How many of you watched Avatar: The Last Airbender? Not the movie, the show. Very different aesthetic for a Western cartoon, no? I'm not what you'd call an expert on Asian history or art, but it seems pretty obvious that the animators deliberately based their creation off of actual Asian cultures. They didn't just throw some kimonos and almond-eyed character models at the screen and call it a day. Any of my readers who are experts can correct me on this one, but my best educated guess would be:
Air Benders - Tibet/Nepal
Earth Kingdom - China
Water Tribe - Mongolia
Fire Nation - Japan
This technique has been around longer than you think. One of the first writers (I'm aware of) to use it is Robert E Howard who based the cultures of his Conan mythos, The Hyborean Age, on real world nations and cultures to create a sense of familiarity among an alien landscape. Tolkien later did the same with Middle Earth, but with mythology instead of actual history and societies. In this way, you have a frame of reference to wrap your head around.
Not to say it can't be done creating a mythos from whole cloth. The catch is that it requires a lot of work and even then you'll probably be drawing on real world sources for inspiration. A lot of good works have been created that way but you have to ask yourself if you're willing to commit yourself that fully to building a world.
I've written in my book "Exalt of the Weird" that a coherent mythos is important to verisimilitude. If you're contradicting yourself every other sentence, then you're only going to take your audience out of the experience. This is especially true for bizarrists and mentalists.
I bring this up because Halloween is approaching. And wouldn't it be more impressive to your audience if you demonstrated something that actually referenced old superstition or local folklore? Every place and culture has its stories, mysteries and folk tales. Their own unique superstitions, blessings and charms. So what is a ghost? Do you have an answer for that? You should. If you want to get into character and scare people, you need to devote more thought to your mythos and give people the real fake thing.
Showing posts with label horror. Show all posts
Showing posts with label horror. Show all posts
Monday, September 3, 2012
Friday, October 28, 2011
Horror Movies for Dummies
A friend challenged me to watch 30 horror movies this month, bonus points if I could get some ones I'd never seen before. Sadly, my schedule has been frenetic at best, and I don't think I'll be able to meet the challenge. But it did get me thinking. There are different kinds of horror. Some are better than others. Not all movies are created equal. And horror is a very ghettoized genre. It certainly doesn't help that it's difficult to write but every anonymous twit with a word processor thinks he can turn out something shocking and scary when he's really just aping whatever clunkers he saw at the box office recently.
So it occurs to me that it's time to provide a list of essential horror movies for those who are still relatively new the genre. If you want to do bizarre, shock, or haunted magic, you have to know how to do it right. You have to know the history of the horror genre. Since movies are my thing, I'll that there. So here, in chronological order, are the horror movies I believe are mandatory viewing if you want to add horror to your magic.
The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari: This is the granddaddy of all horror films. a surrealist tale of madness and entrapment. It set the bar for the rest of the century.
Nosferatu: The original "Symphony of Horror." While some contend that Werner Herzog's 1979 remake with Klaus Kinske was better made, the original still has a strong place in film canon.
Haxen: If you're not into documentaries, large portions of this movie are going to be difficult to get through for you. However, it contains some striking visuals and will give you an introduction to real world superstition and religious fanaticism that shaped Western culture for centuries.
The Universal Studios Monster Movies: Take your pick. Whether you're watching a vampire, a werewolf, a mummy or the creature from the Black Lagoon, it's all magic, baby!
The Val Lewton Horror Collection: I argue that Val Lewton is one of the most underrated horror filmmakers of the Golden Age. His clever use of light and shadow and camera work made his movies unbelievably creepy.
Invasion of the Bodysnatchers: This was arguably the birth of paranoid sci-fi, and though I love the remake as well, the original is still worth watching.
Psycho: This is Neo-Gothic horror at its finest. A tiny pocket of wrongness and evil in an otherwise normal world. There's a reason the shower scene became a pop culture icon.
The Haunting: Please see my earlier review for why you need to see this movie.
Night of the Living Dead: I'm not just recommending this one because I'm a Pittsburgher myself. This was a game-changing movie that redefined the zombie mythos and created a new face of evil for artists all over the world.
Rosemary's Baby: Forget that Paranormal Activity crap. If you want demonic overtones, this is how you do it. An intensely creepy movie with a bleak, tragic ending but not for the reasons you might initially think.
