Admirable Use of Extreme Long Shots in It Follows

Extreme long shots of people often disempower them on screen. A tiny astronaut seen against the vastness of space, or against a vast alien spaceship (e.g. Alien, 1979), emphasizes the astronaut's vulnerability. So too when we see tiny urban campers walking or rafting amid a vast, untamed wilderness (e.g., The Final Terror, 1983).

But in It Follows (2014), extreme long shots achieve the opposite emotional effect: they empower the monster that's stalking its victims.

This is because of the context of the story. Jay (Maika Monroe) is being stalked by a monster. This monster is an enigma. Jay knows little about it, other than that it takes on the appearance of people. It can resemble anyone, even a loved one, and change its appearance at any time. Some clues that a person is the monster are that 1. the monster cannot talk, and 2. other people can't see it. Some less reliable clues are that the monster usually has a deadpan expression, though its expression can turn hostile. And it usually walks toward you in a slow, steady gait, though it can pause.

Anyone can be the monster. Anyone can be a threat. To know, one must examine the person up close. If you call out, does he respond? Is her expression friendly or deadpan? (Alas, to get near enough to the monster, to see if it is the monster, can be fatal.)

Any tiny person in the distance, coming in Jay's direction, is a potential threat. Of course, most people will not be the monster. This uncertainty means that the audience will be unnerved at the sight of anyone in the distance approaching us. We have no way of knowing which passerby is actually the monster.

Consider when Jay goes to the lake. She is sitting in a chair, conversing with her friends. A woman emerges from the foliage in the distance.

This scene is well staged, in that Jay and her friends are all sedentary. Only the unknown woman moves. Because she is the only movement on screen, she catches our attention.

At this point, Jay is in a medium long shot, the woman in extreme long shot. Because she is so tiny on screen, she is an enigma. We can't discern her expression. She walks casually, as any normal person might. But the audience is unnerved, especially because Jay is unaware of the woman's approach. If it is the monster, her friends won't be able to see her. And if they did, they might think nothing of it; they don't fully believe in Jay's monster stalker.

The scene is well played out. As the woman approaches Jay from behind, Jay continues talking to her friends, Kelly (Lili Sepe) and Paul (Keir Gilchrist). Kelly lies on a blanket in front of Jay. Paul is seated to Kelly's right.

 

 

 

 

 

When Jay's hair is lifted, Jay initially thinks nothing of it. It might be the wind. But her friends, and the audience, sees that the person doing the lifting is invisible, thus the monster.

(Although the monster was visible to us before, it might be that the monster is now invisible because we are seeing it from Kelly's point of view.)

Throughout the film, the monster is often (not always) seen in an extreme long shot. This empowers the monster not only because it makes it difficult to tell if it really is the monster, but also because it helps to shroud the monster in mystery. It is often true in horror that the more enigmatic is a threat, the more threatening it is. The less we know, the harder to defend or fight against it. The less we know, the more unnatural it seems; the more it feels like an Other.

It Follows ends with a similar, and very effective, use of extreme long shot. The monster might be dead, but can Jay really be sure? She walks with Paul, who is now also cursed. We see them together on an ordinary suburban street. Then we see them from behind. When we see them again from the front, there is a man behind them in the distance, walking in the same direction.

 

 

This unknown man's presence is unsettling both because he's in an extreme long shot (making him an enigma), and because his appearance is sudden. Of course, he might be a neighbor who exited his house while we were watching Jay and Paul from behind. Who knows?

The end.

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For more information on framing and staging, see Horror Film Aesthetics: Creating the Visual Language of Fear. This blog represents a continuing discussion of my views on horror, picking up from where the book left off.

Parody vs. Mash-Up -- Contrasting Waxwork II: Lost in Time with The X-File's "The Post-Modern Prometheus"

The parody is a relatively easy subgenre to create, because all the main story elements -- the characters (their attitudes, mannerisms, physical appearances), the dramatic situations, the cinematographic and audio styles -- are given to the parodist. Filmmakers and writers who tackle other genres must strive to create original characters and storylines -- an effort that does not burden parodists.

Waxwork II: Lost in Time (1991) demonstrates how easily a lazy filmmaker can create serviceable entertainment when parodying past films. By contrast, "The Post-Modern Prometheus" episode of TV's The X-Files shows how a filmmaker can build upon parodied elements to create something new and worthwhile.

Waxwork II is a sort-of anthology film that parodies previous horror films. Its two lead characters, Mark and Sarah, enter a time warp that sends them through various scenarios, each evoking a horror film.

