horror – Death in the Digital Age

March 2, 2017March 2, 2017

Be Careful What You Ask For

A common trope in the genre of horror is that the monster or the object of possession and perversion is often female. For example, the 1973 post-modern horror film, The Exorcist, centers a prepubescent young girl being possessed by a demon. The audience witnesses her turn from innocent and loving, to tortured and pained, to evil and destructive. An additional and more recent example of an overcome female is in a recent horror podcast series The Bright Sessions. This fictional series consists of episodes that are a therapist’s secret recordings of her “strange and unusual” patient sessions. The patient of the first episode is a 25-year-old woman who gradually reveals during her first session that she can time travel. These two works both portray a girl or woman as a crazed and these characters embody a cultural imaginary of people no longer being bound by what is normal or human. It is through comparing these two works that I argue that The Exorcist and episode one of The Bright Sessions tap into a deeper cultural anxiety—that if an individual were granted with capabilities that exceeded human limits, then he or she would live a life of pain, destruction, and loneliness.

The Exorcist

The film The Exorcist was an extremely popular horror film during its time. It led to major box office success followed by multiple imitation films throughout the decades (The Devil Within Her, Abby, Cathy’s Curse, Lisa and The Devil, To the Devil—A Daughter, Audrey Rose, and The Sexorcist). Creed graphically summarizes in her psychoanalysis of The Exorcist the horrid actions of the main character. “Regan, the young female protagonist… is a truly monstrous figure. She spews green bile, utters foul obscenities, tries to fuck her mother, causes inanimate objects to fly, rotates her head full circle on her neck, knocks men to the floor with one punch, tries to castrate a priest, murders two men, and in her spare time masturbates with a crucifix” (Creed 31). One common trope in horror films and a central one to this plot is the perversion of what is good an innocent. The film initially introduces the audience to a prepubescent “pure” girl who has a loving relationship with her mother. However, as the demonic possession progresses both Regan’s purity and warm maternal relationship dilapidate. She begins to levitate, make furniture fly across the room, and her skin corrodes and mutates to look undead. Possessed Regan looks and has obtained abilities that are beyond human. To extend what Creed argues, the possession not only contorts Regan to be socially improper, sexually impure, and unstoppably violent, but this perversion also excuses her actions and is “perversely appealing” (31). Particularly within post-modern thought, society questions and blurs the lines of authority, religion, and truth. When Regan becomes possessed, she simultaneously challenges religion, parental control, and sexual repression. The obeying of authority and the policing of sexuality are two major social norms on which the demon pushes back. In this vein, the film serves as an outlet through which the audience can liberated from societal repressions. It is important to note, however, that this liberation comes at the cost of the well-being Regan and she harms those that love and want to help her along the way.

The Bright Sessions

The Bright Sessions, is a relatively new podcast (episode 1 was released in 2015) which has received popularity and high acclaim within the horror podcast genre. To summarize the premise of the series, the therapist Dr. Bright has placed an ad in the paper offering “therapy for the strange and unusual.” Dr. Bright secretly records her sessions for research and each episode in the series is the recording of one patient’s session. As a disclaimer, I will be analyzing and comparing The Exorcist to only the first episode of this podcast series for this is a scope I can appropriately and responsibly cover. Episode 1 walks its listeners through the first session of a patient named Samantha Barnes (or Sam). Sam came to see Dr. Bright after seeing the ad in the paper and Sam discloses that she came with the understanding that she sees herself as “strange and unusual.” Throughout the episode, the listener learns that Sam can time travel. The unexpected part of the session is not her superhuman ability though. The surprise is that she does not reveal her secret with fascination or wonder, but more accurately, Sam—similar to how one would confess to a Catholic priest—confesses her time-traveling ability to Dr. Bright with guilt and pain. Sam up until this point has pent up her frustration and paranoia of her secret ability over which she has no control. The mere act of time traveling is out of Sam’s control and it brings her much bodily pain. Throughout Sam’s session she vents about how time traveling “sucks” and how she was “scared” when it first happened to her. She describes her experience time traveling in the following lines:

Sam: They can never see me, I’m just there. It’s like being stuck inside someone’s memory or something. I can move around but I can’t talk. I’m basically a ghost. Or a reverse ghost. Not dead or visible. Or not even born yet, I guess. Ugh, I don’t know.

Dr. Bright: That… that must be difficult.

Sam: It’s horrible.