The Wicker Man: This is without a doubt one of the single greatest movies about the evil that men do. The creepy behavior of the villagers juxtaposed with the sunny locations and cheerful Scottish folk music really gets under your skin.
Halloween: This is Movie Zero for the slasher genre and actually has comparatively little gore and a small body count. It builds itself up on unrelenting creepiness and atmosphere, which is a good lesson for performers to observe.
The Thing: The next two are for the shock magic fans. Body horror in the 80's was all about the spectacle of the wet death. It hit audiences in a very vulnerable place. John Carpenter's foray into the genre is one of the bloodiest and bleakest films you'll ever see.
The Fly: What separates a virtuoso artist like David Cronenberg from a kitsch king like Herschel Gordon Lewis is the intelligence behind their works. This is one of Cronenberg's most successful movies, despite its intense gore, because it plays out more like a tragic opera than a monster movie.
The Hitcher: A distinctly less gory 80's affair than one would expect. This film is mostly defined by Rutger Hauer's chilling performance.
Se7en: Not a pretty thing to see, certainly, but a great example of the evil that men do. Other than that, I'm have to be honest. The 90's was pretty desolate. There were very few good horror movies that decade, and even fewer great ones.
28 Days Later: Zombie purists will argue this isn't a true zombie movie, but it stands out as a strong entry for 2000's horror for being the best of the scientific zombie flicks of recent years.
The Mist: This is seriously one of the bleakest films on this whole list. Really. The ending is such a friggin' downer. There are some parts that are a bit cheesy, but the atmosphere is great.
So it occurs to me that it's time to provide a list of essential horror movies for those who are still relatively new the genre. If you want to do bizarre, shock, or haunted magic, you have to know how to do it right. You have to know the history of the horror genre. Since movies are my thing, I'll that there. So here, in chronological order, are the horror movies I believe are mandatory viewing if you want to add horror to your magic.
The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari: This is the granddaddy of all horror films. a surrealist tale of madness and entrapment. It set the bar for the rest of the century.
Nosferatu: The original "Symphony of Horror." While some contend that Werner Herzog's 1979 remake with Klaus Kinske was better made, the original still has a strong place in film canon.
Haxen: If you're not into documentaries, large portions of this movie are going to be difficult to get through for you. However, it contains some striking visuals and will give you an introduction to real world superstition and religious fanaticism that shaped Western culture for centuries.
The Universal Studios Monster Movies: Take your pick. Whether you're watching a vampire, a werewolf, a mummy or the creature from the Black Lagoon, it's all magic, baby!
The Val Lewton Horror Collection: I argue that Val Lewton is one of the most underrated horror filmmakers of the Golden Age. His clever use of light and shadow and camera work made his movies unbelievably creepy.
Invasion of the Bodysnatchers: This was arguably the birth of paranoid sci-fi, and though I love the remake as well, the original is still worth watching.
Psycho: This is Neo-Gothic horror at its finest. A tiny pocket of wrongness and evil in an otherwise normal world. There's a reason the shower scene became a pop culture icon.
The Haunting: Please see my earlier review for why you need to see this movie.
Night of the Living Dead: I'm not just recommending this one because I'm a Pittsburgher myself. This was a game-changing movie that redefined the zombie mythos and created a new face of evil for artists all over the world.
Rosemary's Baby: Forget that Paranormal Activity crap. If you want demonic overtones, this is how you do it. An intensely creepy movie with a bleak, tragic ending but not for the reasons you might initially think.
The Wicker Man: This is without a doubt one of the single greatest movies about the evil that men do. The creepy behavior of the villagers juxtaposed with the sunny locations and cheerful Scottish folk music really gets under your skin.
Halloween: This is Movie Zero for the slasher genre and actually has comparatively little gore and a small body count. It builds itself up on unrelenting creepiness and atmosphere, which is a good lesson for performers to observe.
The Thing: The next two are for the shock magic fans. Body horror in the 80's was all about the spectacle of the wet death. It hit audiences in a very vulnerable place. John Carpenter's foray into the genre is one of the bloodiest and bleakest films you'll ever see.
The Fly: What separates a virtuoso artist like David Cronenberg from a kitsch king like Herschel Gordon Lewis is the intelligence behind their works. This is one of Cronenberg's most successful movies, despite its intense gore, because it plays out more like a tragic opera than a monster movie.
