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Today is the 47th anniversary of the assassination of President John F. Kennedy, a tragedy in which many believe, to quote Kennedy’s Secret Service agent Clint Hill: “the Age of Innocence died”; and which famously–or infamously–brought about many conspiracy theories.

Personally, I never bought in to any of the conspiracy theories. They’re all just too convoluted to work, in my opinion.

I did see Oliver Stone’s movie JFK. It was a good movie, but it didn’t do anything to make me think there really was a conspiracy.

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“The true weird tale has something more than secret murder, bloody bones, or a sheeted form clanking chains according to rule. A certain atmosphere of breathless and unexplainable dread of outer, unknown forces must be present; and there must be a hint, expressed with a seriousness and portentousness becoming its subject, of that most terrible conception of the human brain–a malign and particular suspension or defeat of those fixed laws of Nature which are our only safeguard against the assaults of chaos and the daemons of unplumbed space.”–H.P. Lovecraft. “Supernatural Horror in Literature.” 1927.

I didn’t plan to write more about horror movies, but this post set me thinking about it. Well, this, coupled with the fact that it’s October, and for years I’ve wanted nothing better than to see a good, solid, terrifying movie during Halloween month.

But I can’t, because what passes for a horror film these days is mindless ultra-violence. None of the horror films of today are remotely frightening. They are, at most, grotesque. Which is not at all the same thing as frightening, and it’s a sign of how very pathetic the whole genre has become that they continue to profit.

Audiences nowadays are seemingly only capable of viewing a film on a visceral level. There is no wish, it seems, for a kind of intellectual horror–which is the only kind that really interests me, at least in a film or book. (There are a few video games where pure shock and grotesqueness can work.)

Actually, though, video games are more intellectual than the idiocies which are committed by alleged horror filmmakers. Doom 3, flawed though it was by the bad melodrama of arch-villain Dr. Betruger, at least actually did introduce “outer, unknown forces”, as Lovecraft described. Indeed, most video gamers have read some Lovecraft somewhere down the line, and hence have (probably inadvertently) picked up a few principles of cosmic horror.

(It’s revealing that when they made a movie based on the Doom series,  they had to change the whole story to make the monsters not the supernatural legions of Hell, but rather mere genetic mutations. Scientific explanation of the monsters ruins horror of said monsters.)

This is the second, related flaw I see in modern horror films: when everyone isn’t being gruesomely terrorized, they are explaining the origin, physical properties, and, if possible, psychological profile of whatever the monsters are.

I assume this is some sort of attempt to make the story intellectually engaging, but it invariably ruins any conceivable fear that it is to be had from the story. (Also, the state of writing being what it is in horror films, it’s generally painful whenever anyone says anything, so the less said, the better.)

Finally, since the idea of “horror” is increasingly synonymous  with “violence”, filmmakers are ceasing to make their monsters monsters, and instead making them merely insane criminals. Well, I suppose that’s scary enough in its way, but nothing that couldn’t be remedied with a better police force, better prisons, and perhaps a shotgun.

(As an aside, why is more gun ownership the implicit moral of many of these supposedly “Liberal Hollywood” movies? Do they not realize it?)

Horror movies are in a state of severe decline and appear to have a crippling lack of originality and inventiveness. Violence is a basic and ancient human activity, and therefore requires no imagination to throw into a film. The over-explanation of everything serves to make the films more mundane still. Criminality is, again, a fact of life which requires no imagination to think up, only access to a police blotter.

Imagination, then, is what the horror filmmakers of today lack. They have no ability, it seems, to think outside the natural laws of the everyday world and seize upon some truly unsettling idea of incomprehensible forces, preferring instead to let their lazy minds settle on whatever base emotion they happen to have.

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Leo Grin, at the conservative site Big Hollywood, complains of “Hollywood’s love affair with Satanism”:

“Modern Hollywood wants us to believe that supernatural forces of Darkness are frighteningly real, even while they dismiss all supernatural forces of Light as laughable superstition.

