The Thrill of It All, Part 1

Copyright 2020 by Gary L. Pullman

Movie posters are ads, of course; they are designed to sell movie tickets. As such, writers can learn from these posters what their designers believe the movie's targeted audience is interested in. In other words, movie posters allow writers access to free audience analysis research (or, at the very least, expert speculation) on the part of industry insiders as to what prompts moviegoers to go to the sort of movies the posters promote.

Chillers and Thrillers has already analyzed several horror movie posters (and may do so again), but, in this post, we take a look at posters for movies that are sold as thrillers.

Although some thriller movie posters appeal to a few of the same elements as horror movies typically feature, thriller posters stress different focal points than many horror movie posters emphasize.

For example, thriller movie posters frequently highlight the protagonist and his or her dilemma. The size of the main character—often just his or her face (i. e., head)—is not to scale, to say the least: it is gigantic in comparison to the rest of the imagery; as such, the face stands out from the rest of the images. On the poster for Shutter Island, Teddy Daniels (Leonardo diCaprio) is represented by a gigantic face frowning out of the darkness; he is many times larger than the island facility shown below him, in a dark sea.

The protagonist is also emphasized over any other figures that are present (although, often, the main character is the only figure shown on the poster). On the poster for Law Abiding Citizen, the face of protagonist Nick Rice (Jamie Foxx) face is larger than the body of the villain, Clyde Alexander Shelton (Gerald Butler).

There is also a suggestion of menace; the threat or danger, however, is often unseen. It is suggested by the imagery, including the protagonist's facial expression; the colors; and the caption, if any.

The plight of the protagonist is indicated in various ways. First, he or she is frequently alone, which means that the main character is unaided. The protagonist must fend for him- or herself, must gather intelligence, must formulate a battle or an escape plan, must administer first aid to him- or herself, must fight alone.

The very fact that the menace, if shown at all, is usually a dark, shadowy figure, perhaps hooded, and frequently armed, also suggests the protagonist's predicament: he or she is up against an unknown foe. It is difficult enough to fight against an opponent whose strengths and weaknesses one knows; it is much more difficult to combat a totally unknown foe.

Not only is the face of Jessica Allain (Lisa Walker) shown as huge in comparison with the poster's other images, but the shadowy figure who menaces her also wears a hood and gloves.

Thriller posters deprive viewers of a context, rendering the protagonists' situation mysterious. We don't know how the main character got into the present situation, and we have no idea how he or she will get out of the dilemma. To sharpen the protagonist's quandary, the poster's caption might pose a question, as the poster for Law Abiding Citizen does: “How do you stop a killer who is already behind bars?”

A poster may pinpoint the relationship that brings the protagonist face to face with his or her adversary, as Cold Comes the Night does: “She found a fortune. He found a target.”

Let's wrap up this post by listing the design features we've seen on the posters we've discussed:

• Make sure that your protagonist stands out from other characters.
• For as long as possible, merely suggest the menace that your main character faces.
• For as long as possible, withhold context: do not explain the cause of the protagonist's dilemma until the end of the story; this ploy keeps your readers guessing and maintains suspense.
• In dialogue or the protagonist's own thoughts, pose a rhetorical question or two (but not too many at once) to introduce or heighten suspense by hunting at the problems your protagonist faces or may face in the future.
• Deliver on the implied promises your use of each of these techniques creates in the minds of your readers.

There are exceptions to these general techniques, but there is also a reason that these methods have are general. Designers have found them to be effective; they work. They are adept at enticing audiences to buy tickets. They sell the work they promote. As such, incorporating them into the action of the thriller that you are writing can keep readers reading your stories and coming back for more.

There's more to learn from analyzing thriller movie posters. We'll do just that in a future Chillers and Thrillers post.

Praise and Condemnation as Tools for Writers' Self-Appraisal

Copyright 2020 by Gary L. :Pullman

Rotten Tomatoes, a website devoted to reviews, both professional and amateur, is often the go-to site for people, both in and out of the entertainment industry, who want to see how their colleagues or their audiences view their television or cinematic productions.