At one point Mark finds himself with a group of ghost hunters, about to explore a haunted house. Horror fans will immediately recognize the tale as parodying The Haunting (1963). Waxwork II borrows the characters (as in the original, two men and two women), some of their names (both films contain an Eleanor), their attitudes (in both films, an assertive lesbian hits on a timid Eleanor; the lead investigator is a stuffy scientist), the black and white cinematography, and many situations (the laughing girl behind the door).

Waxwork II offers a few original bits, but with rare exception (John's exposed ribs), the film's original elements are unfunny. All the real humor derives from mimicking The Haunting.

Thus, the parodied elements act as a crutch for an otherwise unfunny comedy.

Examine how slavishly the parody mimics the original, in both content and style (and these are only a few of many examples):

This slavish mimicry is true throughout Waxwork II. In another vignette, Sarah finds herself on an alien spacecraft. Very quickly, horror fans will recognize this as a parody of Alien (1979). The astronauts' uniforms resemble those in Alien. Sarah's hair mimics Ripley's hair. The astronauts are cynical and slovenly. And they're being pursued by an alien that bursts from people's chests.

In both of the above vignettes, the audience's pleasure derives not from original characters or situations created by the filmmaker, but from the audience's sense of recognition at identifying which film this or that scene is lifted from.

Of course, many comedies, not just parodies, derive laughs from a sense of recognition. But whereas other comedy subgenres must strive to create original characters and situations from which to draw that sense of recognition, parodies can all too easily get lazy and rely solely on a mimicry-based sense of recognition.

All this is not to say that a slavish parody can't be entertaining -- just that it's a relatively easy and lazy form of filmmaking.

By contrast, consider "The Post-Modern Prometheus" episode of TV's The X-Files. This TV episode simultaneously parodies multiple targets (not just one source film per vignette), then blends all these targets together, while also adding strong, original elements (e.g., series leads Mulder and Scully), to create something new that can stand on its own merits.

In "The Post-Modern Prometheus," Mulder and Scully are presented in 1930s black and white, in a story that borrows characters, situations, and themes from Frankenstein, The Elephant Man,The Mask, and Edward Scissorhands (particularly the episode's music -- check the YouTube excerpt below), and then juggles and mixes these disparate elements into an original, compelling, and cohesive story.



By cohesive, I mean that the story is not just a disparate sequence of random parodied targets, but that all the elements -- Mulder and Scully's characters and attitudes, the original story elements, the parodied targets -- hold together (every element aesthetically and dramatically supporting the other elements) and create a unified story, one that is both unexpectedly funny and surprisingly poignant, while remaining true to Mulder and Scully's personalities.

That is to say, "The Post-Modern Prometheus" works as an The X-Files episode. It does not feel as if Mulder and Scully are slumming in an unrelated "very special episode" because the writers couldn't think of an The X-Files episode that week.

By contrast, Waxwork II feels unfocused and overlong. The main (original) characters are not interesting in themselves. They exist for no purpose other than to meander about as props in the increasingly dull and obvious parody vignettes. Tellingly, the film's most original vignette (the medieval story) is also its most tedious.

Unlike Waxwork II, "The Post-Modern Prometheus" is not only a parody -- it's a mash-up. The former over-relies on borrowed elements as a crutch. The latter borrows smaller bits from many sources, adds large doses of originality, then mixes it into something wholly new.

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For more commentary about the relationship between horror and comedy, see Horror Film Aesthetics: Creating the Visual Language of Fear. This blog represents a continuing discussion of my views on horror, picking up from where the book left off.

Killer Scream Queens -- A Horror Icon That's a Pinup Girl Rather Than a Threat

Genres are often confused with their icons. A genre is a set of story conventions. Icons are dramatic elements -- character archetypes, objects, settings, historical periods, etc. -- that recur throughout a particular genre, so that they become associated with that genre.

The vampire is a horror icon, though other genres also use vampires. Love at First Bite and The Munsters have vampires, but are comedies. The spaceship is a science fiction icon -- but Alien is a horror film.

Icons are a form of shorthand symbolism. Being symbols, it's easy for an icon to disengage from their "parental genre" and take on lives of their own. To convey meanings, and have a purpose, apart from their parental genre's goals.

The horror genre's goal is to inspire fear, usually through an Unnatural Threat (less often via a Naturalistic Psycho Gorefest). However, rather than frighten, some horror icons disengage from the horror genre and instead comfort, or sexually excite, or offer a sense of empowerment to the viewer.

Consider the blood-soaked Killer Scream Queen (as opposed to Scream Queens that are victims). Although this horror icon has perhaps been a threat in some films, today she is primarily a pinup girl. Audiences are not meant to fear her, but to identify/sympathize with her, and enjoy her massacres of (often male) victims.

