Showing posts with label bear. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bear. Show all posts

Thursday, July 8, 2021

Evolution, Psychology, and Horror, Part III

Copyright 2021 by Gary L. Pullman

 

Note: This post assumes that you have seen the movie Backcountry. If you have not, Wikipedia offers a fairly detailed, accurate summary of the film's plot.

'BackCountry' and 'The Harvest' Debut on Blu-ray This Fall!!! - Boomstick Comics 

 Source: boomstickcomics.com

As we saw in Part I, Alex is a foil to Jen; his traits, which are opposite to those of hers, highlight Jen's traits, or “evolved adaptations,” as they are known in evolutionary psychology. But, just as Alex is Jen's foil, Brad is a foil to Alex; Brad's traits are different from those of Alex and, therefore, highlight Alex's evolved adaptations, just as Alex's traits highlight those of Jen.

Backcountry | Netflix

Source: netflix.com

Brad appears at Alex's and Jen's campsite while Alex is away, chopping firewood. After leaving his hatched stuck in a tree trunk, Alex returns to their campsite, where he is both surprised and annoyed to see Brad. Jen tells her boyfriend that she has invited Brad, a tour guide, to have dinner with them. Brad has offered to contribute a hefty string of fish he has caught.


Backcountry (2014) by Adam MacDonald

Source: cinemamontreal.com

From the beginning of their encounter, Brad seeks to assert his dominance over Alex. Clearly, Brad is an alpha male, and he expects to lead, not follow, even if only during the meal he shares with his hosts. A skilled woodsman, Brad is confident, competent, knowledgeable, experienced, decisive, and aggressive.

https://external-content.duckduckgo.com/iu/?u=https%3A%2F%2Ftse1.mm.bing.net%2Fth%3Fid%3DOIP.NbeX5OQQd_tvGZW4hao05gHaEK%26pid%3DApi&f=1

Source: dailymotion.com

During their conversation, Brad suggests that, both as a woodsman and as a man, Alex is insecure, incompetent, ignorant, inexperienced, indecisive, and passive—the opposite of Brad himself. Brad's contribution to their meal are the fish that he himself has caught. Significantly, Jen provides her and Brad's contribution, which they bought in a store. Brad's contribution was caught, live, in the wild. Theirs was purchased in a package, already prepared. Brad's fish are animals; Jen's and Alex's contribution is bloodless vegetables harvested and packaged by strangers. When Jen offers to prepare a vegetable as a side dish, Alex chooses one kind, while Brad selects another. Jen sides with Alex, but Brad orders her to prepare the vegetable he wants, not the one Alex has chosen. Diplomatically, she says she will prepare both. Alex does not challenge Brad; he lets Jen answer their guest, despite Brad's usurpation of Alex's own authority as host.

Backcountry - Gnadenlose Wildnis - Fischpott

 Source: fischpott.com

Brad also implicitly insults Brad. When Brad tells him that he plans to start a landscaping business, Brad replies, in a racist statement, that he that thought “Mexicans” did that type of work. On the other hand, Brad admires Jen's profession, law, which is, in Brad's view, superior to the manual labor that Alex names as his intended vocation. Brad has a “manly” profession: he is a tour guide with expert knowledge about the park, its trails, and its flora and fauna, a man at home in the wilderness, who can fend for himself while directing others in his charge.

Brad boldly violates propriety when he stands, his back to Jen and Alex, unzips his fly, and urinates. Most men would not only object to such conduct, but be willing to come to blows with any man who presumed to do such a thing in their girlfriends' presence. Alex neither says nothing to Brad nor reacts violently. He merely looks at Jen in disgust and says something to her: “Really?”


https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/a/a6/Canada_Southern_Ontario_location_map_2.png

 Powassan, Ontario, Canada. Source: Wikipedia

Brad also impugns Alex's knowledge of the park that Alex claims to know well, asking him which side of the park's waterfall someone should climb down. When Alex correctly answers, “The right side,” Brad smirks. “Good guess,” he says.

Finally, as he is about to depart, Brad asks Alex what he'd meant when Alex had said Jen's inviting him to have dinner with them might have been dangerous. When Alex demurs from answering, Brad insists. Finally, Alex tells him that Jen did not know Brad; Brad had been a stranger. As far as Jen had known, Brad might have been “a nut.” By the time Brad takes his leave, he has dominated, insulted, humiliated, defied both Alex and Jen, but especially Alex. He has also make it clear that, in a hostile or dangerous encounter with nature, he is likely to triumph or, at least, survive; audiences cannot be as certain about Alex's fate under the same circumstances.

The conflict between Alex and Brad further defines Alex, just as his relationship with Jen defines him. In both cases, Alex loses. His traits, or evolved adaptations, might serve him well in other environments, but they are unlikely to help him survive in the wild, no matter how well he thinks he knows the provincial park or the ways of the woods and its wildlife.