Ida Lupino

The website provides percentages for the consensus of both professional reviewers and their amateur counterparts. For professional reviewers, the percentage of the consensus of professional opinion regarding the quality, or “freshness,” of a television series or movie is reflected by the “Tomatometer” reading, while the consensus of amateur opinion regarding the quality, or “freshness,” of a television series or movie is the “Audience Score.”

Jemmifer Kent

Of the female directors of horror movies listed in the Internet Movie Database (IMDb) website's Scary Good feature's “36 Horror Movies Directed by Women,” four score 92 percent or higher on Rotten Tomatoes's “Tomatometer,” percentages which would equate, on an academic scale, to an “A-,” an “A,” or an “A+”: typically, academic grade scales consider 90 percent through 92 percent an “A-,” 93 percent through 96 percent an “A,” and 97 percent through 100 percent an “A+.”

Ana Lily Amirpour

These films, by these directors, receive Tomatometer readings equivalent to a grade in the “A-” through “A+” range:

• The Hitch-Hiker (1953) (Ida Lupino): 100% A+
• The Babadook (2014) (Jennifer Kent): 98% A+
• A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night (Ana Lily Amirpour): 96% A+
• Raw (2016) (Julia Ducournau): 92% A-

Julia Ducournau

Of the thirty-six directors, two earn a “B+”; one earns a “C-,” and one earns a “C”; three earned a “D-”; one earns a “D”; and two earn a “D+”; and 11 earn an “F.”

None of the movies directed by the remaining eleven female directors on the list has established a consensus of expert opinion.

Converting these results into percentages, we determine that, of the 25 female directors whose works have attained a consensus of professional opinion, 16% earn “A” grades, 8% earn “B” grades; 8% earn “C” grades, and a whopping 44% earn “F” grades.

All in all, with a few exceptions, these female directors do not earn many accolades from professional critics.

We need not wonder why; the critical opinion compiled by Rotten Tomatoes gives us answers in the form of quotations by the critics themselves. Concerning Lupino's flick, which earned 100% (“A+”), the critics cite such pluses as: “flawless pacing” (J. R. Jones, Chicago Reader), “first-class performances” (Geoff Andrew, Time Out), and “atmospheric direction” (Matt Brunson, Film Frenzy).

The lowest grade (12%) goes to Cindy Sherman, the director of Office Killer (1997). Manohla Dargis (L. A. Weekly) finds the film “insulting” at times and altogether “tedious.” Edward Guthmann (San Francisco Chronicle) sees it as a mishmash, due to the director's inability to decide whether she is filming a “slasher fest, social satire or revenge comedy.” For Stephen Holden of The New York Times, the movie lacks “electricity,” whatever that means. Greg Muskewitz (eFilmCritic.com) finds the film “trashy, stupid, schlock-y, and completely dull.” The motion picture lacks “terror . . . suspense . . . wit” and “humor,” Dale Winogura (Boxoffice Magazine) says.

Besides the “flawless pacing,” “first-class performances,” and “atmospheric direction” that Lupino's 1953 The HitchHiker offers its audience, what do the other “A”-grade films on the “36 Horror Movies Directed by Women” list provide for their viewers?

In The Babadook (2014), Jennifer Kent delivers an “intense and disturbing” picture “of maternal exhaustion” (M. Faust, The Public [Buffalo]); memorable villains (Charlotte O'Sullivan, London Evening Standard); a study of motherhood as potentially monstrous (Allison Willmore, BuzzFeed News), a blurring of “reality and terrifying fantasy” (John Semley, Globe and Mail); and “layers of rich meaning” and “two spectacular performances” (Ryan Syrek, The Reader [Omaha, Nebraska]).

For A Girl Walks Home Alone at Night (2014), Ana Lily Amirpour receives praise for breathing “new life in[to] the vampire genre” (M. Faust, The Public [Buffalo]); combining the genres of “horror, film noir, and westerns” (Kiva Reardon, Globe and Mail); creating an appropriately eerie “mood” (Alexa Dalby, Dog and Wolf); and being, in general, just plain “cool” (Peter Bradshaw, Guardian; Steven Rea, Philadelphia Inquirer).

