The Horror Genre

 

Generic Feature Your analysis of Genre
Story Our characters arrive at a new house, or neighbourhood and everything seems oddly perfect. We are then given a rumour e.g. an ancient folklore tale) which will gradually prove to be true. They meet a creepy character or find a creepy mythological object and everything starts going downhill. One by one, characters drop like flies; our protagonist becomes more and more isolated, conflict arises as characters lose their heads through fear, this is the dark night of the soul. A plan is hatched but it involves splitting up and sneaking behind the monsters back. A character sacrifices themself so that the protagonist can escape, huge explosion, or metaphorical explosion, and the monster dies, and only two characters crawl out of the rubble holding on to each other, united by family and love.
Themes Survival, the human response to fear, comedy (cheap horror films are perfect for watching with a group of friends, and the varying reactions to gore and fear amongst a group of people make for pure comedy).
Characters The monster -typically the reveal of the monster is saved for a climax to build tension. 

The overly brave macho character -they can not handle the stress of being quiet and afraid so lose their heads and go all guns blazing into battle against the monster, hence they often die.

The wimp -they will crumble under the fear, becoming almost paralysed by it; they will end up endangering other characters because they are so irrational, or they will just die.

The businessman -they care about themselves and money more than anything else, they may attempt to make a deal with the monster and betray the other characters, in order to save themselves. They are similar to ‘the wimp’.

The protagonist -they will always do the right thing, they would be willing to sacrifice themselves, but through fate always end up surviving -they are the chosen one.

The sacrifice -they will likely be a similar character to the protagonist, perhaps even a braver and kinder character, but sadly they must die to save everyone else, they sign off with a brave salute before exploding, and everyone will remember them.

Setting Traditionally Gothic. Very often characters move to a new house or a new neighbourhood which initially seems falsely pleasant. Often isolated, reducing humans to extremely primal scenarios. Often a maze-like structure; perfect for jumpscares, and separating the characters alone, anything which keeps the monster hidden and the characters (the prey) in danger – The hugeness and murkiness of the sea in ‘Jaws’ is just terrifying, a tiny boat floating above death.
Mise-en-scene (Iconography) Pointed metal fences -in general anything pointy and sinister looking will be perfect. An explosion. Darkness, everyone is scared of the dark. Blood, lots of blood. 
Production Techniques Music is typically essential for creating the moments of tension where we know the character will die, but we don’t know when. Biased subjective camera angles allow the monster to sneak up on characters without us noticing (e.g. Character looks up slowly as dripping saliva falls on them, the monster jumps off the roof and lands on their face). The beginning of the film may feature wide domestic shots, giving the characters plenty of room to breathe, but by the climax of the film, we will have switched to claustrophobic close ups. Every open space is now dangerous rather than relaxing, and characters stay close to the walls hiding behind objects. Perhaps there would also be a lighting shift, which would switch from low contrast domestic bliss, to a darker palette (Shining is an exception, always super harsh ugly, bright lighting, everything is so plastic and falsely pleasant, and over exposed).

The Sound Of Star Wars

Analysing how John Williams scores the following scene from ‘Return of the Jedi’ (1983):

Naturally, John Williams is aware of the role a film score plays in emphasising the action on the screen (arguably most audience members are governed more by the mood of the score than the visual communication of the shots themselves). Hence, given that this short action-packed scene is so narratively dense and readily changes mood, rather than composing a single piece to play over the scene Williams pieces together various leitmotifs, similarly to how an editor would stitch individual shots together. The transitions between the leitmotifs are relatively smooth, but the juxtapositions between them are definitely intended to highlight the aggressive conflicts between the trio of characters and orchestrate the flow of the fight scene. 

 

However, on a first watch when you are not specifically paying attention to the score, it is hard to recognise Palpatine’s unique leitmotif, and hence the majority of the scene is primarily driven by the immediate emotion of the chords, as opposed to any distinct audience recollection. The notable exception to this is Luke Skywalker’s leitmotif, which is clearly recognisable from previous moments in the franchise and features twice in this scene. For instance, when Darth Vader mentions Obi Wan, Williams uses a light flutter of Luke’s leitmotif to add some subtext to the scene by reminding us of the long emotional journey we have been on up to this point; this fight is governed by far larger forces than just the two individuals at lightsaber length away from each other. 