The Hitcher: A distinctly less gory 80's affair than one would expect. This film is mostly defined by Rutger Hauer's chilling performance.
Se7en: Not a pretty thing to see, certainly, but a great example of the evil that men do. Other than that, I'm have to be honest. The 90's was pretty desolate. There were very few good horror movies that decade, and even fewer great ones.
28 Days Later: Zombie purists will argue this isn't a true zombie movie, but it stands out as a strong entry for 2000's horror for being the best of the scientific zombie flicks of recent years.
The Mist: This is seriously one of the bleakest films on this whole list. Really. The ending is such a friggin' downer. There are some parts that are a bit cheesy, but the atmosphere is great.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Review: The Haunting (1963)
There was a time in the not-too-distant past when horror films relied on more than copious levels of CGI and buckets upon buckets of fake blood to scare people. Enter director Robert Wise. Wise read Shirley Jackson's book "The Haunting of Hill House" and was so impressed by it that he swiftly acquired the film rights and met with Jackson herself to talk about making the adaptation to screen.
You have to understand that special effects were not especially sophisticated in the early 60's and when Wise finally got the green light, he had only $1.1 million to work with. Even in today's money, that's a pretty slim budget. Wise compensated by pouring most of his budget into set design, turning Hill House into a character all its own. It was a place of strange angles, labyrinthine rooms, and Gothic extravagance. One could argue that the monster in the movie was not the ghost (or possibly ghosts; it's never clear), but the house itself. And that only adds another layer of depth to one of the most interesting elements of this movie: you never actually see a monster.
The Haunting is rated G, but is actually one of the scariest movies ever made. After watching it for the first time, I had trouble getting to sleep. The only other movies that have ever affected me like that are Rosemary's Baby and Carnival of Souls. Okay, Psycho and the original Halloween did make me skittish about turning corners at night in an unfamiliar house, but I didn't actually lose sleep over them. The point is that Robert Wise's masterpiece of a haunted house flick will scare the bejeezus out of you because Wise knew you're better at scaring yourself when in the proper mood.
As I said, you never actually see the ghost(s). Most of the phenomena is unclear whether it's genuinely supernatural or Eleanor's descent into madness. The gore is nonexistent but the atmosphere is laid on thicker than cement. When the phenomena begins, the camera becomes as mobile as your own eyes might be. The sets are designed in such a way to emphasize the sense of isolation and subtle wrongness. As per the opening lines of the movie: "Silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there... walked alone."
The horror is established not through special effects or violence, but through a continual sense that reality is off. The camera lingers on points until your imagination inserts details. We are treated to a flood of reaction shots from the actors so that we can clearly see how scared they are. We only get one special effect toward the end of the 2nd act, but the buildup surrounding it makes it all the more terrifying. And other than some schizoid cinematography, there are no other special effects for the rest of the film, but you're already in such a terrified state that you don't care.
It's worth noting that everything this movie did right, it's 1999 remake did wrong. Everything was spelled out for you. All the subtlety of the ghostly manifestations was traded in for dodgy CGI, usually involving statues moving. And of course, a house with a tragic history wasn't good enough. No, they had to add in a whole gratuitous and poorly conceived back story about child slavery and murder and a lost descendant of the family line. Oh yeah, spoiler warning there. And of course, the remake just had to have a bloody happy ending. Apparently the filmmakers thought that horror movie fans wanted more happy endings in their favorite genre? The remake was crap is what I'm saying. A great cast unable to save bad writing, overblown CGI special effects, no sense of tact or subtlety, and a plot that made about as much sense as lighting your own head on fire. It wasn't scary at all because it left nothing to the imagination and was so ridiculous that it was impossible to take seriously.
If you are going to do bizarre magic and seances in particular, you must see the original version of this film. If you were to ask me to point to an excellent example of how to scare people with subtlety, implication and atmosphere, I would point you this movie first without even thinking about it. While you're at it, you might as well read Shirley Jackson's original novel as well.
You have to understand that special effects were not especially sophisticated in the early 60's and when Wise finally got the green light, he had only $1.1 million to work with. Even in today's money, that's a pretty slim budget. Wise compensated by pouring most of his budget into set design, turning Hill House into a character all its own. It was a place of strange angles, labyrinthine rooms, and Gothic extravagance. One could argue that the monster in the movie was not the ghost (or possibly ghosts; it's never clear), but the house itself. And that only adds another layer of depth to one of the most interesting elements of this movie: you never actually see a monster.
