Tuesday, February 5, 2019

Conveying Fear

Copyright 2018 by Gary L. Pullman


Horror posters are like the covers of horror novels, except the former's production quality is usually far superior to that of a paperback's cover art.



Extending the comparison, we could say that the movie's trailer is cinematic equivalent of the blurb on the inside flap of the dust cover or the back of a paperback. Both introduce the main character, the villain, and the conflict, the trailer in dramatic, audio-visual terms, the blurb in narrative, linguistic fashion. The former has immediacy; the latter, not so much.

Today, both posters and book covers often have only a marginal relationship to the story's plot. (Those of yesteryear seem to have been more closely associated with the story.) In general, the trailers and blurbs are more trustworthy indicators of what happens in the movie or the novel.

Contemporary movie posters (more than present-day novels' cover art) seek to tap into their viewers' emotions. Whether the movie's an action-adventure film, a comedy, a detective movie, a fantasy, a horror film, a mystery, a romance, sci-fi, a western, or some other genre or a hybrid of some sort, its poster will tap into such feelings as awe, delight, wonder, fear, and bewilderment, suggesting that the film that the poster advertises will immerse viewers in such emotional experiences.




Huckleberry Finn, which is undoubtedly one of the great comedy masterpieces of American—or world—literature usually features an image of the adolescent hero rafting along the Mississippi River; Sherlock Holmes anthologies usually confront us with a close-up of the detective in his deerstalker cap, smoking his pipe; romance novels depict glamorous fashionistas being swept off their feet by bare-chested macho men; many a Western novel portrays a gunman of some sort or a solitary rider shown in silhouette against a dusky sky. In some cases, the cover art suggests emotion. Movie posters almost always do.

Find out how a movie poster suggests fear—and what type of fear it suggests—and you are well on the way to knowing how to convey such fears yourself in the stories you write.

Selecting a poster that implies a story is helpful, but, of course, the story it suggests has to be appropriate for the larger story you're telling, the larger narrative of which it, as a scene, would be a part.

Let's try a couple examples.



Here is a movie poster for The Conjuring (2013). What type of emotion does it convey? How does it convey this emotion? In other words, what artistic or rhetorical techniques are employed to convey this emotion? These are my responses to these questions. (Yours may differ.)

Emotion = fear of the unknown

Techniques: symbolism, color, contrast

Using this analysis, write a descriptive paragraph, of 150 words or fewer, that accomplishes what the poster achieves. (In writing, description is the counterpart to the movie camera.) Then, you may want to break the paragraph into shorter ones. Here is one possibility:

The white flame burns brightly, lighting the darkness and the face of the frightened woman holding the match. Framed by her blonde tresses, her face is tense.

Her eyes are wide, her lips parted, as she stares into the darkness beyond the faint light, straining to see, as she strains to hear.

Between her forefinger and her thumb, the match quivers, its reduced flame flickering. Its faint light is all that stands between her and the unknown.

Soon, it will go out, and the darkness will swallow her again, and the thing for which she searches, lost in the gloom—will it lunge? Fall upon her? Rip, rend, and tear her?

Already, the flame is small and unsteady. Her hand shakes.

The darkness and the thing in the darkness wait. (131 words)




Here's a poster for the intended Halloween Returns film, which “was cancelled when Dimension Films lost the rights to the Halloween franchise.” Although the movie was never made, the poster suggests a scene that could fit into an original story. Since an original story couldn't use the characters from the Halloween series, the Laurie Strode character and the Michael Myers figure would have to be generic or fashioned after the characters of one's own story. This time, our description is a bit longer and more detailed.

Emotion =apprehension, anxiety

Techniques: juxtaposition, colors (“lighting”), contrast


She wore a blue sweater, not only because it was cool, but also, and more importantly, because the color had a calming effect on her. Her therapist, Ms. Phillips, had recommended pink, telling her that prison walls had been painted this color because of its proven soothing effect. But Jamie associated pink with femininity, and she linked femininity to helplessness. After all, His victims had all been women.

She slipped the point of the blade into the thick skin of the pumpkin. (If only her own shin were as thick!) She slid the blade deeper (just as He had done), and, with a twist of her wrist, cut across the surface of the orange orb. Pulp (like the deep tissues of her body) and juice (like the blood that had flowed from her that night) showed inside the squash.