In Sam’s line “it’s horrible,” listeners can hear the pain in Sam’s voice. This moment in the podcasts merits more analysis into the podcast as a medium and how it effectively contributes to the empathy listeners feel. Understanding podcasts as a medium is particularly important to understanding how listeners feel Sam’s pain. Merely looking at these few transcribed lines and reading Sam’s pain and frustration on a page is one thing, but podcasts offer more intimacy and relatability than other digital media. Podcasts are absorbed only through hearing. Various scholars analyze the intimacy of radio and podcasts: Crisell notes that much like radio channels, podcasts are a “blind medium” through which listeners “cannot see its messages, they consist only of noise and silence” and they must imagine the scenery in their own minds (15); “voice is an intimate key to audiences’ hearts…” and “podcasts with headphones further emphasizes the individual’s experience of listening to a conversation with a friend” (Lindgren 27). Throughout this episode, listeners do not just passively listen to Sam’s story, but in a way, listeners recreate it in their imaginations and empathize with it. Sam’s deep exhale after confessing her strange and unusual ability, or the tightness in her throat when she talks about her bodily pain, or the acceleration in her speech as she laments her loneliness and frustrations—all of these extra-textual components cue listeners to internalize and feel Sam’s resentment and despair instead of merely read it on a page or see it on a television screen. Though Sam has a super capability that, in most fictional worlds, would seem “cool” and heroic, listeners realize that Sam’s reality could not be more opposite. Sam has been living in hiding with no family or friends and her secret is more of a curse than it is a blessing. The ability has brought Sam physical pain, emotional turmoil, and deprived human connections.

The Bigger Picture

Now what do these two works, published on completely different digital mediums, have to do with each other? As I have laid out, there are many thematic similarities between the two: the possession of a young girl/woman, the confessing and seeking of help from a higher authority (whether that be a pastor or a professional therapist), and uncontrollable extraterrestrial capabilities being assaulted onto a human being. However, these texts relate in a way that is a microcosm of a deeper cultural anxiety. Humankind evolves and adapts to survive and progress in a world where its existence—no matter the advancement of technology—will ultimately come to an end. Regan’s being possessed by a demon and Sam’s having the uncontrollable ability to time travel tap into the human fantasy of obtaining unimaginable and unlimited abilities. The heartbreak of these two works lie in man’s wish to be infinite. Regan and Sam embody the tragic, and arguably more realistic, repercussions of coming across a remedy to finite and insignificant existence. These two character show its audiences that obtaining these abilities would hurt them and hurt their loved ones rather than offer an abundant and beautiful life. Ultimately both Regan and Sam lead a life of heartbreak and loneliness.

In The Exorcist, Regan originally symbolizes innocence, love, and youth and then becomes the very opposite of what the audience treasures: destructive, perverse, and squeamishly abject. The Bright Sessions observes a girl who experiences immense pain from a supernatural ability for which she never asked. These two works speak to the collective horror story of what it could potentially be like for man to obtain a remedy to the universal fear of death and insignificance. Instead of superhuman power offering a life of catharsis and relief, it would only bring about pain, loneliness, and destruction.

Works Cited

Creed, Barbara. The monstrous-feminine: Film, feminism, psychoanalysis. Psychology Press, 1993.

Crisell, Andrew. Understanding radio. Routledge, 2006.

Lindgren, Mia. “Personal narrative journalism and podcasting.” Radio Journal: International Studies in Broadcast & Audio Media 14.1 (2016): 23-41.

March 1, 2017March 2, 2017

We are Our Greatest Monster: Horror Comparative Analysis Podcast

For the comparative analysis project I examined J-horror film Kairo (Pulse) and George Saunders’ “Escape from Spiderhead.” Below is my podcast!

[soundcloud url=”https://api.soundcloud.com/tracks/310058331″ params=”auto_play=false&hide_related=false&show_comments=true&show_user=true&show_reposts=false&visual=true” width=”100%” height=”450″ iframe=”true” /]

References:

Cohen, Jeffrey Jerome. “Monster Culture (Seven Theses).” Monster Theory : Reading Culture. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1996. Web.
Iles, Timothy. The Crisis of Identity in Contemporary Japanese Film : Personal, Cultural, National. Leiden: Brill, 2008. Web. Brill’s Japanese studies library, v. 30; Brill’s Japanese studies library, v. 30.
Pinedo, Isabel. “Recreational Terror: Postmodern Elements of the Contemporary Horror Film.” Journal of Film and Video 48.1/2 (1996): 17-31. Print.
Skloot, Rebecca. The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. New York: Crown, 2010. Print.
Wada-Marciano, Mitsuyo. Japanese Cinema in the Digital Age. N.p.: U of Hawaii, 2012. Project Muse. Web.
Zielinski, Sarah. “Henrietta Lacks’ ‘Immortal’ Cells.” Smithsonian.com. Smithsonian Institution, 22 Jan. 2010. Web. 01 Mar. 2017.