Another “A”-lister, Julia Ducournau, merits the mark of excellence for Raw (2016) for revealing the true “dread” associated with affiliation, the loss of one's virginity, and “living up to family expectations” (Peter Howell, Toronto Star); for its memorable horror (Kate Muir, Times [United Kingdom]); for its revelation of the “darker side” of humanity (Anton Bitel, Little White Lies); for a grotesque, if “gorgeous” portrait of “fear and adolescence” (Josephine Livingstone, The New Republic); for its “visceral pleasures” (Ashlee Blackwell, Graveyard Shift Sisters); and for its sociological (Leslie Combemale, Cinema Siren) and psychological (Chris McCoy, Memphis Flyer) insights.

Now that the critics have had their say, aspiring writers know what they, at least, are looking for in a grade-”A” horror movie (as the critics themselves define it). By perusing the Rotten Tomatoes “Audience Score” for these movies (and others), writers can also gain insights into what ordinary moviegoers like and dislike concerning various films in the horror genre (or any other genre, for that matter).

Amazon's customers also let film directors and novelists know what they like (and don't like) in horror movies and novels. Check out their reviews, too, but, at the end of the day, take a writer's advice: “unto thine own self be true,”

The Horror of Abandonment

Copyright 202 by Gary L. Pullman 

 

Although the evil in Cujo takes the form of a rabid dog, this poster suggests the true evil of the movie based on Stephen King's novel: the adulterous affair that arises from neglect and represents an abandonment of the adulteress's husband and son; it is her unfaithfulness that tears her family apart.

A major theme of horror stories, in both film and in print, is abandonment. Often, such desertion is symbolically represented by an abandoned house or by empty rooms. It is also frequently suggested by images of crumbling stone castles or manor houses or by dilapidated houses or other symbols of neglect, including yards overrun with weeds, uncut grass, and overgrown sheds or other structures. In itself, isolation can also be representative of abandonment: a remote cabin in the woods, a castle atop a lone promontory, an expanse of empty beach, an uninhabited island, the middle of a desert, a narrow trail through a rain forest, an oil rig at sea.

The type of edifice or landscape can also imply what has been abandoned or what is at risk of abandonment: a church may suggest that religious faith has been abandoned; a hospital, the attempt to control or cure a rampant disease; a manor house, a family and its connection to the community of which it was once a vital part; a military barracks, war or peace (depending on the reason for abandonment); a strip mall, a dearth of customers.

In every case, the common element is change: something has occurred that has caused the clergy or the congregants, the medical staff or the patients, the family members, the troops, or the business owners or the customers to leave their beloved or customary place of worship, medical center, home, installation, or shopping center. The “something” is apt to be the story's villain, whatever form it takes.

Being abandoned is horrific because it results in the loss of social, psychological, commercial, medical, and other forms of support vital to the abandoned individual's or individuals' safety, health, and welfare. Being abandoned forces the abandoned to fend for themselves, even when they do not have the expertise to do so. In a highly technologically advanced society, no one can know all things or do all things. Assistance in many, not a few, endeavors is both essential and necessary. Most cannot diagnose and treat health complaints, especially horrific injuries or potentially fatal diseases; resist or defeat an army; or provide the products of the marketplace crucial to individual and communal survival.

We are, each and all, much more dependent than we might like to admit; we owe our continued happiness, safety, health, and welfare to others much more than we do to ourselves. That is the message of horror stories in which a villainous force or being lays waste to the infrastructure of religious, psychological, social, medical, commercial, and other means of support essential to human life. We like to think of ourselves as independent, as able to fend for ourselves, as self-sufficient and autonomous individuals.