 

During the silent era, films were accompanied by a live organist who would play over the film, often accompanying the on screen action in what would now be considered an almost comical manner (e.g. the classic pitter patter glissando as a character ascends a staircase). This trend is somewhat maintained in modern score production, given that almost all music is recorded after the film has been cut. Nowadays, given the fact that ADR technology has become so prominent, the raw on-set footage is practically rendered silent. There are some exceptions to this, for instance in his films ‘Interstellar’ (2014) and ‘Tenet’ (2020) Christopher Nolan worked with composers Hans Zimmer and Ludwig Goranson prior to the production of the films, in fact, Nolan went so far as to write sections of the ‘Interstellar’ script to the very melody which would later feature in the final score. This helps to blur the dichotomy between visual and audible storytelling, and gives the score more respect, compared to when it is just slapped on after the film has already been completed. Whilst John Williams’ scoring in this scene predominantly matches the action, there is a distinct moment where the music is given the right to have definite control over the narrative. This moment comes at the end of the scene when the rising high pitch crescendo is used to clearly foreshadow Palpatine’s attack on Luke. In contemporary sound design, audible illusions such as the shepherd tone can be used to draw out these rising crescendos for potentially infinite time periods, and totally exploit our sensitivity to the tension created by them. Although this one used by Williams works very effectively precisely because of its brevity, which allows the score to catch us like a deer in headlights as we suddenly realise what is approaching.

The edit of ‘Hot Fuzz’

Analysis of the editing in a 6-minute segment building up to the climax of Edgar Wright’s ‘Hot Fuzz’:

Continuity of screen time and Rhythm:

When the ‘old mum’ is KO’d with a flying karate kick to the visage, the editor Chris Dickens uses an ellipsis; he cuts out a segment of time (approximately 3 ‘real-time’ minutes) and skips to the end result (the tied up villagers). Films such as Christopher Nolan’s ‘Following’ use ellipsis as a key narrative device, to foreshadow by cutting to brief moments in the future of the film, before returning back to the present, leaving us to wonder how on earth the journey will lead to these bizarre outcomes. ‘Following’ is unique in that it used ‘unprompted ellipsis’, where the film would abruptly cut between various timelines with no obvious indicator for the motivations of the time shift (e.g. the classic dolly in on an elderly character sitting in an old people’s home, as an old photograph triggers a distant memory). However, this cut in ‘Hot Fuzz’ is more traditional; the first shot after the time jump consists of a slow scene-setting camera move to allow us time to acclimatise to the temporal shift, and ‘connect the dots’ of the ellipsis. An interesting feature of this cut is the brief black screen which represents the skipped section of time. The black screen creates an unanticipated comically abrupt end to the active scene by mimicking the perspective of the ‘old mum’, after she is knocked out stone cold (this is a shockingly brilliant gory twist). The hasty pacing created by this cut seems to give this scene a lack of narrative significance, and as the pace continues to build, our anticipation grows as the scale of climax dawns on us. 

One of the first shots in the scene is the slow pan revealing the horses and natural landscape, which mocks the stereotypical desire for tranquillity and peace possessed by the elderly Britton. This slow pan is used to create an optical ‘magic trick’, as when the pan is reversed, Angel’s black car is revealed. This revelation marks the end of these slow pans and the shift towards a more choppy rhythm of shooting and cutting. On many occasions, in contrast to a slow dolly in on a character, a more jarring method of jump cutting between three shots (each one jarringly reducing the distance between the camera and the character) is adopted. This creates the comical mocking of the Hollywood action genre, as the cuts are so explicit, that the audience can not ignore them. Hence, the audience uses their innate film knowledge to realise that the filmmaking techniques are being used to deliberately intensify the moment, but because the cuts are so ‘amateur’ the audience views them as tacky. This style of filmmaking is effectively Edgar Wright’s dissection of the action genre; he destroys the Hollywood facade that filmmaking is some magical art which is impossible for the ordinary to possess by recreating the style used in his earlier student films (pulpy genre pieces which do not take themselves seriously at all). The comical-violence movement, greatly popularised by Tarantino,  can be seen throughout contemporary film when auteurs conclude a complex plot by turning it into a comical and totally unrealistic bloodbath (a notable example is Bong Joon-Ho’s oscar-winning ‘Parasite’). This movement aims to put an emphasis on fun within the world of film and tends to embrace the fact that film provides us with a platform to escape reality and enter an exaggerated fantastical world. Although, there is the notable controversy that these films glorify acts of inhumane violence which, if experienced in reality, would be far more traumatic than entertaining. However, I believe that these films play a vital role in maintaining a depiction of the unpolitical but plausible freedom which humans truly have, providing constant reminders of our animalistic and instinctual origins, and that by challenging our moral obligations they can help us to reaffirm why our morals even exist at all.