February 6, 2017

Victim or Villain: Marjorie’s Mental Illness

The other day in class, when Dr. Sample asked which of us thought Marjorie was actually possessed, I said “I hope she is.” I felt that way for two reasons. The first is that demonic possession is cool and scary and very entertaining to read about. I find supernatural horror incredibly fun. But the second is that if Marjorie is simply mentally ill (which is the conclusion I’ve arrived at upon finishing the book), I look at the entire story differently. Instead of a creepy tale of demons and magic, we’re left with an incredibly sad story of severe mental illness wreaking havoc on a young woman and her family. (That’s not to say that I didn’t enjoy this book – it was an incredibly fun read – but I found myself disturbed by Marjorie’s story).

Beyond being let down that this novel is more tragic than terrifying, I’m also conflicted about Tremblay’s portrayal of mental illness. On one hand, I find it falling into the tired and problematic trope of mentally ill people as monsters. But on the other, I think it raises awareness of the gross mistreatment of people with mental illnesses.

Statistically, people with mental illnesses are far more likely to be victims of violence than perpetrators of it, and any violence they do enact is most likely self-directed. Nevertheless, mass media consistently portrays the mentally ill as murderous. The recent movie, Split, drew a lot of criticism for sensationalizing Dissociative Identity Disorder and suggesting it to be a cause of violence.

James McAvoy as the DID patient in M. Night Shyamalan’s 2016 thriller, Split. Source

So Marjorie’s threats to her sister and graphically detailed attack on the priest during the exorcism somewhat strike me as playing into that stereotype. She rips a chunk of flesh out of a man’s forearm with her teeth. That’s a pretty horrifying, animalistic sort of violence.

However, I also see this book as a critique of the treatment of the mentally ill. Marjorie is clearly unsatisfied with her care from Dr. Hamilton, whom she describes as having “the fastest prescription pad in the east” (124), and her illness is not discussed candidly among her family members. Marjorie’s illness is treated as shameful and taboo, and she therefore lacks the familial support to recover, noting that her illness was probably caused by stress in the first place (124).

Therefore, despite Marjorie’s display of violence during the exorcism, I found that scene to be the culmination of the misunderstanding and mistreatment she faced during the novel. Already seriously ill, she was restrained (as the mentally ill often are) and left cold and frightened. Marjorie had, in comparison, far more abuse inflicted upon her than she inflicted upon others.

The true horror of A Head Full of Ghosts is not Marjorie’s illness, or even the shocking revelation in part 3, but a depiction of the very real cruelty, misunderstanding, and abuse people with serious mental illnesses experience all too frequently.

February 2, 2017February 2, 2017

How Do you Remember it? The Construction of Truth in “A Head Full of Ghosts”

In A Head Full of Ghosts, Paul Tremblay destabilizes the belief that there exists one version of reality, providing instead various conflicting accounts and retellings of one event to highlight the subjective and constructed nature of truth. When multiple “correct” versions of a situation exist, anything becomes possible; both logical and irrational explanations (mental illness versus a spirit possession) have equal authority. Horror is achieved through the realization that there are no limits, only different sides to the same story.

The concept of truth is less tangible and exact than we want to believe. Different versions blur together. Takemoto, Akio. Blurry People. 2015. Flickr. Web. 2 Feb. 2017.

The characters in A Head Full of Ghosts struggle to find the “true” story of Marjorie. Rachel makes it her mission to locate “An accurate account of what happened” (Tremblay 111) and Merry’s mother documents events in a red notebook (46). Merry grapples with this struggle for the “correct” version of events as well, questioning her memory each time it contradicts the accounts of those around her and the TV show’s interpretation. Merry undermines the validity of her memories by acknowledging that they ““…were mixed together with what other people told [her] about what had happened, and [she] included pop culture and media”” as influences (Tremblay 112). She often hesitates as she recounts her experience, offering excuses each time her memory differs from recorded happenings including “misremembering” (Tremblay 72) and the possibility that she blocked out the trauma or even confused reenactment with reality (73). Self-doubt, amplified by the 15 years that have passed since the incident, cause Merry to falter in her conviction.