Next post: Evolution, Psychology, and Final Girl.

 

Evolution, Psychology, and Horror, Part II

 Copyright 2021 by Gary L. Pullman

Source: Wikiepdia

Note: This post assumes that you have seen the movie Backcountry. If you have not, Wikipedia offers a fairly detailed, accurate summary of the film's plot.

 

As prompts for groups in my English 101 classes, after we had watched Backcountry (2014) and the class had been divided into groups, I would distribute these instructions:

 

Which personality traits (use nouns to identify them) are predicated or dependent upon others? Which are primary and which are secondary? In other words, can an immature person be responsible? Can a cowardly person defend someone else if doing so puts him or her in danger? In developing your thesis, you should consider these questions, so that your claim is not self-contradictory.

Fill in the three blanks with the TRAITS (use nouns to identify them) of Alex’s character that you see as related to his errors of judgment. (Make sure these errors lead to his death and to Jen’s endangerment.) Some of these errors may directly lead to consequences; others may indirectly do so. In your paragraphs, you should distinguish the former from the latter.

THESIS:  Alex’s ______________,   ______________, and ______________ lead him to make many errors of judgment that result in his death and Jen’s endangerment.

Based upon the thesis, write the body paragraph (1, 2, or 3) assigned to your group. The first sentence should be the paragraph’s topic sentence. Use simple present tense.

 

The blanks could be filled in with a variety of traits, but let's use this thesis for the purposes of this post:


 

THESIS:  Alex’s immaturity, self-interest, and impetuosity lead him to make many errors of judgment that result in his death and Jen’s endangerment.

 

If a trait is defined as an evolved adaptation, we must ask, how each of Alex's adaptations, or traits, promotes his survival and the chance that he will generate offspring through reproduction. Since he, in fact, does not survive and, therefore, cannot reproduce, the answer is apparent at once that his adaptations do not "work"; they do not enable him to survive. Quite the contrary, they are, essentially, the death of him—and nearly of Jen. Simple. Lacking the traits that do promote survival, he dies.

His girlfriend is the final girl, who survives their ordeal. Therefore, it is her traits, or adaptations, that we should examine.

In many ways, she is a foil, or opposite, to Alex. We could fill in the thesis's blanks with traits that are the opposite of Alex's own and produce a good summary of some of the adaptations that enable her to survive their ordeal:

 

THESIS:  Jen’s maturity, altruism, and caution lead her to make sound judgments that result in her survival.

 

Another way to approach our consideration is to identify the mistakes that each character makes during their visit to a provincial park in Canada.


 Source: allocine.fr

Let's start with Alex, who makes considerably more mistakes and more serious ones than Jen; as we list his errors, we will also characterize them as springing from poor judgment; an immature desire to impress Jen; inconsideration; deceitfulness; negligence; carelessness; an immature desire to focus Jen's attention on himself; or recklessness.

  • He refuses the map of the camp that the ranger offers him: poor judgment; an immature desire to impress Jen. (Jen and Alex become lost and have no guidance out of the woods. His behavior could endanger their lives.)

  • He leaves Jen's cell phone in the trunk of their vehicle: poor judgment; an immature desire to focus Jen's attention on himself; deceitfulness. (Without a phone, Alex and Jen have no way to call for help. His behavior could endanger their lives.)

  • He neglects tending to his toe after dropping their canoe on it: poor judgment; an immature desire to impress Jen; recklessness. (He could have become incapacitated or died of an infection, so his neglect endangers himself and, possibly, Jen by making her more vulnerable.)

  • He removes his clothes and leaps naked into a lake: poor judgment; recklessness. (He could injure himself on a rock in the lake and, without clothes to keep him warm, he could succumb to the cold, endangering his own life and potentially leaving Jen unprotected.)

  • He leaves Jen alone to cut firewood: poor judgment. (By herself, she is vulnerable to animal attack or the assault of another camper; thus, he endangers her life.)

  • He leaves his hatchet in the trunk of a tree: poor judgment. (He leaves a potential weapon behind, both depriving himself of its use and potentially arming a human predator; he thus endangers both Jen's life and his own.)

  • He does not dismiss a stranger (Brad), whom, in Alex's absence, Jen invites to join Alex and her for dinner at their campsite: poor judgment. (The stranger, Brad, who happens upon Jen could be dangerous: he might have raped or killed Jen. His behavior could endanger their lives.)

  • Even after learning that Brad is in the park, Alex again leaves Jen alone at their campsite, he leaves Jen alone again to retrieve the hatchet he's left embedded in a tree trunk: poor judgment. (By herself, she is vulnerable to animal attack or the assault of another camper; thus, he endangers her life.)

  • He does not turn back when he sees bear prints: poor judgment; recklessness. (His inaction could endanger their lives.)

  • He does not ell Jen that there is a bear in the area: poor judgment; deceitfulness. (Jen has bear spray and a traffic flare that they could use against the bear, but she is unaware of its presence. The bear could kill someone. His behavior endangers their lives.)

