Response Paper #1

The Construction of Horror

Peter Callstrom

In examining the genre of horror in film, a critical analysis almost seems too quantitative for something designed to evoke fear, terror, and shock in the viewer. It could be argued that no genre makes the viewer feel quite the way that horror films do, which is perhaps why it has survived and evolved to where it is today. But how did this genre survive in the way that it did? What are the results?

            In Tom Gunning’s “An Aesthetic of Astonishment: Early Film and the (In)credulous Spectator”, the question of something I’ve sometimes wondered about the early days of horror films is asked: “how could this agitating experience be understood as part of the attraction of the new invention, rather than a disturbing element that needed to be removed?” (Gunning 4). This idea that one day, none of this existed, and the next, audiences were met with truth-defying, moving images designed to cause discomfort and uneasiness. The fact that these presentations were first introduced by someone that prepared them for what they were about to see helps highlight the mindset of the viewer at the time. Both then and now, viewers willfully walk into dark rooms to feel a real reaction, to feel vulnerable – to feel scared. The things we don’t wish to exist are the things we pay money to see, and in examining the genre of the horror film, it’s clear that there are certain titles that generate this attractive dread in highly effective ways that utilize Gunning’s described “curiositas”.  

            In observing how the genre has developed, I’d like to bring two films separated by almost sixty years: Buster Keaton’s The Electric House and Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining. The former is a short film from 1922 that features a man comically fighting against the contraptions he’s designed in “modernizing” a home. It’s clear, as the mishaps go on, that Keaton’s character grows increasingly maddened both while the source of the issues is still a question, as well as after he realizes it was a fellow graduate exacting revenge. This technological ghost story features a dramatic dynamic between mysterious occurrences and the psychological aftereffects that can ultimately lead to the protagonist’s demise. In Kubrick’s The Shining, the advancement in the ghost story film narrative across half a century is highlighted grandly. Jack Nicholson’s character, Jack Torrance, moves with his family into a large hotel closed down for the winter, where he plans to work on his writing. Throughout, the film inserts many short moments reminiscent of Gunning’s “cinema of attractions” in their short-lived shock-inducing imagery, including a pool of blood flowing from elevators, deathly twin girls, a young slim woman suddenly transformed into a rotting, heavyset woman, and many others. Jack’s psychological development is portrayed both in his changing expressions and obsessions, which highlights the modern film’s effective slow burn approach in these longer pieces of cinema in comparison to earlier films.

            I’ve long been a big fan of horror films, but never truly appreciated the different techniques in use for creating images of dread until I saw The Shining. A documentary titled Room 237 (after the infamous room number in the film) explores a variety of different theories behind various subjects and instances of imagery in the film, and examining just how much content could be sitting behind an already complex tale amazes me. Comparing earlier works like The Electric House and newer pieces like The Shining assist in highlighting the development in quality and meaning in a genre that first deals with making the viewer feel the events occurring on-screen. The two described pieces also help examine how differently narratives of a certain frame (ghost story) can be told in similarly effective ways, which underlines the flexibility of the genre in fascinating ways.

Gunning, Tom. Studies in Film. 2016 ed. Vol. Spring. Minneapolis: Paradigm, 2016. Print. EngL 3040 Harrison.