The Haunting is rated G, but is actually one of the scariest movies ever made. After watching it for the first time, I had trouble getting to sleep. The only other movies that have ever affected me like that are Rosemary's Baby and Carnival of Souls. Okay, Psycho and the original Halloween did make me skittish about turning corners at night in an unfamiliar house, but I didn't actually lose sleep over them. The point is that Robert Wise's masterpiece of a haunted house flick will scare the bejeezus out of you because Wise knew you're better at scaring yourself when in the proper mood.
As I said, you never actually see the ghost(s). Most of the phenomena is unclear whether it's genuinely supernatural or Eleanor's descent into madness. The gore is nonexistent but the atmosphere is laid on thicker than cement. When the phenomena begins, the camera becomes as mobile as your own eyes might be. The sets are designed in such a way to emphasize the sense of isolation and subtle wrongness. As per the opening lines of the movie: "Silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there... walked alone."
The horror is established not through special effects or violence, but through a continual sense that reality is off. The camera lingers on points until your imagination inserts details. We are treated to a flood of reaction shots from the actors so that we can clearly see how scared they are. We only get one special effect toward the end of the 2nd act, but the buildup surrounding it makes it all the more terrifying. And other than some schizoid cinematography, there are no other special effects for the rest of the film, but you're already in such a terrified state that you don't care.
It's worth noting that everything this movie did right, it's 1999 remake did wrong. Everything was spelled out for you. All the subtlety of the ghostly manifestations was traded in for dodgy CGI, usually involving statues moving. And of course, a house with a tragic history wasn't good enough. No, they had to add in a whole gratuitous and poorly conceived back story about child slavery and murder and a lost descendant of the family line. Oh yeah, spoiler warning there. And of course, the remake just had to have a bloody happy ending. Apparently the filmmakers thought that horror movie fans wanted more happy endings in their favorite genre? The remake was crap is what I'm saying. A great cast unable to save bad writing, overblown CGI special effects, no sense of tact or subtlety, and a plot that made about as much sense as lighting your own head on fire. It wasn't scary at all because it left nothing to the imagination and was so ridiculous that it was impossible to take seriously.
If you are going to do bizarre magic and seances in particular, you must see the original version of this film. If you were to ask me to point to an excellent example of how to scare people with subtlety, implication and atmosphere, I would point you this movie first without even thinking about it. While you're at it, you might as well read Shirley Jackson's original novel as well.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Spooky Magic 101, part VI
And now we come to the final stretch of our dark little journey. As promised, I'll be answering questions from the readers.
"One thing the horror genre does that I love is the suspense. That on your seat 'no way! is that really going to happen' or the 'whoa what's happening next' and I think that should be in a lot of magic. Could you elaborate on suspense and ways to reach that edge on seat moment."
-Shawn Mullins
Learning how to create suspense isn't as complicated as most people think. It's strictly a matter of setup and payoff. You need to give people a reason to care in the setup, and then spend just enough time teasing them with the payoff before delivering it. What distinguishes the suspense in horror is the contrast between not knowing and the understanding that knowing might actually make it worse.
In a suspense movie, a detective enters a room to investigate with his flashlight and the hitman he's pursuing is hiding behind the door waiting for the chance to get the drop on him. You're yelling at the screen, "Behind you, look out!"
But in horror, you don't know what's waiting for the protagonist. You don't want him to go where there might be danger because your mind is conjuring up all sorts of horrible ways he might get slaughtered. The anxiety and ignorance are compounded by a feeling of helplessness. It's like having the monster standing right behind you and you know he's about to do something, but you don't know what, but he's not doing it and the waiting makes you feel even worse, but you don't want to look behind you because that'll really piss him off!
To create horrible suspense, you must suggest to the audience that they want to know the payoff even though that will just make things worse.
"[W]hen performing spooky magic, how far do you think we, as magicians, should take the spookiness? ...[S]hould we be allowed to scare an audience and leave them scared?"
-Reg
Good question. Where one draws the line is very difficult to decide on. There are a lot of things that a good professional would agree should not be done. For example, don't do anything that might traumatize children. Don't murder a stooge on stage and then have him stay out of sight for the rest of the evening. But it's not always clear cut. More often than not, it should be left up to the judgment of the individual performer after he has taken careful consideration of the overall tone of his show and the makeup of his audience.
