by Israel Lawton
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by Israel Lawton
by Israel Lawton Horror is a genre built on tropes. Where as science fiction looks eternally to the future, to exploration, horror looks to our ancient, primal fears. Good horror, therefore, strives to reinterpret symbols of these fears in new and uncanny ways that both reinvigorate our terror but also tap into something we understand as far older and larger then ourselves; something we are petrified to realize we already recognize. Film has elaborated on the mythology of horror expansively, over the last 70 years arguably becoming the tradition's most prolific and widespread medium. Many of our earliest understanding of horror symbols and creatures comes from film; the entire holiday of Halloween in the United States is dominated by portrayals of characters or interpretation of characters not from literature or theatre but from film. Film is, of corse, not an ancient medium, but it's synthesis of literature, music, photography and theatre have created a mythology all to itself. Film's that have been released only 90 years ago have become imitated, referenced and alluded to so often that they have become legend; instantly recognized by millions who perhaps will never see the original films or know of their existence. These tropes: the vampire, the haunted house, the mummy, the wolf man, the deranged serial killer, the exorcism, Satan, and so on, were not created by film. Many of them are ancient; occult even. But cinema has given them new life, new forms, that have come to dominate our perception of them. Though many viewers will never see these tropes first appearance in film, few will feel like they are missing information; horror cinema has become the new campfire stories, a collection of myths that many people can recite or parody without ever knowing how. Some of these myths are strikingly new: the myth of the "slasher" killer, (originating almost to the day as a clear response to the Charles Manson murders and other such serial killers of the 60s and 70s) have taken on a life of their own far beyond their role as screen villains. Most middle schoolers can tell you about Jason and Freddy and Micheal Myers; and even if they can't get all the original details right, neither can the production teams that readapt the films every couple of years. These characters have taken on a life of their own in the way only urban legends can. And the power of this comes from the trope. There is an urban legend of a babysitter who receives stomach churning calls from a man, only to discover that the man is calling from inside the house she is in. In 1979 this familiar tale was adapted into the tragically forgotten horror classic When A Stranger Calls, which despite having one the most referenced and infamous opening scenes in the history of the genre is often overlooked by fans of the genre. However, the legend was reworked, not in the tragically awful 2006 remake that even fewer people have seen, but in Wes Craven's epic 1996 meditation on horror, Scream. The parallels between the films move far beyond the trope of the caller inside the house; much like the opening 12 minutes of When A Stranger Calls the opening moments of Scream are the most iconic and beloved parts of the film. By masterfully retelling this legend though cinema, the myth is given new life and new power, surviving into future generations. It is this desire that leads to so many remakes and reinterpretations of classics; because the horror genre strives to shock; old films that were once sited as terrifying run the risk of being viewed as camp, and to the dismay of horror fans everywhere clueless studios remake classic films with no flair. However, the other drive to remake these films is far less cynical then the first: the desire to give new breath to a legend. Often this fails, but there are key and notable exceptions; most acclaimed being John Carpenter's 1982 version of The Thing, which so outshines the original source material The Thing From Another World that many do not even suspect it is a remake. Few genres, with perhaps the exception of Fantasy, rely so heavily on the usage of tropes, not as a crutch but a defined and essential aspect of the aesthetic. When dealing with an ancient evil in a Christian subculture, its power as part of a visual language comes from utilizing christian symbols and legends. Cinema is now our primary resource for the occult world of horror, and thus it's classics become grimoires, strange and ancient tomes from the forgotten days of Hollywood. by Israel lawton This year I have had many spiritual experiences in films. The first was in Robert Egger's The Witch, a film I saw twice in a week and was profoundly effected by each time. To a lesser degree I had a comparable experience in the less cohesive Knight Of Cups, though that film has stayed with me far less. However, by far the most powerful experience I've had with film this year was a quadruple feature at a fellow Cashier's apartment a few weeks ago. Though all four films were spectacular, (I had seen two previously), the first two films we viewed brought me to tears and fall in that rare but treasured camp of cinematic experiences that may prove to be truly life changing. The first film was a film I had not seen before: Ang Lee's The Ice Storm. The second is a film I had seen several months earlier, and was thrilled to see again: Noah Baumbach's The Squid and the Whale. There is much to be written about these two films, indeed much already has, and I am currently working on an essay that will attempt to explain a more technical fascination with these films and attempt to discuss their successes more fully. However, the purpose of Notes on Cinema will be to keep a sort of cinematic diary, a collection of thoughts and experiences centered around the cinema I consume. I was brought to tears by these films, the process of watching the images edited in specific ways and played with sound changed the way I viewed my life, changed how i interacted with my co workers and family for days afterwards. I want to keep track of these experiences the way us writers do: by grasping at the straws of memory and winding them together into makeshift families or friends, then setting them on fire by casting them in stone. I hope to make this blog somewhere between journal, film criticism and film theory, as that is largely the way I live my life. When I see the last two minutes of The Squid and the Whale play out, either on screen or in my head, I feel my eyes well up with tears, and I see my whole life summarized and explained in perfect detail, the way I never could, even to a close friend. However, what causes this to happen is a great mystery of mise-en-scene: my parents never got a divorce, nor did they even fight much when I was a child. My upbringing was far from idyllic, but it's disruptions and chaos did not stem from any sort of conflict between my parents. However, despite this, I feel a constant desire to exhibit the last few minutes of Baumbach's film as a perfect summery of my life when i was 18. And this gets to the occult magic of it all: the bizarre assumption that we could only connect to stories and other art if it mirrors our experience; taken to it's logical extreme meaning that all art would exist along the perimeters of race, gender, class and age, something that I find not only disgusting but also almost unheard off. So my experience with The Squid and the Whale thus becomes a simple but deeply personal example of the lasting power of art: how something so simple, so obvious, can become world altering, life changing and reduce someone to tears. A few nights ago I was at another friend's apartment and attempted to explain the sensation of remembering every exact detail of a perfect moment, the shadows cast by wall hangings, the color of the picture frame on the table, the way I moved my hands, so that I could recreate it perfectly again if I needed to. Films such as the one's above seem to be the result of such strenuous observation; the ability to create something so personal it becomes surreal. In short, this project is an attempt to do just that: to recapture perfect moments with cinema. |
ContributorsThe contributors for Cashiers of Cinema are a menagerie of creators devoted to Radical Aesthetics. Meetings are held at the dumpster behind Winkie's. Archives
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