Carving the pumpkins was supposed, like the pink blue sweater, to calm her. “Using a knife,” she had challenged her therapist, “to carve up pumpkins is supposed to have a calming effect?” “Yes,” Ms. Phillips had reassured her. (Therapists, Jamie had learned, were most reassuring.)

The top of the table at which she sat, carving pumpkins, was littered with seeds, with bits of pumpkin flesh, and with ornaments: ghosts and pumpkin heads (or headless pumpkins), and spiders' webs. “You have to get back into the holiday,” Ms. Phillips had suggested. “Make it yours again, instead of His.”

Spluttering candles were her only light. Behind and beside her, her house was dark. The light was enough to see by, enough to carve by. She Wasn't Afraid Of The Dark. That's what the candlelight proclaimed.

This was her third pumpkin. She'd carved traditional faces in them: big triangular eyes, a smaller upside-down triangle for a nose, and a grinning mouth missing all but two upper and a lower tooth. They were pumpkin-children old enough to lose their baby teeth in favor of the adult teeth to come. Innocent pumpkin faces, like her own was once, a long time ago, before He had returned home, not cured, no, but different. Worse. Much worse.

Behind her, in the gloom, a silent Figure moved as quietly as a black cat. Wearing a white mask that seemed to glow, even in the faint light of the candles, only His face—His mask—was visible. His dark clothing made Him part of the room's darkness. Only His mask, which hid His face, and the blade of the butcher's knife He held in His right fist, at His side, ready, were visible.

Halloween had come, and He'd come with it, to do a bit of carving of His own.

Amid the pain, He was going to make her smile; He was going to make her grin . . . again. (458 words)


Such exercises might raise the hair on the nape of your neck and your arms; they might send chills along your spine; they might inspire a story or enhance one you're already writing.

No comments:

Paranormal vs. Supernatural: What’s the Diff?

Copyright 2009 by Gary L. Pullman

Sometimes, in demonstrating how to brainstorm about an essay topic, selecting horror movies, I ask students to name the titles of as many such movies as spring to mind (seldom a difficult feat for them, as the genre remains quite popular among young adults). Then, I ask them to identify the monster, or threat--the antagonist, to use the proper terminology--that appears in each of the films they have named. Again, this is usually a quick and easy task. Finally, I ask them to group the films’ adversaries into one of three possible categories: natural, paranormal, or supernatural. This is where the fun begins.

It’s a simple enough matter, usually, to identify the threats which fall under the “natural” label, especially after I supply my students with the scientific definition of “nature”: everything that exists as either matter or energy (which are, of course, the same thing, in different forms--in other words, the universe itself. The supernatural is anything which falls outside, or is beyond, the universe: God, angels, demons, and the like, if they exist. Mad scientists, mutant cannibals (and just plain cannibals), serial killers, and such are examples of natural threats. So far, so simple.

What about borderline creatures, though? Are vampires, werewolves, and zombies, for example, natural or supernatural? And what about Freddy Krueger? In fact, what does the word “paranormal” mean, anyway? If the universe is nature and anything outside or beyond the universe is supernatural, where does the paranormal fit into the scheme of things?

According to the Online Etymology Dictionary, the word “paranormal,” formed of the prefix “para,” meaning alongside, and “normal,” meaning “conforming to common standards, usual,” was coined in 1920. The American Heritage Dictionary defines “paranormal” to mean “beyond the range of normal experience or scientific explanation.” In other words, the paranormal is not supernatural--it is not outside or beyond the universe; it is natural, but, at the present, at least, inexplicable, which is to say that science cannot yet explain its nature. The same dictionary offers, as examples of paranormal phenomena, telepathy and “a medium’s paranormal powers.”

Wikipedia offers a few other examples of such phenomena or of paranormal sciences, including the percentages of the American population which, according to a Gallup poll, believes in each phenomenon, shown here in parentheses: psychic or spiritual healing (54), extrasensory perception (ESP) (50), ghosts (42), demons (41), extraterrestrials (33), clairvoyance and prophecy (32), communication with the dead (28), astrology (28), witchcraft (26), reincarnation (25), and channeling (15); 36 percent believe in telepathy.