  • He does not investigate noises that Jen hears during their first night in their tent: poor judgment. (His inaction could endanger their lives.)

  • He sees a sapling's snapped-off branch, but ignores its significance: poor judgment; recklessness; deceitfulness. (His inaction could endanger their lives.)

  • Even after seeing the carcass of a dead deer indicating the presence of a bear—and of a bear that is both starving (bears, otherwise, don't eat meat—and predatory)—Alex refuses to leave the park: poor judgment. (His decision could endanger their lives.)

  • He continues to hike, deeper into the forest, even after he realizes he is lost: poor judgment; recklessness. (His action could endanger their lives.)

  • He hastens up the trail ahead of Jen, leaving her vulnerable, as they ascend the mountainside: carelessness, inconsideration. (His inconsideration could endanger their lives.)

  • Even after the bear visits their campsite, Alex refuses to leave the park: poor judgment; recklessness. (His refusal to leave the park endangers their lives.) 

  • Alex leaves his axe outside the tent: carelessness. (He leaves a potential weapon behind, depriving himself of its use, which endangers their lives.)

    Source: showbizjunkies.com
     

Jen also makes several mistakes:

  • She does not insist that Alex accept a park map from the ranger or accept one herself: poor judgment. (She and Alex could get lost. Her behavior could endanger their lives.)

  • In Alex's absence, Jen invites Brad onto their campsite: poor judgment. (Since she does not know Brad, Jen could be endangering her and Alex's lives and could be putting herself in danger of being raped.)

  • Jen does not insist that Alex make sure the “acorns” he says are falling on their tent really are acorns: poor judgment. (Her behavior could endanger their lives.)

  • Jen does not insist that Alex take her home after she sees evidence of the nearby presence of a bear: poor judgment; recklessness: poor judgment; recklessness. (Her behavior could endanger their lives.)

  • Jen returns to their campsite after the bear has killed Alex so she can retrieve the engagement ring he has shown her: poor judgment; recklessness. (Her behavior could endanger her life. lives.)

Source: anthonybehindthescenes.com

It seems that Jen's mistakes stem from her desire to support Alex and to prevent damage to his ego and self-esteem, from her needs to be friendly and to feel liked, and from her love of him.

Although she is a successful lawyer, while he plans to start a landscaping service, she often defers to his judgment and to his needs and desires, rather than pursuing or seeking to advance her own.

Rather than insisting that he accept the map of the park that the ranger offers him, Jen accepts his refusal, probably because she does not want to embarrass Alex by casting doubts on his knowledge of the park.

She invites Brad to join Alex and her because she is a friendly person.

Alex professes to be an expert on hiking and camping, especially at the park, which he implies he knows well. Jen probably refrains from insisting that Alex check out the unfamiliar sounds she hears while she and Alex are in their tent for the same reason that she does not insist that he take a map from the ranger: she does not want to embarrass Alex by casting doubts on his knowledge of the park.

It seems that, when it becomes clear they are, without doubt, lost, Jen does not insist that Alex take her home after she sees evidence of the nearby presence of a bear because she does she has feelings for him and may feel sorry for him. Likewise, after Alex's death, she returns to their campsite, despite the bear's presence, so that she can retrieve the engagement ring he has shown her, because she has feelings for Alex and wants a memento of his love for her.

Although Jen, like Alex, makes mistakes in judgment when she is with Alex, she is not a woodman and the couple's survival is not primarily her responsibility. In addition, she is not deceitful toward Alex, as he is to her.

When she is alone, after Alex's death, her decisions are wise, allowing her to survive the bear and the wilderness. The fact that she makes no mistakes when she is alone suggests that her romantic relationship with Alex clouded her judgment; without him, she makes clear, rational, wise decisions and takes prudent, effective action, which enables her to survive.

In adapting to his environment, Alex has developed traits which serve his emotional needs, but he lacks adaptations that pertain to practical, everyday matters, including traits related to analysis, evaluation, and survival. He is overconfident. He seeks to impress others, especially Jen. He wants to be the sole focus of Jen's attention. He is deceitful, often hiding the truth from Jen regarding their situation and the danger they face. He is careless at times and reckless. He is immature. He is irresponsible.

In a different environment, such as Jen's house or the city, such traits might not fail him, because his survival is protected by institutions (art and culture, commercial and industrial enterprises, economic systems, family, friends, government, hospitals, language, legal systems, mass media, military forces, penal systems, schools, scientific research laboratories, religion); organizations, such as charities, emergency responders, and fraternal societies; an infrastructure (energy, highways, railroads, rivers, warehouses).

Jen, on the other hand, although not without flaws of her own, is cautious, mature, responsible, and resourceful. She is a thinker; she analyzes, evaluates, and plans.
In the city, society has individuals' backs. In the wilderness, individuals need to be able to take care of themselves. Those who can, as Jen does, are likely to survive; those who cannot, as Alex does not, will probably die.