 Hollywood is cheating in the horror movie arena just as they do in the political and social arenas. They are, by turns, scaring us and seducing us with deeply anti-Christian mythological monsters, while simultaneously mocking anyone who believes in the corresponding existence and power of supernatural forces for good. It’s yet another attempt to scrub any trace of God from our popular culture, spitting in the faces of the upwards of eighty percent of Americans who identify as Christians, and in the process disappointing the near one-hundred percent of theatergoers who don’t want to drop thirty bucks on a movie where villains and nihilism conquer all.” 

Well, to me, an effective horror flick needs to either end with the monsters triumphing over the heroes or, even more effectively, it needs to end with the heroes believing themselves to have won, only to reveal that the monsters are, in some form, still around or could come back. Otherwise, it implies it or they have been thwarted, and therefore no longer could even theoretically pose a threat. You can’t really have a happy ending in a horror story; at best, you can have a temporary reprieve for the heroes.

Also, it has always seemed to me that this scenario Grin describes–real monsters, no God–would be the most effective to scare religious people. I mean, if the purpose of a horror movie is to be scared, what could be more effective for scaring a pious person than the idea that there is no God? (And, of course, I think the inverse would also be true: movies like The Exorcist or The Omen, which are premised on the idea the Bible is true, should be much more frightening to atheists than to Christians.)

Then again, I may be wrong about that. After all, the bleak, near-nihilism of  H.P. Lovecraft’s cosmic horror stories–especially the Great Old Ones–was inspired partially because, as an atheist, he found the “Christian” horrors wholly unbelievable and hence, not scary.

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[Note: I wrote this post awhile ago, but didn’t publish it. Then I was reminded of it by thingy‘s comments on this post combined with reading this post by Nameless Cynic.]

Do you have any favorite works of art, music, literature or entertainment that you really like, but that the vast majority of critics hate? I’m not talking about stuff that’s “so bad, it’s good” here, I’m talking about something where you and a friend can be talking about this thing, and it’s like you’re talking about two different subjects. Your friend hates it for reasons you just don’t see, and you can’t make your friend see why you like it.

I think I might have some sort of mental issue with this, because there are all sorts of examples I can think of from my life. For example, remember those Star Wars prequels that everyone hated? Yeah, well… I loved them. I think they’re honestly better than the originals. [Prepares to be flamed.]

Take another example: Obsidian Entertainment‘s video game Alpha Protocol. The critics and videogamers generally hated that thing. Destructoid gave it a 2 out of 10. That just isn’t done in game reviews. I, meanwhile, thought it was an excellent game–in some ways, better than Mass Effect 2, even. [Prepares to be flamed, again.]

Even in my enthusiasm for Gilbert and Sullivan, this issue crops up. The Grand Duke was G&S’s last operetta, and the only one to be an utter failure. And despite the lasting popularity of Gilbert and Sullivan’s works, The Grand Duke has been ignored from its 1896 premiere to the present day. Most G&S fans hate it. And yet I love the thing. It’s my third favorite of their 14 operettas. [I probably won’t get flamed for this, but better safe than sorry]

It’s not like I don’t realize there are flaws in all these works. Yes, the dialogue in the SW prequels is very weak. Yes, sometimes the textures in Alpha Protocol don’t put in an appearance until you’re well into a mission. Yes, it occasionally seems like W.S. Gilbert utterly lost his knowledge of how rhyme and syntax work for The Grand Duke. But somehow, these flaws just don’t bother me like they do most people.

But anyway, enough about my eccentricities. I’m just curious if anyone else has ever experienced anything similar to this.

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I’ve always been bothered by the common horror-story trope that vampires can’t be seen in mirrors. If they can be seen with the naked eye, it means they reflect light. If they reflect light, they will be visible in mirrors. But, in addition to not making sense, the whole idea seems needless and tacked-on; which kind of detracts from the scariness of vampires, I think.

So I searched on this phenomenon, and it turns out, according to “J” at Yahoo answers, that people believed that mirrors reflected the soul of a person, not just the actual person. Vampires, having no souls, don’t show up in mirrors.

