The Cabin In The Woods--Deconstructing Horror

Horror in film dates back to the silent era with films like Nosferatu. The genre has evolved in the many years since then, and like many specific genres, a pattern emerges. The Cabin In The Woods milks this genre like no other. The film starts out with five friends—the alpha male jock, the whore, the brain, the fool, and the virgin—heading into the woods to spend a weekend in a mysterious cabin. On the way, they must drive down an uncharted road where they meet a strange hermit who “practically wears a sign saying ‘YOU WILL DIE’,” But they choose to ignore him and continue on to the cabin. At night, they find a mysterious trap door that leads them into a room filled with strange items. All of them examine an item, but the virgin reads aloud a Latin text from a leather-bound diary, waking a family of zombies buried in the backyard. Soon the alpha male and the whore leave the cabin to have sex in the woods, but the whore is shortly decapitated by one of the zombies. The alpha male is injured, but makes it back the cabin, where he quickly orders everyone to split up. The zombies continue to kill them one by one until only the virgin is left.

Yes, this is exactly what happens in The Cabin In The Woods, but the title should be a giveaway that this film knows exactly how to handle its clichés. Throughout the story of the five friends in the woods, the audience realizes that scientists in a control room underneath the cabin are manipulating all the events occurring to the friends. Nothing that happens is by accident. All five friends are oblivious what is really occurring to them, except on occasion, the fool, a conspiracy theorist, takes note of certain things such as the wind blowing up a trap door leading to a basement cellar (“uh…that makes what kind of sense?”).

None of it is meant to be creative. Everything that happens to these five friends is perfectly predictable. Of course it is. Scientists watching them via hidden cameras are controlling them. Writers Joss Whedon and Drew Goddard knew exactly what they were doing when they wrote this story. You might know Whedon and Goddard as the writers of Buffy The Vampire Slayer.  Goddard also wrote things such as Lost and Cloverfield (because that wasn’t a cliché script).

The predictable story of the friends is always referred to.  The scientist make small talk while they watch the friends get tortured by a Zombie Redneck Torture Family, which quickly reveals how conscious the writing is of the weariness of the entire horror genre. A new security guard asks the question, “Monsters, magic, gods?” to which a more experience employee responds, “You get used to it.” The security guard responds, “Should you?”

That is definitely the question. Should we be getting used to the unpredictable? There is a fear of the unknown, and suspense is an important aspect to horror as well. Should we be used to all these monsters? Zombies, clowns, ghosts, crazed mass murders…the horror genre has made these monsters so formulaic that there isn’t anything particularly interesting about them at all. As we watch Jules, the whore, get decapitated by one of the zombies, we can’t help but snicker to ourselves, because we knew she had it coming. And then the camera cuts to the scientists watching from a screen in the control room, snickering in a similar manner to us.

Even the way films are meant to entertain us are formulaic. We expect the whore to have sex with the alpha male. We know we’re going to see her breasts. Of course, Whedon and Goddard cut to the scientists cheering her on as she strips. But the security guard has to ask, “Does it really matter if we see her…” and one of them responds, “we’re not the only ones watching. Gotta keep the customer satisfied.”

Ultimately, the catch is that these scientists are part of group that has to make a sacrifice of four people a year (a virgin is optional, as long as she dies last) to the slumbering gods in order to keep them from destroying the planet. The metaphor is obvious yet very clever. The gods are the studio executives in the film industry, kept far away in their offices. The second a film strays too far from the formula laid down by them, they awake and wreak havoc on the director and the rest of the world.

What Goddard and Whedon have done is to truly deconstruct the horror genre and destroy. It would be a long shot to even call The Cabin In The Woods a horror film. It’s more of an anti-horror film. Goddard guides you through the organs of the horror film genre, and reveals its predictability. It shows you there truly isn’t anything to ever fear, because the victims will always make the worst decisions possible. Perhaps one of the cleverest scenes is in the cellar, when all five friends are examining various horror movie artifacts. The trap door opens a la Evil Dead and all five walk down to a cellar. The fool holds up a lantern in a similar manner to Bruce Campbell in Evil Dead and everyone begins to examine the artifacts. A conch presumably awakes a sea creature, a music box an evil ballerina, a pendant on a necklace perhaps an evil ghost coming to reclaim a forgotten heirloom. In the end it’s a strange Latin text from a diary that awakens zombies, yet any monsters could be chosen.

Cabin In The Woods is an absolute thrill. The brilliance of the clichés leads to a whole new level of unpredictability that ingeniously draws your attention to the redundancy of most horror films. Hopefully this introspective on the horror genre manages to stir the pot in terms of storytelling. Regardless, this is a film that YOU MUST NOT MISS.

Everything is a Remix

Creativity is dying, and the laws made to protect it are killing it.  This is the central thesis to the four-part web series “Everything is a Remix” by Kirby Ferguson. “Everything is a Remix” is a series of videos that break down various films and music to reveal how they have been influenced by the creative works of others. In the first part, Ferguson breaks down Led Zeppelin, revealing how blatant a role influence plays in their music, and then showing bands that Led Zeppelin influenced. 