Horror stories that rely on the theme of abandonment beg to differ; they take, as their implicit or explicit task, the teaching of the lessons of our mutual dependence, of our need for one another, of our need to rely on each other rather than to deceive ourselves with the erroneous belief that we are, each and all, self-reliant. The recognition of such a reality should promote humility and compassion and generosity. In horror stories, it is characters with these attributes who, generally speaking, survive, while the arrogant, the indifferent, and the parsimonious do not. In the midst of the coronavirus pandemic, these are wise, worthwhile lessons, to be sure.

 

Make Sure that Your Story's Monster Is Integral to Its Setting: Aristotle and Poe Insist upon It

Copyright 2020 by Gary L. Pullman

Judging by its trailer, the monster of The Sand (2015) is integral to the movie's setting:

A red plastic cup lying, half-buried in the sand, litters an otherwise pristine beach. Waves roll toward the shore, carrying, upon the surface of their waters, green slime suggestive of pulverized vegetation or algae, implying that nature, too, is a litterbug of sorts. A mechanical device, embedded in the sand elsewhere on the beach, among dunes and reeds, is a sign of the presence of human technology amid natural landscape features.

Night. Teenage boys in loud shirts cavort on the beach with teenage girls in bikinis and other abbreviated attire. A boy tosses beer from a red plastic cup toward squealing, grinning girls. While performing a handstand on the sand, Marsha drinks beer, upside-down, from the spigot of an upright keg. Another girl quaffs her beverage from a red plastic cup. A boy does flips.

Vance warns, “Don't use Facebook or MySpace. Nothing leaves this beach.” The party continues, in full swing.

The next morning, Kaylee looks over the beach from the lifeguard tower where she's spent the night. The crowd is gone. Only a few red plastic cups and the teens' sleeping bags and towels remain.

Text appears, informing viewers that “66% of marine species are still undiscovered today.”

A seagull beats its wings, as it struggles to free its feet from the sand. Kaylee, looking on, declares, “He's heavy.” She asks the bird, “Are you stuck?” and is startled to see the bird sink (or being pulled) into the sand until it disappears. “Oh, my God!” she cries, backing up.

Text: “Until now.”

Holding her hand above the sand, Kaylee, with Mitch, who also slept on the lifeguard tower, kneeling beside her, watches water “rain” from her palm.

Kaylee runs across the platform, warning Marsha, “Don't touch it!” Marsha's foot presses into the sand. A hand clutches the girl's wrist, pulling upward.

The screen flickers as Kaylee's boyfriend Jonah and a girl named Chandra, in the front seat, and Vance and his girlfriend Ronnie, in the back seat, sit in a convertible parked on the beach and look out toward the sea.

Mitch asks Kaylee, “So do you want to tell me what just happened?”

“You saw,” Kaylee tells Mitch.

Gilbert frowns as he looks at something unseen by the viewer.

Jonah tries to start his car, as Chandra yells, “Start the car!”

“The car won't start,” he says. The teens are trapped in the convertible.

"We're all going to die,” Mitch predicts.

This is crazy,” Gilbert declares.

Mitch tosses a life preserver.

Mitch, his feet wrapped in towels, runs across the sand.

A police officer approaches a girl lying on on a picnic table on the beach.

Chandra balances on an inflated raft as she walks across the sand.

Jonah lies prone on the beach, suffering and unable to move.

Vance leaps from the stranded convertible.

The police officer sprays Mace on the sand.

Energy crackles around the fingers and arm of a fallen figure—the patrolman?—who lies on the beach.

Kaylee leaps from the lifeguard's tower, onto the sand.

Text: “like a monster.”

Kaylee waves her and shakes her head, saying, “I don't believe in monsters.”

Jonah jumps back into the convertible.

Vance falls onto the beach.

A boy is pulled into the beach as he struggles, clutching the bench of a picnic table.

Kaylee screams.

Night. A blonde in a red bikini backs up, screaming, as she stares, horrified, at a gigantic tendril of light sweeping across the sky. A car, the driver's door open, is parked beside her. The tendril whips down. She ducks, and the tendril slams the car door shut.