‘The Dark Knight’ vs ‘The Superhero Genre’

The Dark Knight truck flip: behind-the-scenes of Batman's best stunt - Polygon

 

A brief comparison between the established generic conventions (see previous post) of the ‘Superhero’ genre and Christopher Nolan’s 2008 thriller/action film ‘The Dark Knight’.

  1. Just like the classic comic book superhero, Nolan’s Batman adopts a suit which features an iconic emblem, most noticeably the bat ears. However, Nolan’s Batman’s suit is far less glamorous and ‘shiny’ than the typical superhero costume, and secondly it is not a ‘costume’, but a high-grade military suit made of durable and textured materials.
  2. This difference in the suits highlights perhaps the most significant historic difference between Batman and other superheroes: Batman has no superpowers. Nolan’s Batman is given a real-world setting and is a plausible character, hence the importance of the role which ‘Batman Begins’ played in establishing his origins. Although, as with any superhero film, Batman is given ‘narrative immortality’, raising the importance of developing the characters surrounding him, as these are the people at risk. Although, in this film, Nolan almost exposes this trope and uses it against itself; the Joker does not attack Batman (Batman is far stronger physical force) but instead picks off the people around him whilst declaring that the Batman is responsible because he has not given up his identity. Batman, who is almost aware of his inability to die, undergoes immense internal conflict, as he sits back in his position of power, whilst the normal humans are being massacred all around.
  3. Whilst this film does undeniably deliver some of the best moments of ‘theme-park cinema’, what ultimately separates it from other films of the superhero genre is that it is directed by Christopher Nolan. Christopher Nolan is arguably the most intelligent filmmaker of all time, and is a lover of pure cinema. Hence beneath the surface, this film is perhaps the most intellectually dense of all time, with mythology, religion, philosophy and mental health all playing major roles, and the added portrayal of extremely relevant contemporary themes on the largest possible scale. It is this authenticity which draws in elite actors such as Gary Oldman and Morgan Freeman, and allows for the blooming of undiscovered talents, most notably Heath Ledger.  Even the ‘popcorn thrills’ are delivered artistically, and with a respect towards the history of cinema, with this film featuring one of the greatest practical stunts of all time: an eighteen-wheeler truck being flipped fifty-four feet in the air, shot on Imax film.

Genre Analysis of ‘Pan’s Labyrinth’

Guillermo del Toro’s film, ‘Pan’s Labyrinth,’ features numerous generic conventions of the fantasy genre but to use a single category to define this work would be an injustice to its complexity. On closer inspection it is evident that del Toro provides us with the base genre of fantasy, in order to implant premature assumptions into the viewers mind which he later twists and manipulates through the insertion of features from other genres, such as horror and war.    

Opening Shots: Pan's Labyrinth | Scanners | Roger Ebert

In the opening shot of the film, we are boldly introduced to the image of a bleeding young girl lying on a cold dark floor. Whilst the architectural structures of the underground realm in this scene are very fantastical, featuring twisting staircases and towering spires, and the introduction to the narrative of the princesses tale is clearly fantastical, something seems off. This type of foreshadowing opening shot, which we know we will circle back around to, seems more typical of the war genre, in which a tragic death of a good soldier is very much expected, that’s all part of the plan. But the princess isn’t supposed to die is she? Whilst other movies in the fantasy genre, particularly Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit, depict key historical crimes of the human race in a more subtle way, for instance the comparison between the Black Riders and the Gestapo, del Toro selects this opening shot to instantly inform us that the comparisons in this fantasy will be far more blunt, less disguised, and more real. Even to the extent that del Toro does not construct comparisons but simply depicts the real world sins; even prior to the first shot, the intertitle informs us of the film’s historically accurate setting: The Spanish Civil war. 