As can be seen from this list, which includes demons, ghosts, and witches along with psychics and extraterrestrials, there is a confusion as to which phenomena and which individuals belong to the paranormal and which belong to the supernatural categories. This confusion, I believe, results from the scientism of our age, which makes it fashionable for people who fancy themselves intelligent and educated to dismiss whatever cannot be explained scientifically or, if such phenomena cannot be entirely rejected, to classify them as as-yet inexplicable natural phenomena. That way, the existence of a supernatural realm need not be admitted or even entertained. Scientists tend to be materialists, believing that the real consists only of the twofold unity of matter and energy, not dualists who believe that there is both the material (matter and energy) and the spiritual, or supernatural. If so, everything that was once regarded as having been supernatural will be regarded (if it cannot be dismissed) as paranormal and, maybe, if and when it is explained by science, as natural. Indeed, Sigmund Freud sought to explain even God as but a natural--and in Freud’s opinion, an obsolete--phenomenon.

Meanwhile, among skeptics, there is an ongoing campaign to eliminate the paranormal by explaining them as products of ignorance, misunderstanding, or deceit. Ridicule is also a tactic that skeptics sometimes employ in this campaign. For example, The Skeptics’ Dictionary contends that the perception of some “events” as being of a paranormal nature may be attributed to “ignorance or magical thinking.” The dictionary is equally suspicious of each individual phenomenon or “paranormal science” as well. Concerning psychics’ alleged ability to discern future events, for example, The Skeptic’s Dictionary quotes Jay Leno (“How come you never see a headline like 'Psychic Wins Lottery'?”), following with a number of similar observations:

Psychics don't rely on psychics to warn them of impending disasters. Psychics don't predict their own deaths or diseases. They go to the dentist like the rest of us. They're as surprised and disturbed as the rest of us when they have to call a plumber or an electrician to fix some defect at home. Their planes are delayed without their being able to anticipate the delays. If they want to know something about Abraham Lincoln, they go to the library; they don't try to talk to Abe's spirit. In short, psychics live by the known laws of nature except when they are playing the psychic game with people.
In An Encyclopedia of Claims, Frauds, and Hoaxes of the Occult and Supernatural, James Randi, a magician who exercises a skeptical attitude toward all things alleged to be paranormal or supernatural, takes issue with the notion of such phenomena as well, often employing the same arguments and rhetorical strategies as The Skeptic’s Dictionary.

In short, the difference between the paranormal and the supernatural lies in whether one is a materialist, believing in only the existence of matter and energy, or a dualist, believing in the existence of both matter and energy and spirit. If one maintains a belief in the reality of the spiritual, he or she will classify such entities as angels, demons, ghosts, gods, vampires, and other threats of a spiritual nature as supernatural, rather than paranormal, phenomena. He or she may also include witches (because, although they are human, they are empowered by the devil, who is himself a supernatural entity) and other natural threats that are energized, so to speak, by a power that transcends nature and is, as such, outside or beyond the universe. Otherwise, one is likely to reject the supernatural as a category altogether, identifying every inexplicable phenomenon as paranormal, whether it is dark matter or a teenage werewolf. Indeed, some scientists dedicate at least part of their time to debunking allegedly paranormal phenomena, explaining what natural conditions or processes may explain them, as the author of The Serpent and the Rainbow explains the creation of zombies by voodoo priests.

Based upon my recent reading of Tzvetan Todorov's The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to the Fantastic, I add the following addendum to this essay.

According to Todorov:

The fantastic. . . lasts only as long as a certain hesitation [in deciding] whether or not what they [the reader and the protagonist] perceive derives from "reality" as it exists in the common opinion. . . . If he [the reader] decides that the laws of reality remain intact and permit an explanation of the phenomena described, we can say that the work belongs to the another genre [than the fantastic]: the uncanny. If, on the contrary, he decides that new laws of nature must be entertained to account for the phenomena, we enter the genre of the marvelous (The Fantastic: A Structural Approach to a Literary Genre, 41).
Todorov further differentiates these two categories by characterizing the uncanny as “the supernatural explained” and the marvelous as “the supernatural accepted” (41-42).

Interestingly, the prejudice against even the possibility of the supernatural’s existence which is implicit in the designation of natural versus paranormal phenomena, which excludes any consideration of the supernatural, suggests that there are no marvelous phenomena; instead, there can be only the uncanny. Consequently, for those who subscribe to this view, the fantastic itself no longer exists in this scheme, for the fantastic depends, as Todorov points out, upon the tension of indecision concerning to which category an incident belongs, the natural or the supernatural. The paranormal is understood, by those who posit it, in lieu of the supernatural, as the natural as yet unexplained.