Examples of Killer Scream Queen pinup girls include Chainsaw Chelly (right) from Dove Matrix:

Also consider this work of art, The Girl, The Chainsaw, from Million Gossip:

The Killer Scream Queen pinup girl has even become a whimsical Halloween costume. Ladies can purchase this Chainsaw Babe outfit from Sexy Costumes:

The Killer Scream Queen is a horror icon that's found a life outside of the genre. No longer threatening or scary, she is used primarily to...

1. Offer "strong" role models to women.

Some critics have accused 1980s slasher films of misogyny. Not entirely fair -- in the 1980s, slashers and victims came in both sexes. But female victims were more often, and more fully, exposed in all their nudity, so the accusation has a kernel of truth.

But the Killer Scream Queen is unabashedly reverse-sexist. She conveys an attitude of: "Now it's our turn to have fun with a chainsaw!"

Chainsaws (as opposed to knives or machetes -- which are smaller and lacking in power) are the Killer Scream Queen's weapon of choice. A Freudian (of which, I am not one) might suggest that these women are arming and empowering themselves with an especially big phallus.

There's an implication that, because these killers are women, it's liberated and progressive to enjoy their violence. One is not supposed to feel threatened by them, so much as to side with them. That's also true to some extent of ugly male killers (who have their fans), but even more so of attractive female killers.

At the 2010 Viscera Film Festival, co-founder Heidi Martinuzzi said that "Feminism is simply equality." Not all feminists agree with that definition -- or even agree about what "equality" might look like. Rosanne Barr has expressed disdain for Angelina Jolie's depiction of "strong women," because all Jolie has proven (according to Barr) is that women can kill in large numbers too. Barr describes Jolie's films "violent" and "psychopathic."

Are female killing machines (such as Lara Croft -- and the Killer Scream Queen) "strong and equal" to men -- or have they merely surrendered their femininity for masculinity? By emulating male killers, have they proven the equality of women, or the superiority of patriarchal values?

2. Serve as the object of men's sexual fantasies.

Men are expected to regard the Killer Scream Queen as sexy, and a conscious effort is made to depict her as sexy. The Killer Scream Queen is invariably young and shapely. She might be buxom, but never overweight.

Although she is a horror icon, her rigid conformity to dominant beauty norms weakens the Killer Scream Queen's claim of also being a feminist icon.

Why are men attracted to murderous women? Perhaps for the same reason that women are attracted to murderous men. They imagine the killer will make an exception in their case, recognizing the force of "true love." The Killer Scream Queen will massacre the jocks who've bullied the nerd -- and then she will fall in love with the nerd.

Hollywood Chainsaw Hookers offers an example of the Killer Scream Queen as sex object (in a film, as opposed to her many pinup images):



3. A blood-drenched, chainsaw-wielding nymph has Shock Value.

The Killer Scream Queen offers an "in your face" assault upon "respectable society" that is always appealing to teenagers and marginalized subcultures. People who feel weak, ignored, or devalued sometimes feel empowered by identifying with horror icons. These icons are not perceived as threats, but as friends, compatriots, or avengers of bullies. Like some other horror icons, the Killer Scream Queen is popular because parents disapprove.

Consider this Twisted Sister video. Dee Snider, in typically freakish Heavy Metal icon makeup, appears on a poster. The father's disapproval upon seeing this poster elicits a smile from the son. (The father snarls, "Wipe that smile off your face.") Presumably, the son wouldn't enjoy Twisted Sister's music as much if the father were a fan.



Horror icons are losing their shock value. This is because...

A. Horror is big business. One can't offend Corporate America by buying its product.

B. Halloween has become an adult holiday. It used to be only for children, but Boomers largely refused to give it up upon attaining adulthood. Today parents are more likely, than in the 1950s, to share their children's interest in horror.

C. Anything will lose its shock value over time.

In Horror Film Aesthetics, I enumerate Four Appeals of horror: 1. Catharsis, 2. Metaphysical Transcendence, 3. Sympathy for the Other, and 4. Ideological Palette

The Killer Scream Queen's appeal is primarily a case of Sympathy for the Other. Her fans see her as an attractive symbol of empowerment. They don't so much fear her, as wish they were her, or were dating her. She is a horror icon with little horror bite -- a figure of comical fun and sexual excitement.

Horror requires threatening threats, and vulnerable victims, otherwise there's little to fear. The more we have Sympathy for the Other -- the more we empathize with the killer as opposed to the victim -- the weaker the horror.

To lesser degrees, the Killer Scream Queen sometimes functions in an Ideological Palette (as a symbol for some political message or other), or Catharsis (when she is threatening sympathetic characters -- which is not too often).

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For more about the appeals of horror see Horror Film Aesthetics: Creating the Visual Language of Fear. This blog represents a continuing discussion of my views on horror, picking up from where the book left off.