If there's one subgenre I wish modern horror films would care to dabble in more often, it's that of the special effects-laden creature feature. One would think that, considering the advancement of digital technology, horror flicks starring grotesque monsters would become more common, if anything. I suppose the lack of such films makes sense from a financial standpoint, considering studios can make yet another found-footage ghost movie for a measly $10 million and see their investment returned nearly tenfold at the box office (thanks to hordes of easily-impressed teens, no doubt), Still, my heart years for a time when movies like The Fly and Alien were commonplace. I'd love to see a brand-new wave of horror films that take place somewhere more imaginative than an upscale home in suburban California. I want a new generation of monsters that exist firmly in the horror genre, without having to turn the whole affair into a blockbuster action flick. Judging from current trends, none of this is likely to change anytime soon. Thankfully, I'll always have the classics to turn to, such as John Carpenter's 1982 gorefest, The Thing.
An adaptation of the 1938 sci-fi story, Who Goes There? (which had previously been adapted by Howard Hawks with 1953's The Thing From Another World), the plot follows a team of researchers stationed at U.S. Outpost #31 in the frozen wasteland of Antarctica. After an ominous encounter with a Norwegian helicopter pilot pursuing a runaway sled dog, the team finds themselves in the presence of a hostile alien creature, one with the ability to imitate the appearance and behavior of any living thing. Naturally they deduce that, if this thing was to reach civilization, the result would be catastrophic at best, potentially apocalyptic at worst. Determined not to allow it to escape, the team plans to destroy the creature, all the while not sure who among them they can really trust. Tensions run high and the constant threat of betrayal and assimilation hangs in the air; spectacular effects aside, this is by no means a light watch. The conflict and uncertainty make for an uneasy tone that doesn't let up for a second.
In reviewing the film upon its release, the late Roger Ebert referred to it as "a great barf bag movie". No truer words have been spoken. The mind-blowing special effects come to us care of Rob Bottin, only 23 years old at the time of production. I'm not easily impressed when it comes to special effects; years of making-of documentaries have led to me more appreciating the effort of capturing an effect, rather than the effect itself. This is not the case with The Thing. While some may view Bottin's creations as excessively distracting, I found myself totally floored by how organic and visceral things are. It's hard to explain exactly what makes these effects stand out the way they do. Of course, the Thing itself is just a series of puppets, but it's the way these puppets and animatronics and make-up effects are put together and shot that really makes them shine (and glisten, though that's more due to sheer gallons of K-Y jelly).
It may sound detrimental to say that this movie wouldn't be nearly as strong without its special effects, but I feel that can be forgiven considering how integral the effects are to establishing the overall tone. Everything but the creature designs is totally understated; the performances are for the most part reserved, the landscape is white and barren, and the soundtrack (care of Ennio Morricone) is composed of pulsing bass and methodical synths. When you put a character against this backdrop, only to have their chest explode outward in a fountain of viscera while their head sprouts eye stalks and spider legs, it creates a stark contrast. The Thing never reveals itself in a subtle way. Each scene is a powder keg waiting to devolve into panicked chaos the moment someone bursts open to reveal a writhing mass of tentacles and teeth.
Unfortunately, the strong emphasis on visual effects leads to my only real gripe with this film. While it's a joy to look at (thanks in no small part to the cinematography of frequent Carpenter collaborator Dean Cundey), I felt as though the characterization received less attention as a result. Kurt Russell is a fine leading man and a few cast members (Wilford Brimley, Moffat, and Keith David in particular) manage to leave an impression, but the script just doesn't devote much time to developing these characters. The majority of the inhabitants of Outpost #31 simply exist to turn into Things and are more or less distinguishable by appearance alone. This is a common issue with horror movies that unfortunately comes with the genre; some characters are naturally going to get less screentime than others (on account of death), so it's almost expected for there to be a few who feel flat or underdeveloped. Films can circumvent this by going for the slow-burn approach and devoting the entire first act to character building, but this doesn't necessarily work for every creative vision (after all, not every horror film can be Alien). This is definitely a movie that knows what its priorities are; its strengths lie in building an oppressive, paranoid atmosphere that permeates throughout the entire film. This unfortunately comes at the cost of particularly strong characterization. It's less of a story about people and more a cerebral experience for the viewer. When a character is revealed to be the Thing in disguise, we're meant to feel surprise, rather than sympathy. It isn't exactly a revolutionary display of characterization, but then that's not necessarily what the film's goal was. The goal was to keep viewers on their toes, constantly guessing who was human and who wasn't, and in that regard it works very well.
Though it was financially underwhelming and received generally poor feedback upon its initial release, audiences have really come around on The Thing in the years since. It's visually vulgar and a tad over-indulgent at times, yes, but it's also a genuinely compelling experience. Director John Carpenter has stated that "of course, The Thing is a metaphor for whatever you want to say. It's disease, could be AIDS, could be whatever. But it comes from within you." It's this idea of assimilation, of danger lurking just under the skin, where you cannot see it, that makes for such an effective experience. It's a very existential kind of horror, feeding off of our inherent fear of the unknown. It's a movie that preys on doubt and suspicion and disbelief, and it does so with gallons of blood and gore galore. It's a classic entry in the horror genre, not one to be missed.
No comments:
Post a Comment