For some reason–and forgive me for going all geeky here–I find this to be rather absurd. I don’t know why; and obviously it’s silly to complain about this being unbelievable–vampires are mythical creatures and therefore the whole thing is no more unbelievable than the rest of it. And yet I can’t help but find that sometimes some elements of the fiction screw up the rest of it for me.

Some people find this irritating, and I guess I see their point.  I know sounds ridiculous to demand “believability” from fictional stories. But forgive me if I believe that fiction needs to have “internal logic”. More than that, there is a chance of a writer putting in too many fantastic or unreal elements, so that it all becomes utterly unbelievable and ruins the immersion.

One of the most illuminating explanations of this problem comes from a rather unlikely source. In his book A Most Ingenious Paradox: The Art of Gilbert and Sullivan, Gayden Wren writes:

“Most… Gilbert and Sullivan operas rely on a single preposterous element–the witch’s curse in Ruddigore, for example, or The Yeomen of the Guard‘s masked marriage–which are subsequently treated plausibly enough that each opera as a whole seems logical.” (Emphasis added.)

What Wren describes is indeed a key part of G and S’s humor, but I believe that writers of the horror genre would have even more to gain by following this method. You can maybe get away with an anything-goes illogicality in comedies. It is often very jarring in a horror story.

To tie all this back in with the vampires: I suppose this overabundance of implausibility is an inevitable consequence of the way mythology and folklore work–a story gets new facets and touches every time it is retold. The vampire myth–on which, I admit, I’m no expert–seems remotely possible, and thus scary, if you’re just going on the premise that there exist beings which can subsist on human blood for a very long time.

I can easily imagine that this was how it all started–but over centuries other details, like turning into bats, can’t go out in sunlight, vulnerable to crucifixes, holy water, garlic etc. all got thrown into the mix by various people.

All this adds up to make the whole myth much less scary. One unbelievable element I can take; a dozen is much harder. And while I’m never going to actually believe in anything I read in a horror book or see in a movie, it is possible to subconsciously be put on edge by a well-done horror story.

This is one reason I like many of H.P. Lovecraft‘s stories. He was fairly successful, I feel, at using only a single implausible idea–the “Great Old Ones“–and then following it logically. I certainly don’t believe such ideas, but it sounds remotely possible. (And unknowable, since the Old Ones exist in other dimensions and in far reaches of the Universe.)

In something of an irony, though, much of the “Cthulhu mythos” was redesigned by August Derleth and now suffers from the same flaws that befell other myths–too many unnecessary elements thrown in that spoil the original frightening elements. (For me, this is. Some love Derleth’s work. To each his or her own.)

Still perhaps this quest to find horror that really does seem believable while being simultaneously entertaining is a Quixotic one. After all, there’s only so scared one can get reading a book or watching a movie. Even my favorite horror movie ever, The Omen (The ’76 one, not the ’06 remake) still suffers from too many unbelievable and needless elements that are unrelated to the central premise.

I guess to really get immersed in a horror story, my best bet is probably video games. After all, at least in games like Doom 3, F.E.A.R. and Dead Space, you are the one wandering around in the dark, not passively watching or imagining some character doing it. So, even if there are implausible elements, it’s easier to forget about them.

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I’m really of two minds about the recent announcement that the Star Wars movies are going to be re-released in 3D. On the one hand, from a technology perspective,I think it’s pretty cool the way they go about converting the movie to 3D. It’s almost worth doing it just to be able to make the “making of” documentary. And while it’s probably true that Lucas messes with his movies more than he should, I can certainly understand the temptation to do so.

On the other hand, I happen to think that 3D doesn’t really add much to movies. I saw Avatar in 3D and was not impressed. (Of course, I think all the Star Wars movies, even Return of the Jedi, are better than Avatar.) Re-releasing the movies in this form seems to me to be needless at best and potentially damaging to the movie experience at worst.

Then again, what do I know? After all, I actually think the prequel trilogy is, overall, superior to the original trilogy. So, you can bet that whatever I end up thinking about it is going to be the exact opposite of how most fans feel.