Pan's Labyrinth: What Happened To Ofelia | Screen Rant

Ofelia is a classic example of the typical protagonist in a fantasy film; she is curious, naturalistic, and crossing the border between puberty and adulthood providing a perfect physical representation of a coming of age. Focusing on the generic convention of a curious protagonist, this characteristic is often only explored in act one of the narrative; he protagonists incapability to follow the crowd, and curiosity leads them to make a key discovery, which is typically finding a whole new world. This is the disturbance which marks the beginning of the second act -in ‘Pan’s Labyrinth,’ this is Ofelia’s first encounter with ‘The Faun.’ However, in a classic fairy tale, after entering the new world the protagonist is often locked into a destiny; they must complete their quest in order to return to their original world. But ‘Pan’s Labyrinth’ differs in that Ofelia regularly crosses the border between the two realms. The fact that Ofelia is given free-will allows del Toro to create added tension as Ofelia’s only limitation is her curiosity, which does not seem to be in short supply. Hence we are constantly on edge as we have the prominent fear that Ofelia may be blinded by her curiosity and unaware that she is walking into a death trap.

Pale Man | Non-alien Creatures Wiki | Fandom

The frequent insertions of elements from the horror genre are used for personal expression and to create suspense. Del Toro has a clear hatred towards Fascism and in general regimes which suppress creativity and freedom of expression. Hence the horror aspects are used to highlight the fear induced by these cruel regimes, just like the audience the citizens who must follow the commandments of these regimes are constantly on edge and possessed with angst. As well as the symbolism behind the fright which the audience experiences, the horror elements also make for great entertainment; sitting down with a group of friends or family to embark on a collective journey of shared fear is a very desirable cinematic experience. In fact throughout the whole film del Toro creates tension and excitement, to entertain but, perhaps more importantly, to gain the audience’s interest and subsequently buy del Toro a few minutes of creative freedom to express some more complex individual ideas. 

 

Analysis of the Narrative Structure of Pan’s Labyrinth

In the opening flash-forward shot of Guillermo del Toro’s, ‘Pan’s Labyrinth,’ as we watch a young girl bleed out onto a cold stone floor, we are instantly informed that we will perceive this story through a blunt and graphically unforgiving lens. Whilst most fantasy films do attempt to address the real world sins of humans, it is typically done so in a more implicit way, for instance the similarities between hitler and Lord Voldemort in the Harry Potter film series. Del Toro on the other hand does not shy away from incorporating historically accurate real world crimes into his work; even before the opening shot, an inter title informs us textually of the historic context.  This is likely to make his analysis of these flaws in humanity more relatable, accessible, and ultimately real for the audience members -he wields the power which cinema has to influence and mould the virtues of audience members. Some directors, most notably Tarantino, use vivid violence for pure entertainment, contrastingly del Toro uses it as a tool to tell the audience, ‘Wake up! The real world is grim and brutal,’ perhaps not in tone with the escapism we hope to find in a fantasy. And as the narrative develops we still wait for this statement to be corrected, as we anticipate the success of the rebels and the restoration of goodness, despite the fact that we consciously or perhaps even preconsciously know that we must inevitably circle back to the chilling opening shot.

The opening shot is then followed by the opening narration which, whist not quite as intense as a Bond or Indiana Jones opening scene, is narratively dense and entertaining; we get a mini fairy tale story at the start to temporarily satisfy our desire, and impatience for narrative revelations. Through this mini narrative we are also introduced to the conflict between the real world, and the fantastical world; we are left uncertain as to whether the princess’ journey into the real world was an escape from darkness, or a tragic mistake.

The structure throughout the rest of the film is split up into two simultaneously developing narratives: the real world civil war, and Ofelia’s exploration of the fantastical realm. Like Christopher Nolan’s, ‘Memento,’ colour distinctions, and setting dichotomies are used to clearly highlight the division of these two narratives: the fantastical world features woodland features and much more naturalistic colours: greens and browns, whilst the real world is much more darkly lit and has a more industrial aesthetic. The grim lighting creates the impression that all of the life and goodness has been sucked out of this world, providing the perfect habitat for a vampire, or rather a life-sucking captain. A key moment regarding the simultaneous narratives is when the character of the Faun enters into Ofelia’s room; we realise that the forces impacting Ofelia are no longer purely her childish curiosities, but in fact the Faun is now wanting something from her, adding to his sinister mysteriousness. Additionally this really marks the beginnings of the amalgamation of the two realms; up until this point we have only witnessed Ofelia and the fairies cross the border. As the influences the two worlds have on each other grow more intense and frequent, building momentum, we are given a revelation which cements the fact that the underground realm is not an extension of Ofelia’s wondering imagination, but instead most definitely co-exists with reality. This idea is communicated through the mandrake root; as Carmen twitches in violent pain as the root burns, it is apparent that there is a definite connection between these mystical creatures and the real world.

