Why We (Enjoy) Torture

David Edelstein, formerly of Slate and now of New York Magazine, has long been one of my favorite critics, and his latest feature “Now Playing at Your Local Multiplex: Torture Porn” is right up my ally, not only because it has the word “multiplex” in its title (just like this blog column!), but because it addresses a question I regularly grapple with: namely, what’s so appealing about brutal horror films? In tackling the subject, he quotes Stephen King, discusses how the best scary movies implicate their viewers as complicit participants in on-screen violence, and even includes The Passion of the Christ in his new torture porn sub-genre. Unfortunately, in evaluating the recent batch of “sadistic” horror flicks through the prism of our terrorism-plagued times, he comes up with no answer to the query his article raises. Although a self-avowed “horror maven,” Edelstein claims to be repulsed by this spate of films – which he negatively describes as “extraordinarily cruel” (Wolf Creek), and not “art by any definition I can think of” (The Devil's Rejects) – and doesn’t understand why others aren’t as well. Falling back on an obligatory “post-9/11” reference, Edelstein avoids positing a substantive theory as to why these films are so popular, instead simply admitting to dealing with such unpleasant stuff by staring at an EXIT sign, closing his eyes, or distracting himself in some other way because, as he puts it, he doesn’t want to identify with the films’ victims or victimizers.

Somewhat akin to New York Times reporter Caryn James’ (often strained) attempts at cinematic trend analysis, Edelstein’s piece is, I think, generally correct in saying that a number of current horror films utilize scenes of torture to push the boundaries of sadism and gore into more extreme realms. And while I’d surmise that it’s probably something of a coincidence that all of these films have been released in such close proximity to one another, I also agree that, at least in relation to their immediate predecessors, these latest scare-a-thons do, in certain ways, reflect a national consciousness shaped by disconcerting global events. It’s only natural for societal unease to manifest itself through the cinema and, particularly, through the monsters-and-murder-infatuated genre, where our deep-rooted fears of death and torment have always found a comfortable home. Horror has an illustrious history of delivering piercing, highly politicized allegories – just check out any of the work by Joe Dante, Larry Cohen or George A. Romero – and especially with a film like Hostel, pertinent geopolitical subtexts and metaphors about America and its role and perception abroad are, thanks to director Eli Roth’s ham-fisted obviousness, laid right up on the carving table for all to dissect.

I don’t care to defend half of the movies Edelstein cites (Irréversible, this means you). But I would contend that, in the cases of The Devil’s Rejects, Wolf Creek, and Hostel, the fears being exploited – while influenced by the past five years’ terrorism-tinged tensions – have nonetheless long been part of the fabric of horror films. As with The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and The Hills Have Eyes, the aforementioned three movies share a steadfast belief that the world is a fundamentally unsafe place. Far from Disney’s cheery and secure “small world after all,” these exploitation flicks posit an unpredictable, untamable environment populated by human monsters with little care for notions of morality, propriety or any of the other trappings of modern civilization. Whether it be Wolf Creek’s teenage trio gallivanting around the Australian Outback as if it were their personal playground, or The Devil’s Rejects’ Banjo & Sullivan troupe believing that a dusty country motel is a safe haven, or Hostel’s backpackers treating Eastern Europe like a bacchanalian wonderland custom-made for their every carnal whim, these films’ characters painfully discover that skepticism and suspicion should be an ever-present facet of one’s interaction with the world. To behave otherwise, the movies warn us, is to be an arrogant fool, and one fated to learn a very hard, very painful lesson.

Thus, rather than being merely “masochistic,” a film like Wolf Creek functions as a stark cautionary tale about life’s inherent nastiness, and one that – considering events like the recent Danish cartoon controversy – also relevantly relates to our present-day climate. That said, Edelstein’s comparison of the current horror output and 24 – both of which share an infatuation with torture – is off-base, since the latter offers up justified torture as a comforting fantasy (i.e. watch heroes pull off fingernails to safeguard freedom!) and the former dish it out as a haunting nightmare (i.e. watch girls have their dangling eyeball sliced for no justifiable reason!). Furthermore, Edelstein’s statement that, “as potential victims, we fear [serial killers], yet we also seek to identify with their power” is accurate mainly with regards to those films (everything from Friday the 13th to Saw) in which one is meant to enjoy the viciousness of colorful, creative villains. Truly disturbing horror films, however, scare us by effectively forcing us to identify not with serial killers but with their victims; if we’re magnetically drawn to murderers’ powers, it’s primarily so that we might amplify our own terror. With a Devil’s Rejects, that terror comes with a self-reflexive element; with Greg McLean’s Australian import, it comes with a component of culture-vs.-savagery conflict. But in their finest moments, I’d argue that horror films – including those that trade in torture porn – fundamentally appeal to us as unsettling reminders to be wary, to be cynical and, most of all, to be afraid.

