Rise of the Random Horror Anthology Film

Historically, horror anthology films were written by the same writer and helmed by the same director. The wraparound and individual tales were all linked -- dramatically, thematically and aesthetically. This was true of the first such film, Dead of Night (1945). It was true of Amicus's anthology cycle (1965-74) and of Creepshow (1982).

Spirits of the Dead (1968) and Two Evil Eyes (1990) are rare examples where the shorts had different directors, but they were specifically produced with the final feature in mind. All the stories were dramatically and thematically linked; in both films, all shorts were inspired by Edgar Allan Poe.

Fast forward to the 2000s. The proliferation of horror film festivals, YouTube, and cheaper and easier digital filmmaking equipment, led to a massive increase in the production of short horror films. At which point, distributors come up with an idea. Why spend money shooting an entire feature film, when you can just buy up some shorts, shoot a wraparound for them, and call it a feature?

And thus was born the random horror anthology film, which has become so prevalent as to practically be its own subgenre.

Unlike the Amicus films, I'm not sure a random horror anthology film even qualifies as a "feature" film. If a producer cobbles together a bunch of disparate shorts, which have already played at film festivals, and often even on YouTube, then shoots an unrelated wraparound for them, is that a feature?

All Hallows' Eve 2 (2015) was so sloppily constructed that some of its shorts are foreign films with subtitles. That lack of aesthetic unity is emotionally jarring, reminding us that this is not a coherent feature but merely a collection of shorts. It hinders our suspension of disbelief. The wraparound itself is merely a woman watching these shorts on TV. We don't need this wraparound; we're already doing that by watching this film.

All Hallows' Eve 2 is the sequel to the far superior All Hallows Eve (2013), which introduced Art the Clown. Art only appears briefly in All Hallows' Eve 2's wraparound, not in any of the shorts. I'm guessing the producers wanted to cash in on the success of All Hallows' Eve, but quickly and on the cheap. Maybe they weren't sure, at the time, that Art had staying power or was worth the investment.

Obviously, they changed their minds, hence, Terrifier (2016) and its sequels.

Even so, All Hallows Eve 2 is dreadful. So too the Red Book Ritual series (more random shorts with a disconnected wraparound). And many other random horror anthology films too numerous to mention.

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For more information on subgenres and aesthetics, 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.

 

Frankenweenie: A Curiously Anti-Science "Pro-Science" Message

Horror has traditionally been skeptical of science and progress. Going back at least as far as Mary Shelley's Frankenstein, horror stories have often suggested that "Some things man was not meant to know." Science fiction abounds with characters who are scientists, but horror is more likely to feature mad scientists.

Frankenweenie, an animated feature inspired by the 1931 film version of Frankenstein, acknowledges horror's anti-science tradition, but then tries to turn it around into a pro-science message. Yet Frankenweenie ultimately fails, finally "defending" science with a curiously unscientific message.

In Frankenweenie, the parents in a 1950s type suburban community fear Mr. Rzykruski, a science teacher at their local high school. Much like the villagers in Frankenstein, the parents are ready to run Rzykruski out of town carrying pitchforks and burning torches. Instead, they give Rzykruski a chance to defend himself.

Rzykruski does a poor job defending himself. He insults the parents for their ignorance and fear of science. Naturally, this does not endear Rzykruski to the parents. Even so, one senses that Rzykruski's rants are intended as a pro-science message, with which the viewer is intended to sympathize.

But then the film turns curiously anti-science, not by opposing science, but by misrepresenting it.

As Rzykruski packs his car trunk with his belongings, preparing to leave town, Victor asks him for advice. Victor asks why his science experiment didn't yield the same results the second time around.

Well, according to the scientific method, an experiment with the same variables must repeat the same results before any conclusions can be reached. If the experiment does not repeat its results, then one must search for overlooked variables. The scientific method is about rational thinking, about Reason, no?

Instead, Rzykruski suggests that Victor's experiment didn't yield the same results the second time was because Victor didn't love his experiment the second time.

Rzykruski points to his head and says, "People think the perfect scientist is here."

Then Rzykruski points to his heart and says, "But the perfect scientist is also here."

HUH?

What do emotions have to do with Reason and the scientific method? Sure, it's nice if scientists feel passionate about their work -- but when assessing the results of their experiments, they should be completely dispassionate. Aloof. Rational.

This superiority of Heart over Mind is an all-too-common Hollywood theme. It's the sort of cheap sentimentality one finds in many Hollywood films.

We see it again in Dark City. A dying race of aliens kidnaps a whole city's worth of humans, in an attempt to discover what makes them human, so as to assume human form and thus avert their extinction.

In the end, the aliens fail. Why? Because they were studying the human mind instead of the heart.

Like Rzykruski, John (Rufus Sewell) points to his head and tells a dying alien, "You wanted to know what made us human. But you're not gonna find it in here. You went looking in the wrong place."

Hollywood films abound with aliens who apparently travel millions of light years to study our emotions. Star Trek was full of aliens mystified or fascinated by human emotions. So too the aliens in The Forgotten and Visitors of the Night, to name a few.

Unsurprisingly, Frankenweeinie is a Disney film, the studio with the greatest reputation for cheap sentimentality.

Frankenweenie is apparently intended as a pro-science film. Yet the film praises science by damming it.

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For more about interpreting themes in horror films, 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.