Copyright 2010 by Gary L. Pullman
Chiller Channel startles viewers by juxtaposing a serene scene against a horrific one. In one such instance, a man is shown fishing, waist deep in a lake, surrounded by bucolic beauty. Ironically, despite its crueler aspects (the hooking of an innocent creature whose taking of bait is prelude to a desperate struggle that is apt to end in its terrifying, agonizing, and violent death), fishing is associated, by many, with relaxation and the enjoyment of nature.
After the man is shown enjoying the serenity and majesty of the lake, set among the sylvan splendor of a forested mountain, for several moments, a horrific image flashes on the screen, shocking and disturbing the viewer. Text follows, suggesting a purpose for this intrusion of horror upon a scene of pastoral serenity and bliss: “We just wanted to make sure you were awake.”
This technique, sometimes referred to as “the lull before the storm,” including the humorous undercurrent (at times, at least), is a staple in horror fiction, especially in the novel and its cinematic equivalent, the major motion picture. Examples abound, so I will offer but a few, confident that others will recall many additional ones.
The storm doesn’t have to involve violence. It may simply relate terrifying or horrific information, such as the origin of the monster or an account of its previous deeds.
(By the way, it is instructive to consider what storytellers accomplish during the lulls in the narrative or drama’s action. Usually, these are occasions for characterization or the exposition needed to explain the current situation or otherwise advance the plot.)
After the man is shown enjoying the serenity and majesty of the lake, set among the sylvan splendor of a forested mountain, for several moments, a horrific image flashes on the screen, shocking and disturbing the viewer. Text follows, suggesting a purpose for this intrusion of horror upon a scene of pastoral serenity and bliss: “We just wanted to make sure you were awake.”
This technique, sometimes referred to as “the lull before the storm,” including the humorous undercurrent (at times, at least), is a staple in horror fiction, especially in the novel and its cinematic equivalent, the major motion picture. Examples abound, so I will offer but a few, confident that others will recall many additional ones.
The storm doesn’t have to involve violence. It may simply relate terrifying or horrific information, such as the origin of the monster or an account of its previous deeds.
(By the way, it is instructive to consider what storytellers accomplish during the lulls in the narrative or drama’s action. Usually, these are occasions for characterization or the exposition needed to explain the current situation or otherwise advance the plot.)
Example 1: A Nightmare on Elm Street
The Lull: In A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), Tina Gray, Nancy Thompson, and Nancy’s boyfriend, Glen Lantz, stay overnight together after both Tina and Nancy have nightmares about a man with a badly burned face and razor-clawed hands pursuing them. Tina’s boyfriend, Rod Lane, joins Tina, and they sleep in her mother’s bed.
The Storm: This togetherness is reassuring for the teens, but their comfort is soon destroyed when the villain puts in an appearance, murdering Tina in her sleep after he enters her dreams.
The Lull: In the same film, Nancy is later taken to a dream therapy clinic, where she is hooked up to an array of scientific instruments while she sleeps in an observation room, behind a glass wall.
The Storm: The presence of scientists and the clinical setting are both comforting--until Nancy has a nightmare in which the antagonist again appears, and Nancy awakens with a cut arm, clutching the would-be killer’s worn, felt hat.
In another relatively restrained, if not serene, scene, Nancy’s alcoholic mother, Marge, provides her daughter with the secret behind the villain’s supernatural powers: he is Freddy Krueger, a child-killer whom Marge and the community’s other parents trapped inside a boiler room and burned to death ten years ago, after he was released from prison on a technicality, having murdered twenty or more children.
Example 2: The Bad Place
The Lull: In The Bad Place (1990), a Dean Koontz novel, Frank Pollard awakens surrounded by strange objects, unable to account for his apparent journeys during sleep.
The Storm: However, he senses that he is being pursued by a relentless assassin of some kind.
The Lull: He is reassured by the skills of the husband-wife team of private investigators whom he hires, Bobby and Julie Dakota.
The Storm: The Dakotas uncover the true nature of Frank and his evil brother, Candy, both of whom were born of a hermaphroditic mother who impregnated herself with her own sperm.
A Twist Upon This Technique: The Sanctuary Amidst Hell
A twist upon this technique, which is also widely used in horror novels and films, is the alternation between a safe house or place of refuge and the hostile territory that surrounds it or the antagonist’s turf.
Example 1: Desperation
Stephen King takes this approach in Desperation (1996). After David Carver escapes from the town’s jail, freeing his fellow hostages, the band takes refuge in an abandoned movie theater, while their adversary, the demon Tak, occupies and terrorizes the rest of the town.
Example 2: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
In its first few seasons, the television show Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1997-2003) also adopts this approach, alternating between the (relatively) safe refuge of Sunnydale High School’s library and the Hellmouth below or between the library and the factory (and, later, the mansion) that Angel, Spike, and Drusilla occupy.
Example 3 The Island of Dr. Moreau
In The Island of Dr. Moreau (1896), such a place of safety exists in the scientific laboratory of the vivisectionist. Without, the jungle is the domain of the scientist’s Beast Folk.
Example 3: The Thing
Likewise, in The Thing (1951), an arctic outpost is the place of sanctuary. Outside, an alien roams the frozen wastelands, attacking sled dogs.
Of course, these sanctuaries provide refuge for only so long; and, sooner or later, they are likely to be invaded, infiltrated, or attacked.
Whether a story juxtaposes a tranquil and reassuring scene against a violent and disturbing one or alternates between a refuge and the domain of the antagonist, the effects are pretty much the same. A false sense of security is created (to be overturned in the next, horrific scene) or the reader or viewer is constantly reminded that the evil thing, the monster, exists just outside the protective walls of the sanctuary and might attack, infiltrate, or invade the refuge at any moment. This juxtaposition or alternation heightens both the sense of goodness and of evil and of tranquility and of horror. At the same time, it reminds the audience that there is no safe place, after all; evil will find us wherever we hide. The only way to deal with wickedness is to accept its challenge, take arms against it as a community, and destroy or banish it.
Of course, even then, it’s likely to come back some other day. . . with a vengeance.
No comments:
Post a Comment