By putting to opposite characters side by side in an environment different that their typical surroundings, Backcountry tests the effectiveness of the respective characters' evolved adaptations. The unfamiliar surroundings, the remoteness of the park, the rugged terrain, the stranger Brad, and, of course, the bear all pose threats or potential threats; each tests the evolved adaptations, or the traits, and the behaviors of the couple. One perishes; the other survives. The reason for one's failure and the other's success is that Jen had evolved adaptations that are effective for survival in the wilderness, whereas Alex has not. Without the support of society, civilization, and culture, Alex cannot survive and dies; Jen can and lives. The park is an environment, an arena, a laboratory, that puts traits to the test. Jen passes, but Alex receives the Darwin Award.


Source:  alenatedinvancouver.blogspot,com

Next post: Evolution, Psychology, and Horror, Part II

Sunday, May 23, 2021

Just What I Needed: Another Exercise!

 Copyright 2021 by Gary Pullman


 

We not only learn new skills but hone old ones by pausing in plotting, writing, and revision to practice our skill at plotting, writing, and revision. (In my opinion, a writer can always improve by practicing, until he or she reaches perfection like William Shakespeare.)

The exercises should be challenging; they should also be something we can crosscheck with the results established writers might have produced had they performed the same exercises. Oh, yes! They should also relate to horror stories or to horror movies. Here are three.

 

I. You Are What You Do

1. List several personality traits for your protagonist. Then, explain what your protagonist does, based on one or more of these traits, in a specific situation. For example, perhaps your protagonist wants to start life anew with her boyfriend, who refuses to marry her until he's paid off his debts.

2. Instead of explaining that a protagonist is in love with another particular character, show the protagonist being in love with this other character.

 

II. Do What You Will

Briefly identify a motive for each of these actions: (1) following a monster's trail; (2) exploring an allegedly haunted castle; and (3) spying on neighbors.

 

III. Defiance Punished

Identify three interdictions that, defied, result in a character’s suffering or death:

1.

2.

3.

 

Here's How They Did It

  

I. You Are What You Do


 

1. Asked to deposit a real estate client's cash down payment for a house he is buying his daughter, Marion Crane instead steals the money from her boss and runs away to meet her boyfriend (Joseph Stefano, Psycho screenwriter).

 


 

2. Scottie stared at Madeliene, as she sat across the room, unaware of him. An image of a painting flashed in his mind. The lady's portrait's contours fit those of the woman before him; it was a perfect likeness of her, he thought. Later, when he entered a florist's shop with her at his side, she seemed ethereal, more fantasy than reality, and the light was as luminous as the flowers were bright and beautiful, their fragrance an embodiment of the very scent of the woman herself. It was as if they alone existed and as if the shop were a sunlit garden, a paradise created for them alone (Alec Coppel and Samuel Taylor, Vertigo).

 

II. Do What You Will

 

 


1. following a monster's trail: to rescue a woman captured by the monster (James Creelman and Ruth Rose, King Kong)

 


 

2.    exploring an allegedly haunted castle: to prove that the castle is not haunted (“The Red Room” by H. G. Wells)

 

 

3. spying on neighbors: to pass the time while recuperating from a broken leg (John Michael Hayes, Rear Window).

 

III. Defiance Punished

 

1. Glen Lantz  is told not to go to sleep; when he does, he is killed (Wes Craven, A Nightmare on Elm Street)

 

 

2. Caroline Ellis is told not to enter a locked room; after she does, she is paralyzed and her body is possessed by a hoodoo practitioner (Ehren Kruger, Skeleton Key)

 


3. A character is told not to enter a closed area of a national park; when he does so, he is killed by a bear, and the animal then pursues his girlfriend (Adam MacDonald, Backcountry)

 

Sunday, March 14, 2021

Top 10 Wilderness Horror Movies Based On Horrific True Stories: Introduction

 Copyright 2021 by Gary Pullman




In the wilderness, we have little control over our surroundings, and, whether a provincial park, a rain forest, a crocodile-infested area along a flooded river, or another forbidding location, our environment can be hostile, dangerous, or even deadly.

Trees obscure lines of sight; darkness impedes vision; sounds in the darkness seem ominous. Especially in remote locations, the wilderness isolates us, cutting us off from civilization and the assistance that social institutions and government agencies could otherwise provide. No ambulances, fire trucks, or police cruisers are standing by; no emergency telephone operators await our calls; no infrastructure of highways, hospitals, and other resources is available.

In movies that combine horror with wilderness environments, characters are likewise vulnerable and helpless. They are alone, in the dark, among wild animals or other threats. They may find themselves in the presence of killers, some of whom could be family members or friends. These 10 wilderness horror movies based on horrific true stories may make us think twice about power outages, camping, traveling, or even staying home alone.