Against a black background, the film's title appear in large red, centered letters:

The Sand

An Anything Horror review of the movie posted on Horrorpedia is mixed. The film jumps the shark, so to speak, when the monster is introduced: director Isaac Gabareff apparently couldn't leave well enough alone. He had to “give us the Big Monster,” and one which he doesn't seem to have been able to afford, at that: “the money spent on attempting this wouldn’t pay for a Pizza Hut meal,” which, unfortunately, makes it look “cartoonish.”

There are other problems with the special effects, too, reviewer Phil Wheat, of Nerdy, complains: “especially during a couple of the bigger, and gorier, death scenes.” However, there's a silver lining: “it’s [a] testament toThe Sand‘s production that the low-budget nature of the effects don’t detract too much from the overall experience.”

Another reviewer has trouble with the plot, Luke Owen of Flickering Myth finding it “full of padding, a hammered[-]in love triangle and rather unfunny jokes.”

For his part, reviewer Christopher Stewart of UK Horror Scene finds the characters flat, the final girl somehow awkward, and the romance cringe-worthy. Stewart disagrees in part with the Anything Horror reviewer concerning the monster's credibility, seeing “the monster effects” as “decent” overall, although, he argues, “they don't seem entirely integrated into the scene and come off a little cheap looking.”

This movie itself shows how the monster in a story can (and, in the opinion of Chillers and Thrillers, should) be an integral part of the setting. It shouldn't be merely an afterthought tacked onto the environment, but should arise from the story's setting as naturally and believably as a shark rises from the depths of the ocean, as a bear bounds across the floor of a forest, or as an eagle swoops down from the sky.

It seems that the octopus-thing or the squid-thing, or whatever kind of thing the “undiscovered marine species” specimen-thing is (actually, it turns out to be a giant electric jellyfish), is clearly integral to the setting; it comes from the sea, onto the beach, to attack the teens during spring break. All the pieces fit; there are not only unity and coherence, but also integration and relevance. Of course, whether the effects are “integrated into the scene” as seamlessly and naturally as the could and should be is another question.

Moreover, the movie's posters also indicate that the monster is, indeed, integral to the setting.

One poster shows Kaylee running across the beach, leaning well forward. There's a full moon in the dark sky, but the sand is dark and looks more like both mud and water than sand as such. Indeed, at first glance, it appears that Kaylee is running upon the surface of the ocean, especially since the illuminated tentacle of the monster rises from the sand beside her. Beneath the title, in solid, block red letters is the caption, “This beach is killer.”

Another poster shows a blonde wearing a bikini top resembling seashells; she is buried in the beach up to her waist. Beneath the sand, two of the monster's illuminated tentacles stretch toward her, even as a third seems to attempt to surround her. On her knees, Kaylee reaches toward the other girl, as a third teen, perhaps Chandra, walks slowly toward the victim. A patrol car is parked behind Kaylee. Above the trapped teen, who stretches her arms overhead, the caption appears, in capitals, all red, above the film's sand-colored title: “This beach is killer. The Sand.”

In “The Philosophy of Composition,” wherein Edgar Allan Poe explains how he write his celebrated poem The Raven, Poe says he began the process with the particular emotional effect in mind that he wanted to create (horror, of course), and then chose each and every other element of the poem, it plot, its structure, its meter, its rhyme scheme, the raven's increasingly eerie refrain, and, of course, the setting so that, individually and together, these elements help both to create the preconceived effect and to maximize its impression upon the poem's readers. Like Aristotle, who warned against a tacked-on ending, or deus ex machina, insisting that the end of a story should be pertinent and seemingly inevitable, given all that had gone before, and led, to the culmination, the effect itself.

By ensuring that the characters, including the monster, are integral to the story's setting, writers can gain a sense of inevitability for their denouement that is as apt and satisfying as that of Poe's raven. The elements of The Sand, the monster included, do lead up to and emphasize the effect that the film, as a whole, produces. In this, the movie succeeds well, however well or poorly the film the “monster effects” themselves may be “integrated into the scene.”