Similarly to the hairpin structure of ‘Memento’, after influencing each other, the two narratives inevitably meet at the end, and the binary conflict as to which world Ofelia, and in turn the audience, should choose to be the superior one is addressed. But at first glance the film seems to end in tragedy; the protagonist dies and whilst the rebels take satisfaction in defeating the Captain, there is an overwhelming mood of darkness. But as Mercedes weeps over the body of Ofelia, we see her blood, he life and essence, flow out of her finger tips. Del Toro uses the weeping Mercedes as an embodiment of the audiences current feelings as they mourn the death of Ofelia, but it soon becomes apparent that Mercedes, as well as the audience, are mourning in ignorance; in fact, ‘Ofelia’ has now accessed enlightenment beyond the physical world. And in fact, the opening shot was not a spoiler of what was to come, but in fact an added reminder to look deeper at this scene, and realise that the protagonist of this film is not the real world ‘Ofelia’, but rather the soul of the princess trapped inside her body. Del Toro expresses the key belief of Plato that the physical world is grim, irrelevant, and ignorant, and perhaps that rather than try to repair something which is intrinsically broken we must instead escape. And with the final line of the film, del Toro sews the seeds in our heads that, ‘if you know where to look,’ the fantastical realm can be discovered. Perhaps this is the kind of message a young del Toro desperately needed as he fought against his catholic grandmother’s repression of his creativity, and perhaps this world of fantasy and enlightenment is the world of cinema.

 

 

 

My Favourite Film

‘Are you watching closely?’ The introductory montage of Christopher Nolan’s Period Drama, ‘The Prestige’ instantly plunges you into the entertainment and showmanship of the world of magic, and begins the key comparison between it and the world of cinema. The excellent production design is essential in realising this world in which the characters exist. Nolan and cinematographer Wally Pfister use the technique of keeping the physical sets out of our immediate focus; I can’t remember a single shot in which the focus is a street or building. This prevents us from noticing the edges of sets, or imperfections in them, instead, the viewer almost subconsciously fills in the world around the characters, adding to the sense of personal wonder; the world is literally something out of your own imagination. This technique was drawn from the earlier works of Ridley Scott, particularly Blade Runner, and Nolan and Co perhaps decided to use it after Batman Begins, in which some of the wide-angle shots of the Gotham Slums (which were actually miniature models) looked, in my opinion, too fantastical. Although this is very debatable given Nolan’s attempt to merge the previously typically fantastical superhero genre with a more realistic world; he definitely wanted to keep some fantastical elements in the Film, for instance, the character of Scarecrow. Though perhaps the main reason for this was to please the DC fan-base, ensuring a smoother entry into the genre, because, as soon as he succeeded in entering, he definitely moved more towards his ideal vision of a ‘grounded’ superhero film in his next work of the trilogy, ‘The Dark Knight.’ Now, back to the Prestige… When the ‘prestigious’ secret to the bird trick is revealed our admiration for the world of magic is somewhat destroyed, as we are exposed to the brutal, cruel work which goes on behind the scenes to maintain its facade of wonder. Sadly, Nolan leaves us to conclude that magic is not real -or at least, not yet? This moment also serves to inform us that our two main characters are willing to go to any extremes in order to serve the craft, thus delivering one of the key philosophical questions of the movie: should we despise them for their cruel actions, or respect them for having the passion to sacrifice their virtues for their craft. This merging of antagonistic and protagonistic traits within single characters can be found in every Nolan film, from the character of Leonard to more recently the character of Sator. The previously referenced comparison between these magicians and film directors, combined with these ideas of wild, lethal determination gives this film a similarity to Kubrick’s ‘The Shining’. Both Nolan and Kubrick express the likely personally experienced conflicts caused by unbreakable addiction to one’s craft, and whilst we sympathise more with the character of Angier’s motives, ‘I do it for the smiles on their faces,’ than we do with Jack Torrance’s, both characters still lead us to the idea that perhaps there is only one true end to life-consuming addiction: death. Mesmerisingly, Nolan structurally embeds the main narrative of the film into a short scene lasting hardly more than a minute, and naturally, after delivering us the pledge and the turn, the film is wrapped up with its very own prestige.

 

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