The listicle for which the above paragraphs are the introduction appears on Listverse.

 

Tuesday, May 12, 2020

Truly Monstrous: The Alligator Snapping Turtle

Copyright 2020 by Gary L. Pullman


An apex predator is at “the top of a food chain” and itself has no “natural predators” (except, of course, human beings). A food chain is a hierarchy of the eaters and the eaten. Each higher link up the “chain” is occupied by a superior predator, until the top link is reached, which is occupied by the apex predator. Each lower link is occupied by a predator-become-prey. For example, this food chain depicts the hierarchy of predators and prey in a Swedish lake, in which “Osprey feed on northern pike, which in turn feed on perch which eat bleak.”


Some well-known apex predators include alligators, the alligator snapping turtle, bears, the Cape wild dog, crocodiles, the dhole, eagles, the electric eel, the giant moray, the giant otter, the great horned owl, the great skua, the great white shark, the grey wolf, the jaguar, the killer whale, the komodo dragon, the lion, the reticulated python, the snow leopard, and the tiger.

We can guess some of the abilities that contribute to such animals' status as apex predators: size, strength, armament (e. g., teeth and claws), speed, and agility. Others have unique, highly specialized abilities, such as an armored hide (alligators and turtles), flight (eagle, great skua), electric shock (electric eels, giant moray), enhanced swimming (electric eel, giant moray, great white shark, killer whale, snapping turtle), constriction (reticulated python), and an unbreakable bite (snapping turtle).

But what other abilities do apex predators have that give them an advantage over lesser predators (i. e., their prey)?

Knowing the answers to these questions can help us to create monsters that are truly monstrous!


Often, one ability, such as armament, combines with another, such as biting, so that an ability that would be mundane becomes extraordinary: the alligator snapping turtle has such a strong bite that it can snap a broom handle.

It is also equipped with a worm-shaped extremity “on the tip of its tongue” that it uses “to lure fish, a form of aggressive mimicry.”


Although such prey isn't typical of their diet, alligator snapping turtles have been known to eat not only snakes and other turtles, but also “small alligators.” (Their consumption of alligators didn't inspire their name, however; they were named because the sharp edges of their shell resemble the “rugged, ridged skin of an alligator.”

Their superior biting ability, the worm-shaped lure at the end of their tongues, and their alligator-like shells give them advantages that other animals in their freshwater habitat lack, making alligator snapping turtles the apex predators of their food chain.


While the abilities of apex predators are themselves important, other facts also contribute to their success. In future posts, we'll consider these other factors.

In addition, while surveying all the apex predators is a bit too ambitious a project for blog-size articles, we'll take a look at several, so that, when we finish doing so, we can compile a decent list of some of the most effective or commonly employed abilities of apex predators and suggest how horror authors can use these amazing abilities to create truly monstrous monsters of their own.


Monday, May 14, 2018

"Backcountry": A Study in the Causes and Consquences of Poor Judgments

Copyright 2018 by Gary L. Pullman


In Backcountry, in Powassan, Ontario, and Caddy Lake, Manitoba, Alex convinces his girlfriend Jenn to go camping with him in one of Canada's remote provincial parks. She's a lawyer, while he's a landscaper. He believes his expertise as a woodsman will allow him to shine once he's in his element, and he wants to impress her, because he plans to pop the question while they're on their trip. Nothing goes as he'd hoped, and, despite his rudimentary skills as a woodsman—he can pitch a tent, chop wood, start a fire, and read sign—it's soon clear he's in over his head. In fact, once she's forced to fend for herself, Jenn, ironically, proves herself to be more competent than Alex, whose vanity, eagerness to impress Jenn at any cost, and minimal woodcraft, led him to make a series of poor judgments that, if it were not for their catastrophic consequences, might have made the film a comedy. He makes at least a dozen serious errors in judgment:

He refuses a ranger's offer of a park map. He's been to the park so many times, he says, he has no need of a map. As a result, when he later becomes lost, he and Jenn have no guidance out of the forest.

Annoyed that Jenn returns telephone calls during their trip to the park, Alex removes her cell phone from her backpack, leaving it behind, in the trunk of his car. Once the couple becomes lost, they have no way to call for help.

He leaves Jenn alone when he goes to chop wood for their campfire. In his absence, a stranger, Brad, happens upon Jenn. As Alex himself later points out, both to Jenn and to Brad, Brad could have been a dangerous “nut” who might have raped or killed Jenn. Despite this realization, Alex again leaves Jenn alone when he goes to retrieve the hatchet he left in the side of a tree at the site at which he'd chopped the wood.

When he spies a bear print, Alex doesn't share this sign with Jenn. Jenn has bear spray and a traffic flare that they could use against the bear, but she is unaware of its presence. The bear could (and, later, does) kill someone.