As for leaving an audience scared, yes that is acceptable. Provided that's what they actually paid for. Keep in mind that a lot of horror novels and movies end with no real positive resolution. They keep us feeling afraid long after it's over. However, it's not always appropriate. And even if you do, there needs to be something to help release a little tension. Take Psycho for example. At the end, Norman is brought into custody and a psychologist is explaining to the audience in a long, talky scene about Norman's sickness. After the heart-pounding tension of the climax we as an audience need this release. But then... we hear "Mother's" inner monologue at the end suggesting that she's even more evil than the psychologist suspected. Way up, then slowly wind back down, and then a slight lift up again at the very end. Perfect.
To sum up, let them off the hook just a little bit. You want them to come down from the tension of the climax. It's the ups and downs, the peaks and valleys of emotion that make an experience memorable.
That's all the questions I received, and I hope I was able to provide answer. Later this month will come a few reviews and 5 More Ways You're Secretly Sabotaging Your Performances.
"One thing the horror genre does that I love is the suspense. That on your seat 'no way! is that really going to happen' or the 'whoa what's happening next' and I think that should be in a lot of magic. Could you elaborate on suspense and ways to reach that edge on seat moment."
-Shawn Mullins
Learning how to create suspense isn't as complicated as most people think. It's strictly a matter of setup and payoff. You need to give people a reason to care in the setup, and then spend just enough time teasing them with the payoff before delivering it. What distinguishes the suspense in horror is the contrast between not knowing and the understanding that knowing might actually make it worse.
In a suspense movie, a detective enters a room to investigate with his flashlight and the hitman he's pursuing is hiding behind the door waiting for the chance to get the drop on him. You're yelling at the screen, "Behind you, look out!"
But in horror, you don't know what's waiting for the protagonist. You don't want him to go where there might be danger because your mind is conjuring up all sorts of horrible ways he might get slaughtered. The anxiety and ignorance are compounded by a feeling of helplessness. It's like having the monster standing right behind you and you know he's about to do something, but you don't know what, but he's not doing it and the waiting makes you feel even worse, but you don't want to look behind you because that'll really piss him off!
To create horrible suspense, you must suggest to the audience that they want to know the payoff even though that will just make things worse.
"[W]hen performing spooky magic, how far do you think we, as magicians, should take the spookiness? ...[S]hould we be allowed to scare an audience and leave them scared?"
-Reg
Good question. Where one draws the line is very difficult to decide on. There are a lot of things that a good professional would agree should not be done. For example, don't do anything that might traumatize children. Don't murder a stooge on stage and then have him stay out of sight for the rest of the evening. But it's not always clear cut. More often than not, it should be left up to the judgment of the individual performer after he has taken careful consideration of the overall tone of his show and the makeup of his audience.
As for leaving an audience scared, yes that is acceptable. Provided that's what they actually paid for. Keep in mind that a lot of horror novels and movies end with no real positive resolution. They keep us feeling afraid long after it's over. However, it's not always appropriate. And even if you do, there needs to be something to help release a little tension. Take Psycho for example. At the end, Norman is brought into custody and a psychologist is explaining to the audience in a long, talky scene about Norman's sickness. After the heart-pounding tension of the climax we as an audience need this release. But then... we hear "Mother's" inner monologue at the end suggesting that she's even more evil than the psychologist suspected. Way up, then slowly wind back down, and then a slight lift up again at the very end. Perfect.
To sum up, let them off the hook just a little bit. You want them to come down from the tension of the climax. It's the ups and downs, the peaks and valleys of emotion that make an experience memorable.
That's all the questions I received, and I hope I was able to provide answer. Later this month will come a few reviews and 5 More Ways You're Secretly Sabotaging Your Performances.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Spooky Magic 101 part V
Today we're going to get into something a little more theory heavy. Specifically, I want to talk to you about monsters. What is a monster? That's a trickier question than you might think. Some define a monster as a creature that confounds our reality (zombies for example are both living and dead) and exists only to destroy and cannot be reasoned with. Some would consider monsters to be mythic creations we use to explain and personify that which we as a society repress but cannot adequately describe in words alone. Still others may simply think of a monster as some fantastical beast and little else. There's a lot going on behind the scenes and this article can only hope to scratch the surface of it.
Every culture has monsters. Without exception. And they usually represent something beyond our understanding. They reflect the culture they were birthed from. