants to find themselves lost in the woods, starving to death while something harasses them every night. Nobody wants to experience extreme psychological stress on the level that most main characters in horror films do. But, films are not real life.

“People go to horror films because they want to be frightened or they wouldn’t do it twice,” says Jeffrey Goldstein, a professor of social and organizational psychology at the University of Utrecht in the Netherlands. (26) A recent article by the National Science Foundation also suggests that our attraction to horror may be due to “enjoying the adrenaline rush, being distracted from mundane life, vicariously thumbing our noses at social norms, and enjoying a voyeuristic glimpse of the horrific from a safe distance.”(26)

This does not seem far from the truth- after all, anyone that has ever been scared in real life has experienced that rush of adrenaline, and the only difference between that and the scare had in a theater is that in real life, most people are too worried about whatever the catalyst of that rush is to enjoy it. But within horror- especially the cinema of the unknown- the spectator enters the theater knowing they do not have to worry about the consequences of what is occurring on screen, and as a result can take pleasure from that rush.

But is there a point where it is no longer entertainment? Films in the cinema of revulsion category are notorious for being banned and earning intense critical scrutiny, often because many seem to be designed to shock, and not to tell a story. Nev Pierce, of the BBC, says of Hostel, “beyond its ‘How far can I go?’ attitude to violence, Hostel has no reason to exist.” (27) Concerning Cannibal Holocaust, Eric Henderson of Slant Magazine wrote, “Cannibal Holocaust … [is] foul enough to christen you a pervert for even bothering.” (28)

It would appear, then, that the viewer does not have to engage in watching cinema with the intent of “seeing a good story”, typically the main draw of films based within a narrative. If the set-pieces these films are intended to be the moments of gore, as they seem to be, then the viewer understands exactly what they are getting themselves into. When the viewer enters the theater with the intent of watching culturally unacceptable acts, the result is that the entertainment becomes less about the story and more about memorable moments of brutality, thus the very definition of what makes a “good film” changes.

Horror provides a unique challenge to the spectator by asking us to so fully suspend our disbelief as to instill otherwise unpleasant emotions: That of fright and/or disgust. While the disgusting elements of gore may be less visceral on the screen than in real life, they are demonstrably unpleasant for many, and exquisite entertainment for some. Fright, such as that found in more minimalist films like The Blair Witch Project and Signs, provides some with a safe way to experience intensely scary events, much like a thrill ride, while completely boring others. What all of this demonstrates is that horror relies intensely on what the spectator is able to draw from their own life while in the cinema (what scares them?), making it a genre of film that, ironically, embraces the very audience it is trying to horrify.

[Sources omitted for brevity, but in the exceedingly unlikely event you would like them, contact me]

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With Halloween coming up, I thought it might be worthwhile to post what I wrote. I’ve trimmed a few parts and added some illustration, but this is largely how I turned it in. It’s pretty dry and admittedly overly wordy in places, but in general I’m kind of proud of how it turned out. So without further ado:

Horror and the Spectator

In reality, nobody wants to be scared. The very definition of being scared is to be “filled with terror; frightened or alarmed”- the sort of thing more often associated with dangerous circumstance or environment. As with any species on this planet with the will to survive embedded in their very genes, humans are not apt to seek out such places or instances.

But in 1973, audiences came in droves to see a film by the name of “The Exorcist.” The film tells the tale of a twelve year old girl possessed by a demon, and the priests who must “exorcise” the demon from within her. During their sessions, the child exhibits all manner of paranormal activity, from abnormal voice changes, levitation, contortions, to other impossible physical movement. It was designed, from start to finish, with the purpose of frightening audiences, and it became one of the highest grossing films of all time. (1)

While The Exorcist may be one of the early commercial success stories of horror, it certainly was not the first film having the effect of scaring people- a tradition going back as far as 1896 to French filmmaker George Méliès. Among his many other technical innovations (Méliès was an early pioneer of stop-motion, multiple exposures, and time-lapse, to name a few), he produced a short, two minute film entitled “Le Manoir du Diable” (“The Manor of the Devil”) which is widely assumed to be the first horror film. (2) (3)

The Manor of the Devil (1896)

Before delving into more detail, however, we must ask ourselves: Why? Why do people crave a form of entertainment that heavily relies on an emotion we instinctively avoid in real life? Of course any spectator who enters a theater or sits down in front of a screen inherently knows they have to suspend their disbelief for whatever they are about to watch- otherwise the medium would fall apart immediately- but despite that suspension, can a film actually subject you to the same feelings as real fear (or real disgust) can? It is an oft-cited legend that many audience members have walked out of horror films due solely to fear, which begs the question of viewer boundaries: Is there a point, a universal point, where visual art- due to either discomfort of revulsion- surpasses its use as entertainment and becomes “unwatchable”? These are questions that must be kept in mind when considering the horror film.

History

As mentioned earlier, the notion of horror in cinema has been around almost since the very beginning of the motion picture. To re-touch briefly on Méliès, though, it should be noted that despite its lofty title as the first of its kind, the only relation it contains to what is commonly referred to as horror today, is in the subject matter. It is primarily concerned with the paranormal, as it demonstrates phantoms, witchcraft, and eventually the power of Christ (which is, technically, paranormal). (3)

The true beginnings of horror, beyond the technical ones, lie primarily with two German filmmakers, Paul Wegener and Robert Wiene, who are better known as being part of the Expressionist movement in that country during the 1920s. Wegener’s “The Golem: How He Came into the World” is based on the Jewish folktale of a golem summoned to protect Jews facing persecution in sixteenth century Prague. (4) In Wegener’s film, The Golem appears as stolid creature (though, to us now, obviously just a costumed man) bent on destruction. It is for all intents and purposes, one of the first monster-horror films.

Robert Wiene’s “The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari”, on the other hand, is an example of early stylistically-based horror, and has been called one of the first psychological horror films. (5) Though the plot of Dr. Caligari is essentially a murder mystery, it is the style that becomes relevant to horror. Set designs and cinematography are heavily influenced by German expressionism, and instill a sense of discomfort and unease within the viewer. Walls curve inwards, windows contort in unusual ways, buildings loom as though being viewed through a distorted glass; all of these aspects add to a general sense of claustrophobia and malaise for audiences. In addition, the cinematography incorporates specific techniques with perspective- such as buildings distorting off into the distance and Dutch angles- to further add to the psychological effect of the film.

The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari (1919)

From these simple beginnings, horror sprouted into a full-fledged genre with the help of Hollywood over the next decade. The 1930s saw the release of Universal classics such as Dracula (1931), Frankenstein (1931), The Invisible Man (1933), and Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde (1933). (6) (7) (8) (9) All releases were commercially successful, proving that American audiences were capable of enjoying being frightened.

Modern Horror

With this history in mind, it is now worth surveying the current state of horror films. Like many film genres, horror can be further sub-divided into unique subgenres, each aiming to manipulate a different element of fright. In the following pages, we will look at a few of the more prominent subgenres and critique how they intend to manipulate the viewers’ senses.

One of the more common stereotypes of modern horror- as a whole, at least- is a focus on graphic violence. For almost half a century, Hollywood followed a specific list of “do’s and don’ts”, better known as The Motion Picture Production Code. (10) This code effectively kept a lid on brutality, murder, graphic detail, and indeed all “unpleasant subjects”. As a result, one of the largest film-markets in the world was also one of the cleanest. However, this all changed in 1968 when the code was effectively dropped (in favor of our current letter-based rating system). While not entirely without potential rebuke, filmmakers had much more creative freedom in terms of violence and gore. Thus, a cinema of revulsion was born.

Grindhouse and low-budget independent films notwithstanding, one of the first major motion pictures to utilize extreme violence comes in the form of Tobe Hooper’s “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” (1974). In short, the film follows a group of friends traveling through Texas in search of a homestead, when one by one they encounter a seemingly abandoned household, belonging to the family of a murderous, chainsaw-wielding brute who wears a severed face as a mask (better known as “Leatherface”). The story culminates with one of the characters, Sally, escaping from the family with Leatherface in pursuit with a chainsaw.

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)

From the onset, this film sets up a sense of unease: One of the earliest scenes depicts a crazed hitchhiker cutting his hand manically with a blade from his own knife, for no apparent reason other than his own insanity. The shots show it in a casual, almost documentary-fashion with no particular dramatic emphasis, and though there are a fair amount of cut-aways demonstrating the other passengers’ reactions, the slicing of the palm is shown in full with very little left to the imagination. In doing so, Hooper is able to communicate to the audience that graphic violence will not be shied away from.

Later on, Leatherface murders one of the characters unsuspectingly with a sledgehammer. The resulting death is instantaneous, and the victim is shown violently twitching as a result. Given the film’s inherent relation to slaughterhouses (Leatherface’s family operates one), the death can be symbolically linked to that of slaughtering livestock: Impersonal and violent. Which in the context of film and graphic violence, is shocking to the audience. There are many other violent deaths and moments within The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, including death by chainsaw, a woman being hanged on a meat-hook, and a house filled with what are obviously human bones. As shocking and gruesome as these elements may be, they have since been far surpassed.

In 1980, Italian director Ruggero Deodato’s film “Cannibal Holocaust” premiered in Milan. Ten days later he was arrested under suspicion of murder, the Italian courts believing that the deaths in the film were in fact, real. (11) The reason for these allegations stems directly from the content of the film: Cannibal Holocaust tells the story of an anthropologist searching for four documentarians who disappeared two months earlier in the remote jungles of South America while investigating a cannibalistic tribe. The anthropologist eventually finds their lost footage, which is then presented within the narrative. The team’s footage, shot within the “cinéma vérité” tradition and thereby imitating a true documentary, follows them as they go deeper and deeper into the jungle, their encounters with the locals increasingly insensitive and violent.

Cannibal Holocaust (1980)

While the first portion of the film is presented as a fictional narrative- that is, shot with the fourth-wall very much intact- it still has its own moments of brutality: One of the first instances occurs during the anthropologist’s search for the footage, when he and his guide secretly come across a native dragging a naked young woman onto a river shore. The native, in what is described by the anthropologist as a “ritualistic punishment for adultery” proceeds to rape the young woman with a rock for several minutes, then bludgeons her to death. This process is shown in its entirety, with extremely little left to the imagination. (12) Though rape within a narrative film is enough to warrant another discussion entirely, for the purposes of this topic the context should be strictly limited to its sensational appeal and shock value as a cultural taboo.

Another instance of such shock occurs early within the “found footage” itself, after a team member is bitten by a snake. In order to stop the spread of the poison, the team amputates most of his leg (via machete) and attempts to cauterize the wound with a heated blade. All of this is within the frame, portrayed as actual documentary footage. Later, in one of the more infamous shots from the film, the team comes across a native impaled upon a large stake, once again shown in full, and without hesitation (the subject is nude as well, though the shock value of nudity is culturally subjective).

In the end, the “filmmakers” are graphically murdered by the natives for their transgressions, including the cameraman being castrated, beheaded, and his body ultimately torn-apart and disemboweled, followed by the sole female member’s gang-rape and beheading. Once again, as it bears repeating, all of this is on camera and within the faux-documentary style. (12) Pages could be spent detailing each of the graphic moments in Cannibal Holocaust, but also contained within the film are: The team maniacally burning down a village full of natives, a living body in the early stages of decay, a forced abortion (by the natives, including the murder of the exposed fetus), and another rape scene (this time with the team themselves being responsible). The aforementioned instances of brutal, graphic violence are only enhanced in terms of shock value by what are, unfortunately, actual moments of animal cruelty during the film. A tortoise is cut open on camera while still alive, a tied-up pig is kicked and shot in the head, and a monkey is killed for its brains (Deodato originally defended these actions, citing that the animals were all subsequently eaten by the natives, but has since condemned them as “stupid”). (11)