Although he is uncertain of the correct path to the lake, Alex continues their trek through the forest, despite his not having a map, a cell phone, or a weapon (other than, perhaps, his hatchet).

During the night, Jenn hears mysterious sounds. Without investigating, Alex tells Jenn she's hearing nothing more than acorns falling from the trees, onto their tent. He may believe the sounds are the effects of falling acorns, as he says, or he may not want Jenn to think the sounds are caused by a bear, whether to keep her from being afraid or to prevent her from wanting to leave, in which case he is also being deceitful.

After hearing the sounds of what be a bear, instead of falling acorns, Alex refuses to leave the park.

After seeing a broken tree branch indicative of a bear's nearby presence, Alex refuses to leave the park.

After seeing the carcass of a dead deer indicating the presence of a bear—and of a bear that is both starving (bears, otherwise, don't eat meat—and predatory)—Alex refuses to leave the park.

Even after the bear visits their campsite, Alex refuses to leave the park.

Early in the movie, Alex injures himself by dropping the canoe in which he and Jenn arrive at their initial campsite on his foot. He doesn't tend to the injury for over a day, by which time his sock is soaked in his blood. He hangs the sock in a tree, and the blood attracts a hungry black bear.

Alex leaves his hatchet outside the couple's tent. Had he brought the hatchet inside the tent, he would have had a weapon with which to fight off the attacking bear; without it, he has nothing but his hands and feet.

Jenn also makes several errors in judgment. She is mindful of Alex's need to assert his masculinity and defers to his wishes and judgments, which, under other circumstances, might not have life-and-death significance; in the wilds of the Canadian park they visit, such deference can, and does, have such consequences. These are the more significant errors in judgment Jenn makes:


She does not insist that Alex accept a park map from the ranger or accept one herself.

In Alex's absence, Jenn invites Brad into their campsite.

She does not insist that Alex make sure the “acorns” he says are falling on their tent really are acorns.

She does not insist that Alex take her home after she sees evidence of the nearby presence of a bear.

She returns to their campsite after the bear has killed Alex so she can retrieve the engagement ring he has shown her.

Although Jenn, like Alex, makes mistakes in judgment, she is not a woodman and the couple's survival is not primarily her responsibility. In addition, she is not deceitful toward Alex, as he is to her. When she is alone, after Alex's death, her decisions are wise, allowing her to survive the bear and the wilderness.

Despite these mistakes, Jenn also makes wise decisions, even in the face of danger and under the pressure of stress:

She has the presence of mind to use her bear spray and her whistle to twice frighten off the bear before it can attack her.

She bathes her right arm, which was injured in the bear attack, and bandages it.

She sleeps in the fork of a tree's high branches.

She uses her flare to signal for help.

She recalls Alex's advice about eating spearmint berries and Brad's counsel that hikers should climb down the right, not the left, side of the park's waterfall.

She follows a buck, hoping it will lead her to water or out of the forest. The animal leads her to the waterfall.

She makes a splint and sets the leg she breaks in a fall during her descent of the cliff beside the waterfall.

Despite her amateur status as a woodsman, Jenn is more successful in navigating the forest and escaping the bear than Alex had been. His decisions endangered their lives. Some of hers did as well, although most of them helped her to survive her ordeal.

The movie does a good job of depicting the consequences of the characters' respective behaviors, suggesting that what one does results from his or her character no less than his or her motives.

Alex wants to impress Jenn, but he wants to do so because of his own insecurities. He feels inferior to her, because, in the everyday world in which they live the majority of the time, she, as a lawyer, occupies a position of greater status that he has as a landscaper.

Although she frequently defers to him and is eager, most of the time, to support his sense of himself and to shore up any doubts he may have of his masculinity or personal worth, she seems ambiguous about these aspects of his character. When she loses her temper after they become lost in the park, she says she wants to speak honestly to him “for once,” calling him a “loser” who always manages to mishandle or otherwise botch “everything.”

Alex also seems to care less about Jenn than he does about his own fragile self-image. He often rushes up and down the trail, leaving Jenn in his wake to fend for herself in the rough terrain, among tree branches, logs, brambles, and other obstacles. Even after he knows that a dangerous bear is following them and lurks in the vicinity of their campsites, he continues, without regard for his safety of her own, to proceed on their misguided journey, endangering their lives. In preparing for their trip, he took no precautions, failing to bring bear spray, a whistle, or a rifle.

In his mind, he is too macho to need such provisions or to heed the danger signs he sees in the forest. His poor judgment, however, is no match for the starving bear. The animal's ripping and tearing him apart, which is shown in grisly detail, is proof that he is no match for nature. In trying to impress Jenn by proving his manhood, Alex endangers both his life and hers.

At the beginning of the movie, as they are driving to the remote park, Jenn gives Alex a multiple-choice “boyfriend test” published in an issue of a women's magazine she's brought with her. Many of the items deal with consideration. Alex fails the test miserably, suggesting he isn't considerate at all of Jenn. He cares more about himself than he does her. Although he dies protecting her, giving her an opportunity to escape, it is he who, through his own insecurities and poor judgments, put her—and himself—in such a dire situation to begin with. As the test predicted, Alex was poor boyfriend material. Chances are, he'd have been poor marriage material as well. Jenn was lucky to survive the bear, as she was lucky to survive Alex.







Wednesday, May 21, 2008

Threat Recognition: Keeping It Real

Copyright 2008 by Gary L. Pullman


Most of us, if we survive our childhoods--no easy task, often--develop the ability to distinguish threatening situations, plants, animals, and other people from their non-threatening counterparts. How do we manage to do such a feat, within seconds or less, as often as necessary (except during naps)? Most people would probably attribute this ability to “instinct,” and, certainly, instinct (whatever is meant by this word) could have be one way--maybe the only way--by which this feat is accomplished. However, it seems reasonable that there may be something more to it than just the action of a genetic automatic target-recognition sixth sense or gut feeling. In this post, we offer a few additional possibilities, leaving it to the psychologists to determine whether any of these ideas seem worth the time and trouble of writing a multi-million-dollar grant proposal. (If it is, and the proposal is successful, remember who made the whole thing possible!)


Predators, scientists tell us, whether they (the predators, not the scientists) are lions, tigers, bears, or your Aunt Matilda, have binocular vision, with their eyes facing forward to look straight ahead, rather than having sideways-oriented oracular organs as do, for example, wildebeests, impalas, deer, and Uncle Henry. Doesn’t it seem possible--or even probable--that, over the centuries prey might come to understand that if the eyes face forward, danger threatens?

Likewise, anything that’s bigger than oneself, whether oneself is a shrimp, a slug, a sparrow, a bunny rabbit, or Cousin Bertha, is likely to be able to kill one and should be, at least until proper introductions are made and a chaperone armed with a 12-gauge shotgun is present, avoided.

Speed, too, may be a red flag, even though many prey animals are fairly fleet-footed themselves. There’s probably a reason that snakes are lightning quick and cheetahs run as fast as a lot of Mustangs--over a short distance, anyway. A fast animal, especially if it’s also relatively large, like a lion or a bear or a shark, ought to be avoided. Likewise, anything that just looks weird or scary, such as a snake or a puffer fish, should generally be kept at bay.


Most plants look harmless (although the Venus flytrap’s pretty scary looking, with all those thorny--or toothy--things along the edges of their leaves). Prey animals can learn something from them and their bright-colored animal friends (or foes), too, though. Some plants, like some animals, mimic dangerous cousins (and, sometimes, grandparents). Bright colors, scientists tell us (possibly as a result of a little too much experimentation) often indicate poison, in both plants and animals, and some harmless ones imitate the dangerous ones by assuming the deadly varieties’ coloration. Anything that’s imitated--female impersonators, for instance--are best avoided.



Persons, places, or things that move--things that move?--Sure, we’re talking horror, right?--in numbers (killer bees, a school of piranhas, a pack or wolves or hyenas, a graveyard full of zombies--should, it goes without saying, be avoided, evaded, and otherwise eluded. (Remember The Birds?)



Sen. John McCain, a Republican in name only (RINO)

Anything that has something you don’t have--armor-quality skin, fangs, claws, spines, quills, thorns, rabies, or whatever--is also a no-no when it comes to even casual dating. Avoid these creatures; they are armed and dangerous.

By knowing what constitutes a potential threat, horror writers can lend verisimilitude to their stories by describing threats in reference to the features that may, to the plants and animals that have learned, as the victims of such bullies, what clues to look for, which, again, includes straight-ahead binocular vision, large size, fast speed, Technicolor apparel, a pack mentality, or some sort of organic weapon.

If the threat’s not human or animal or vegetable--if it’s some kind of machine, for example--a website such as that of Federation of American Scientists (listed among our “Recommended Sites” at the bottom of this column) can shed more light than heat, we hope, upon threat-recognition as it applies to enemy aircraft, artillery, poisons, and other weapons systems, at least.

In other words, you’re pretty safe with roses and daises--unless you’re allergic to pollen or there are killer bees about.

Remember, knowing what constitutes a threat--or the appearance of one--helps you to keep it real as a writer. Who knows? It may even save a life.


Note: The photographs that appear in this post are from the U.S. Government Photos and Graphics website. (In other words, you paid for them.)

Sunday, March 30, 2008

The Nature of the Beast

copyright 2008 by Gary L. Pullman

H. P. Lovecraft's Cthulhu

Adam Smith points out, in The Theory of Moral Sentiments that, President Bill Clinton’s claim to “feel your pain” notwithstanding, people can know only their own feelings. To the extent that an individual empathizes and sympathizes with another, he or she does so only vicariously, by imaginatively putting him- or herself in the other’s place. The ability to identify with other people, only if imaginatively, creates a sense of community as a “fellow-feeling” develops, which allows people to regard others as their kith and kin. Occasionally (and usually to their regret) people project their own feelings onto animals, including bears, gorillas, and lions, regarding them as their fellows as well. Something of such a fellow-feeling between humans and animals may be evident in the half-human, half-animal hybrid creatures of ancient Egyptian, Greek, Roman, and Indian mythologies.