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There are some artworks, pieces of literature and forms of entertainment that lend themselves to being enjoyed in particular seasons, weather conditions, or times of day. For example, the book The King in Yellow that I posted about the other day is, in my opinion, best read on a sunny, pleasant, late summer day. This is sort of unusual for a work of weird fiction, but the horror of the book is primarily psychological, and is sometimes offset by a a peaceful, pleasant setting.

Sometimes the natural environment most complementary to a story is obvious; Lovecraft’s The Haunter of the Dark must be read in a lightning storm because a lightning storm is central to the story. Others are less obvious; the movie Lawrence of Arabia is more fun to watch at night than on a hot summer day–though perhaps overheating is the reason.

As I’ve already pointed out on this blog, I find the Gilbert and Sullivan operetta The Sorcerer lends itself to being listened to on warm, gray days. (And Ruddigore, obviously, is a natural for Halloween.)

Then there are some things that lend themselves to various seasons. In my opinion, you haven’t read Harry Potter till you’ve read it while sitting outside on a cool October evening. And I’ve found that some video games–like both Mass Effects–are most fun to play on dark winter nights. (Though, of course, that could be because they require a big time investment, and there few distractions in winter.)

One of things that was great about the sport of football was how it used to be played on either a beautiful fall afternoon, a dreary November evening, or a cold, snowy day (or night). These are all memorable, dramatic settings; and much more enjoyable to watch, I think, than the sterile setting of a dome which we see more and more of.

On the other hand, of course, these are just my personal preferences and may not be shared by anyone else. I have no particular point in this post other than to set you thinking if there’s any particular work of art, piece of entertainment or sport that is best under certain natural conditions. It’s quite a fun thing to experiment with, in my opinion. But I’m weird that way.

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Today the most overrated movie in history is being re-released in theaters. As die-hard Avatar fans flock to theaters to witness an extension of the film’s cliched and obligatory love story, and more of Mr. Cameron’s heavy-handed and predictable political satire; we must ask the question: can movies ever really be considered art?

Okay, okay, I joke. Of course movies are art. But it’s stunning to me that some, such as Roger Ebert, deride video games while still praising the disaster that is Avatar. I mean, I’m writing this while taking a brief break from playing the great Black Isle video game Planescape: Torment. It’s sort of insulting to me that I have to defend the medium that gave us epic stories like Torment from people who love Avatar.

[Technical Note: For some odd reason, I was unable to put links into this post. I apologize for not being able to send you directly to someplace where you could buy Planescape: Torment, because if you don’t know what it is, you have to play it ASAP.]

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Sylvester Stallone has made a new movie called The Expendables, which apparently is a throwback to the old 1980s-era action films. A guy named Steven Zeitchik criticized the film’s “hard-charging, take-no-prisoners patriotism unbothered by the vagaries of the real world.” Which triggered this response from Stallone on The O’Reilly Factor:

Now, I have not seen this film. But I will say that I think O’Reilly and Stallone are misinterpreting Zeitchik’s criticism. They seem to be thinking his problem with the movie is that it’s some sort of American propaganda for people in other countries. Zeitchik was in fact complaining that the film was reinforcing American patriotism for Americans themselves. (I’m still surprised that Stallone even claimed Zeitchik was “reading in metaphors”. I would have thought he and O’Reilly would be openly patriotic.)

The really key exchange, though, is this:

O’Reilly: “[The movie] is macho guys like you, alright, killing bad guys.”

Stallone: “That’s right.”

Later, Stallone says: “It’s simple: You’re bad, you gotta go.”

With a few exceptions, movies in general rely on the simple formula of “the good guys” vs. “the bad guys”. The only thing that remains to be seen is: who are “the bad guys”? The writer’s choice of who to cast as “the bad guys” is what determines the political, social, religious etc. theories (if any) of the film.

For example, in James Cameron’s movie Avatar, the Native-American-like indigenous creatures are portrayed as “the good guys”, whereas the human, English-speaking, white male military contractors are portrayed as “the bad guys”. This offers some insight into the political thesis of the movie.

Which brings me to the point: are the “good guys” in Stallone’s movie Americans and the bad guys not Americans? That would seem to be the key question here.

(Hat Tip to Big Hollywood)