Comments

[Joe Grossberg]

"Horror films ... fundamentally appeal to us as unsettling reminders to be wary, to be cynical and, most of all, to be afraid."

I sort of wonder why they don't have the affect of making us feel less afraid. I mean if you watch the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, it's not like you spend all day appreciating of how fortunate you are.

I guess that's why the victims in such gory movies (from Shawn of the Dead to A Nightmare on Elm Street) are so unexceptional; the viewer has to be able to relate to them. We have all been teenagers and we all, by definition, share common ground with an everyman.

Equally violent films like Reservoir Dogs, Desperado and Braveheart don't elicit the same reaction. Few of us have anything in common with bank robbers, Mexican thugs and Scottish clansmen.

The only exception for this is Passion of the Christ and I guess that proves the rule -- if you enjoyed the film, it's precisely because you feel a connection with Jesus and his suffering; skeptics such as myself don't much value a random guy from 2000 years ago who went around claiming he was the son of God.

[Nick]

In terms of actually watching horror films, I think that the more one sees, the more one experiences some desensitization to violence. But I also think that most standard-issue, clichéd Hollywood horror films try to have it both ways – they want to scare us with visions of baddies terrorizing teens, but they also conversely want to make us feel safe and secure by having the lone hero (usually a mildly attractive, sexually inactive girl) triumph in the end. In this way, they do try to make us feel less afraid (of the dark, of serial killers, etc) by telling us that no matter how bad it gets, industrious and chaste people will still find a way to survive.

Furthermore, I agree that victims in horror movies are usually unexceptional so we can project ourselves into their situation; I also think this is why most of the genre’s characters are stereotypes. Easy identification – hey, I’m the nerd! Or the jock! Or the goth girl! – helps us more easily immerse ourselves in the action. And as you said, this is also the case with The Passion, where the whole idea is to directly relate to the suffering of Christ.

The same isn’t exactly true of nasty non-horror genre films, where it’s often more about getting some sort of kick from watching larger-than-life characters do crazy stuff. Though something like Reservoir Dogs’ ear-splicing scene works in much the same way as dumb slasher films like the Nightmare on Elm St. sequels, where in both cases we’re supposed to get most of our enjoyment from watching the sadist carry out his dirty deeds.

[Robert Humanick]

Well, regarding horror films, I think one of the key elements in make a good one that truly shocks the viewer is to draw a relationship, even if it's only on a basic human level, with the victims. In order to be scared and for the film to maintain some level of humanity, we have to be in the same place as the victims even as we watch from a detached, "safe" perspective (case in point: Wolf Creek) Something like, say, "The Devil's Rejects" isn't quite in this category because it also makes light of the horror conventions it uses - I very much liked the film, and wouldn't have seen it had Nick not included it in his top ten of the year. But as regards more straight-faced horror films, I find it appalling when we are supposed to be entertained by death and destruction without any sympathy for the victims. War of the Worlds was a nice counterexample to Independence Day, for my money, in that it retained that human connection.

But as regards The Passion of the Christ, I don't think it matters one bit if you relate to the Jesus character or not. I am a declared "fallen" Christian - those teachings from my childhood just don't hold up anymore - but I still have a profound respect for the historical figure of Jesus. I abhorred the film, and know many Christians of faith who did as well. I'm probably stealing some language in saying this, but Jesus doesn't exist in that movie as a character to be sympathized with, but one on through which to beat the living hell out of the audience.

[Nick]

Glad to hear you dug The Devil’s Rejects, Robert. It makes me feel all warm and tingly inside knowing that I’ve helped lure another cinephile to Zombie’s unsung exploitation flick.

As for the Passion – I certainly was incapable of relating to its Jesus (both because I’m not Christian, and because his main function was as a human piñata), but I suspect that many of the film’s fans did adore the film precisely because they could relate to, and empathize with, his sacrifice. But as I said, I'm not really in a position to surmise how others reacted to the film.