The murder charges against Deodato were eventually dropped, after demonstrating that the actors were indeed still alive (though originally contractually obligated to stay out of media for one year after the film’s release, in order to promote the idea that it was real). However, he still received a four-month suspended sentence on charges of obscenity and animal cruelty, and fought for an additional three years to get the film unbanned. (11)

Cannibal Holocaust serves to ask the question: If there is a line between what can and cannot be committed to film, where is it? Many reviewers were outright disgusted with the film, for obvious reasons, but despite this it has since obtained a cult-status large enough to grant it a sleek, two-disc DVD release. (13) The violence appeared real enough to warrant an actual arrest for murder, showing that at least for some, it is possible for a film to fully step into a realm of “truth”, making it all the more horrifying. It also demonstrates that audiences- perhaps few, but undeniably some- are ready and willing to view some of the largest social taboos in Western culture (namely cannibalism and rape), as part of an entertainment experience.

Perhaps with the early help of Cannibal Holocaust and other films from the Italian horror movement of the 1980s, the horror genre has seen a number of more recent films depicting brutal violence, sometimes dubbed “torture porn” by critics. (14) One of the first films to be bestowed with this title was Eli Roth’s 2005 film “Hostel”, about two young American men who travel to Slovakia in order to pursue its allegedly “free-spirited” women. The two soon find themselves engulfed in an underground practice where seemingly respectable business men pay to torture and murder captives at a secret facility. (15)

Hostel (2005)

Whereas Cannibal Holocaust and the violence contain therein is largely an underground phenomenon, Hostel is in most respects the opposite, with modern production values, recognizable actors, and a major distributor behind it. Despite its Hollywood gloss, though, Hostel incorporates a significant amount of equally grotesque violence: At one point a man’s Achilles tendons are sliced (he then attempts to walk), fingers are cut off, and at another a leg is severed via chainsaw. In terms of cinematography, these instances venture into the overly-dramatized, to the point where it is debatably unrealistic (particularly compared to the cinéma vérité style). But the intention is clear: To shock and illicit emotional response from the audience.

Hostel is far from being the only modern horror film to venture into this territory: The “Saw” series, started in 2003 and now in its sixth iteration, follows a serial killer who traps victims and forces them to escape by testing their endurance of psychological and physical tortures, most of which are extremely violent (in the first installment, a man saws off his own foot in order to escape his shackles). Other entries into the “torture porn” genre include Wolf Creek and Hostel: Part II, both of which were profitable at the box office. (17) (18)

While only a portion of what is considered “horror”, the aforementioned films display something critical about the relationship between filmic content and the spectator: Even as many find the level of brutality and violence to be appalling and unwatchable, there is still a demonstrable audience for it. The Saw series alone, which in many respects epitomizes a cinema of revulsion, is the most profitable horror film series of all time (19), and more films in the same vein are in the works at this very moment. It is a reflection of a shift in culture: The Production Code of the 1930s was representative of a time where taboos in Western society were much larger- violence, death, sex, and so on, were all certainly unacceptable to view and almost equally frowned upon to speak of. In more recent times, perhaps even as a result of the constant exposure to violence in news media (particularly in the post-Vietnam era for America), it has become socially acceptable to see murder, death, and anatomical destruction on screen. Ironically, a line is no longer drawn between violence and non-violence, but between the levels of violence itself.

Within this particular mode of horror, that line has grown less distinct, as audiences have shown that they can and will, happily endure watching what in reality would be some of the vilest and most painful acts we are capable of committing on one another.

(continued in part 2)

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