When an animal attacks, without warning, as wild animals are wont to do, people who have invested the animals with personalities similar to their own are sometimes at a loss to account for the beasts’ apparent betrayal. Other times, such individuals make an attempt to psychoanalyze the animal, as a female diver did after the whale she was petting, gripping her leg in its mouth, dove to a depth of approximately fifty feet before releasing her, and, short on oxygen, she barely made it back to the surface of the water. The whale, she believed, was annoyed at her for her invading its personal space. In past times, animals have even been condemned and executed for the “crimes” they committed against individuals, and in Herman Melville’s novel Moby Dick, Captain Ahab stalks the great white whale that bit off his leg.

It may be that people prefer anthropomorphism to the truth that animals are not people and, therefore, do not aspire, believe, doubt, feel, imagine, or think as people do. Although animals are definitely sentient and may be capable of limited cognition, including the ability to experience emotions to a degree, they are obviously not as sophisticated as even a young child in their ability to engage in complex, prolonged cognitive processes. Most animals do not have opposable thumbs, of course, which is a serious handicap, no doubt, in using (or even manufacturing) tools, but there are many other obstacles to their creation, maintaining, and developing art, science, and the other accoutrements of culture. No matter how fond one may be of one’s goldfish, hamster, guinea pig, rat, snake, canary, cat, dog, pot-bellied pig, or horse, the animal is not going to write a symphony to rival one by Johann Sebastian Bach, devise an invention to rival Thomas Edison's incandescent light bulb, or put one of their own on the moon.

Animals are not human. By nature--even by definition--they are other-than-human, the closest approximation that we have to the extraterrestrial biological entities of science fiction and horror, as alien as the great gelatinous mass of The Blob or H. P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu. We cannot put ourselves in their places, because they are not the same as we; they are not our equals in consciousness, memory, cognition, imagination, emotion, or any other mental process. In short, they are as William Butler Yeats describes the “rough beast” that, in “The Second Coming,” “slouches. . . towards Bethlehem to be born,” its “gaze as blank and pitiless as the sun.” Anyone who has ever studied the eye of a rattlesnake, an eagle, or a tiger knows the gaze that Yeats describes. It is unnerving precisely because of its inhumanity. The eyes, for men and women, may be “mirrors of the soul,” but animals have no souls to mirror, which is the very reason that their “blank and pitiless” stare is horrible and terrifying to us. Their gaze proves, to the intuition, if not to reason, that the animal is other-than-human and that it may be dangerous. There is no “fellow-feeling” between a man or a woman and a serpent, a hawk, or a lion for the simple reason that there cannot be. Therefore, beasts are dreadful.

Poets know this, as Yeats’ description of his poem’s “rough beast” shows. Emily Dickinson knows, too, the alien nature of the animal, as her poem about the “narrow fellow in the grass” whose presence leaves her “zero at the bone” shows. D. H. Lawrence also knows the alien nature of the serpent, as his poem, “The Snake,” indicates. Steve Irwin believed that he knew animals, although he was never sentimental enough to suppose that they feel as he felt or think as he thought. He loved the beasts of the field and the forest, the air and the sea, but, the moment he was careless, he paid with his life, a stingray’s barb through his heart, and Roy, of the Las Vegas magic act billed as “Sigfried and Roy,” was mauled by the white tiger that the duo used in their act, despite his love for the great cat.

It is the otherness of animals' nature that compels horror writers to use them--or parts of them, such as their fangs, their claws, their scales, their wings, their impervious hides, to describe monsters. By assigning animal characteristics to human beings, such writers reverse the process of which Smith writes, causing readers to alienate themselves from the monster who is too unlike them, fanged and clawed as these monsters are, to allow identification and sympathy. There can be no fondness, no fellow-feeling, no trust between the human and the other-than-human, because whatever is inaccessible to the imagination is beyond empathy. This is true despite the fact that some people--the Ted Bundys and Jeffrey Dahmers and Adolph Hitlers and Saddam Husseins among us--are worse than any lion, tiger, or bear, oh, my. Therefore, in science fiction, fantasy, and horror fiction, readers may continue to expect such monsters as the Creature from the Black Lagoon, the ape-like mutants of “The Lurking Fear,” the gigantic spider of It and The Lord of the Rings, and the human-animal-alien hybrids of the thousands of horror stories, in print and on film, that have been are, and are to come.

Since the days of Job, when God asked his loyal servant whether he’d considered Leviathan and his ways, such has been the nature of the beast.

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.


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