Merry’s hesitation introduces a central dilemma: what happens when we can’t remember and when our memory fails us? In his article “The Storyteller: Reflections on the Works of Nikolai Leskov,” Walter Benjamin describes memory as a “…tradition which passes a happening on from generation to generation” (Benjamin 371). However, in A Head Full of Ghosts, the memory of what happened to Marjorie is passed via technology—the camera and the tape recorder. This shift from human memory to technological storage removes the human responsibility of “…reproducing the story” through memory (Benjamin 370). Technology serves as a vault of memories and traumas that will never be fully processed or interpreted outside of their factual value as information or cheep entertainment.

It is perhaps more accurate to say that technology preserves rather than remembers. Memories are rooted in emotion, tied to the feelings experienced in the moment. Because they are tied to emotion, memories are physical experiences that allow us to relive a situation in the past. Technology, however, can’t capture feeling, only fact. For example, when Merry uses her video camera to capture Marjorie’s invasion of her room one night, she is disappointed re-watching it, noting, “It didn’t look as scary as I remember it” (Tremblay 149). The video is unable to address Merry’s fear and anger, and as a result, it’s literal depiction no longer represents the truth. Without Merry’s emotional response, the recording fails to capture the integrity of the event.

This limitation in technology’s “memory” is reminiscent of Black Mirror. In her grief, Martha finds solace in the thought that Ash can be forever preserved, his memory left intact. The fear of forgetting him is removed as a burden. However, not unlike humans, technology has a selective memory and we soon realize that the synthesized version of Ash is missing the very qualities that made him who he was when living. Just like the cameras of the reality TV show The Possession in Tremblay’s book, Marjorie and Ash are remembered through their exterior, public construction of themselves. This concept of remembrance circles us back to the Benjamin reading, which introduces the term to signify what we remember and preserve of a person when they are dead or gone. Benjamin uses the example of the “Man…who died at thirty-five [who] will appear to remembrance at every point in his life as a man who died at the age of thirty-five. In other words, the statement that makes no sense for real life becomes indisputable for remembered life” (Benjamin 373). In the context of A Head Full of Ghosts, the confusion and hesitation of the real-life trauma experienced by the Barrett family is distorted into a single, condensed and indisputable account of the event by the single lens of technology. This one incident in Marjorie’s fourteen years on earth becomes her entire essence and identity in her absence.

Works Cited:

“Be Right Back.” Black Mirror, season 2, episode 1, Netflix.

Benjamin, Walter, and Hannah Arendt. “The Storyteller: Reflections on the Works of Nikolai Leslov.” Illuminations. Trans. Harry Zohn. New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1968. 83-109. Print.

Tremblay, Paul. A Head Full of Ghosts: A Novel. New York, NY: William Morrow, 2015. Print.

February 2, 2017

From Scared to Sympathetic

As I have continued reading A Head Full of Ghosts, the evolution of Marjorie’s schizophrenia constantly changes how I view the horror in the book. Throughout the story, Marjorie has been the cause of the majority of the terrifying events but the lens through which I view these has shifted from fear to pity. My perspective shifted in chapter 16, simultaneously with Merry’s view of her sister, when Marjorie explains, “I’ve been faking it… What do you mean why?… then I started hearing the voices, stress induced probably, yeah, but still it sort of freaked me out… I decided I’d just keep pushing it, see how far I could go… You guys should be thanking me. I saved the house. I saved us, all of us, and I’m going to make us famous” (124-25).

As artist Louis Wain’s schizophrenia progressed, the image of a cat becomes more difficult to discern.

Marjorie’s elaborate story comes across as fake and her pretense of control makes Merry realize she “was afraid for her instead of being afraid of her” (125). Merry’s pity humanizes Marjorie. Marjorie is no longer some wild animal, lurking around the house, whose behavior is erratic and unsettling (to say the least). Now that she has talked about her behavior and has some memory and understanding of the damage, Marjorie is elevated from her status as a rabid, mindless, demon-possessed monster to a human recognizing her behavior as her own (not the act of a demon). As readers, we can now evaluate future scenes and recall previous scenes and question how Marjorie’s strange behavior is influenced in combination by her schizophrenia, her own theatrics, and her own fears. Terrifying as reading these scenes may be, imagining being Marjorie is much more painful.