And now, back to a fate worse than death: grading students’ papers.

My Cup of Blood

Anyone who becomes an aficionado of anything tends, eventually, to develop criteria for elements or features of the person, place, or thing of whom or which he or she has become enamored. Horror fiction--admittedly not everyone’s cuppa blood--is no different (okay, maybe it’s a little different): it, too, appeals to different fans, each for reasons of his or her own. Of course, in general, book reviews, the flyleaves of novels, and movie trailers suggest what many, maybe even most, readers of a particular type of fiction enjoy, but, right here, right now, I’m talking more specifically--one might say, even more eccentrically. In other words, I’m talking what I happen to like, without assuming (assuming makes an “ass” of “u” and “me”) that you also like the same. It’s entirely possible that you will; on the other hand, it’s entirely likely that you won’t.

Anyway, this is what I happen to like in horror fiction:

Small-town settings in which I get to know the townspeople, both the good, the bad, and the ugly. For this reason alone, I’m a sucker for most of Stephen King’s novels. Most of them, from 'Salem's Lot to Under the Dome, are set in small towns that are peopled by the good, the bad, and the ugly. Part of the appeal here, granted, is the sense of community that such settings entail.

Isolated settings, such as caves, desert wastelands, islands, mountaintops, space, swamps, where characters are cut off from civilization and culture and must survive and thrive or die on their own, without assistance, by their wits and other personal resources. Many are the examples of such novels and screenplays, but Alien, The Shining, The Descent, Desperation, and The Island of Dr. Moreau, are some of the ones that come readily to mind.

Total institutions as settings. Camps, hospitals, military installations, nursing homes, prisons, resorts, spaceships, and other worlds unto themselves are examples of such settings, and Sleepaway Camp, Coma, The Green Mile, and Aliens are some of the novels or films that take place in such settings.

Anecdotal scenes--in other words, short scenes that showcase a character--usually, an unusual, even eccentric, character. Both Dean Koontz and the dynamic duo, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, excel at this, so I keep reading their series (although Koontz’s canine companions frequently--indeed, almost always--annoy, as does his relentless optimism).

Atmosphere, mood, and tone. Here, King is king, but so is Bentley Little. In the use of description to terrorize and horrify, both are masters of the craft.

A bit of erotica (okay, okay, sex--are you satisfied?), often of the unusual variety. Sex sells, and, yes, sex whets my reader’s appetite. Bentley Little is the go-to guy for this spicy ingredient, although Koontz has done a bit of seasoning with this spice, too, in such novels as Lightning and Demon Seed (and, some say, Hung).

Believable characters. Stephen King, Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, and Dan Simmons are great at creating characters that stick to readers’ ribs.

Innovation. Bram Stoker demonstrates it, especially in his short story “Dracula’s Guest,” as does H. P. Lovecraft, Edgar Allan Poe, Shirley Jackson, and a host of other, mostly classical, horror novelists and short story writers. For an example, check out my post on Stoker’s story, which is a real stoker, to be sure. Stephen King shows innovation, too, in ‘Salem’s Lot, The Shining, It, and other novels. One might even argue that Dean Koontz’s something-for-everyone, cross-genre writing is innovative; he seems to have been one of the first, if not the first, to pen such tales.

Technique. Check out Frank Peretti’s use of maps and his allusions to the senses in Monster; my post on this very topic is worth a look, if I do say so myself, which, of course, I do. Opening chapters that accomplish a multitude of narrative purposes (not usually all at once, but successively) are attractive, too, and Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child are as good as anyone, and better than many, at this art.

A connective universe--a mythos, if you will, such as both H. P. Lovecraft and Stephen King, and, to a lesser extent, Dean Koontz, Bentley Little, and even Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child have created through the use of recurring settings, characters, themes, and other elements of fiction.

A lack of pretentiousness. Dean Koontz has it, as do Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child, Bentley Little, and (to some extent, although he has become condescending and self-indulgent of late, Stephen King); unfortunately, both Dan Simmons and Robert McCammon have become too self-important in their later works, Simmons almost to the point of becoming unreadable. Come on, people, you’re writing about monsters--you should be humble.

Longevity. Writers who have been around for a while usually get better, Stephen King, Dan Simmons, and Robert McCammon excepted.

Pacing. Neither too fast nor too slow. Dean Koontz is good, maybe the best, here, of contemporary horror writers.


Popular Posts