Ferguson continues in the second part, this time talking about film. His focus is on George Lucas, and how he was influenced and then his role in influencing the film industry. Ferguson makes a note on how Quentin Tarantino sits on the throne of remixing other peoples work. At this point, Ferguson raises the intriguing question: although it’s not an original work, does that mean it isn’t creative? Does remixing other people’s creative works makes something of less worth? As Isaac Newton once said, “I have seen further by standing on the shoulders of giants.”  Nobody can present a new idea without copying, transforming, and combining the ideas of many other people.

In the third part, Ferguson moves out of the entertainment industry and begins to explain “remixing” in inventions. The typewriter has influences from the way piano keys work. The printing press would have never been invented if paper, ink, moveable type and screw press had not existed beforehand.

The fourth part pulls it all together in one brilliant stroke.  With so many ideas being “stolen” in order to create new stronger ideas, why aren’t these people suing each the hell out of each other?  Well, they are now. Steve Jobs might admit that Apple was created on the foundations of ideas from Xerox, and has stolen concepts from many different companies since it’s creation, but the moment Android becomes a threat to the iPhone, Jobs declares war on the “stolen product.” Even worse, intellectual property laws make it easy to gain legal protection for something that you could invent, but haven’t bothered to build. This leads to companies doing something called “opportunistic litigation,” suing to make a buck. There are whole companies based on the idea that they could own patents on things that don’t exist, and suing people who present similar ideas. Ferguson argues this is a major block for any progress forward in creativity. The laws that allow this to happen were created to promote progress, not inhibit it.

Overall, “Everything is a Remix” is brilliantly put together. It’s very well structured to keep you involved as you watch the 45-minute series.  Ferguson also supplies references on his website, everythingisaremix.info, giving his documentary series a high level of credibility. The series is also very visually appealing, using images and video clips in a well-edited montage. This insightful series is a must-watch for anybody in the creative industry or with interest in the arts.

Downton Abbey

The RMS Titanic has sunk killing over 1500 people aboard.

This headline opens Downton Abbey, an amazingly cinematic television series. As the plot begins to unfold, it is revealed that the heirs to the estate of Downton Abbey were killed aboard the Titanic. As it happens when dealing with inheritances, drama quickly boils to the surface as people begin to conspire against each other in efforts to get their slice of the pie.

The brilliance of Downton Abbey, sadly, isn't so much in the pie. The production elements of the show are phenomenal, making the differences between television entertainment and feature films minimal. Fantastic cinematography coupled with splendid production design give Downton Abbey a look only comparable to period films, such as Pride & Prejudice or Atonement.  It is quite clear that a fat check was spent on the production.

With the high level of production value that Downton Abbey brings to our home screen, you might ask yourself, what is left separating feature films and episodic television? Downton Abbey makes it very clear. Character development.

There are two ways to consider the length of a TV series: in terms of season’s length (7 one-hour long episodes) or episode length (one hour). Conversely, a feature film typically runs at approximately 2 hours. It’s remarkable to see the differences in character development between these two forms of storytelling. For some strange reason, a story that takes 7 hours to tell neglects any form of good character development, while a 2 hour long story can leave you weeping for the characters by the end.

It would be foolish to say that Downton Abbey neglects all forms of character development, however. What they neglect is good character development. It appears that television writers find it most effective to make 90% of the characters in a series an asshole. This is very clear in shows like Game of Thrones, for instance. In fact, you could say that the characters fit specific stereotypes in both Downton Abbey and Game of Thrones. The head of the family, an peace-loving kind man with a background in war, the upper-class man from a neighboring family trying to rise higher in power, the gentle man who has/gains a disability that he must face, the rivaling sisters…

Formulaic isn’t exactly the right word to describe the annoyance with the character development. Annoyance only arises when forced to face the fact that any characterization aside from stereotypes is even considered. The writers of the show have 7 hours to shape these characters, yet they all turn out the same in the end.

It’s homophobic. Downton Abbey is homophobic. The cruelest character introduced is revealed to be gay near the end of the episode. It’s a stereotype. For some reason, making a villain homosexual makes him worse. Gays are somehow dislikable. That’s not saying a villain can’t be gay, but this is a character trend in television and film. For instance, the depiction of Xerxes and the Persian army in 300 tie homosexuality to evil. Another Zach Snyder film, Watchmen, also ties homosexuality when Rorschach makes a note while investigating the villain, “Possibly homosexual. Must remember to investigate further.” Using homosexuality to develop a character is not only offensive but also simply lazy!

There is no other way to put it. Downton Abbey is poorly written. There are plenty of chances to insert likable characters, but somehow the writers decided it would be more effective to write nearly everyone as an asshole. Who’s at fault, it’s difficult to say. The director can change from episode to episode, leaving not one person as the creative visionary behind any single season.  Producers also change periodically, making it difficult to blame them.  Perhaps it truly is the writer’s fault (note the change to a singular noun), Julian Fellowes. Fellowes is the writer and executive producer to 17 of the episodes of Downton Abbey.

All accusatory remarks aside, Downton Abbey is visually stunning portrayal of aristocratic lifestyle in 1910s England. Fantastic costume design, cinematic camerawork, and stellar lighting make the horrible character development nearly forgivable.  The acting isn’t awful either. In the end, episodic television still falls short of reaching the heights of storytelling that feature films reign. However, Downton Abbey is unarguably an example of the great strides television is making, alongside other shows such as Mad Men and Game Of Thrones. The gap between feature films and television is decreasing. Soon we’ll see a golden age in storytelling and experience it comfortably on our living room couch.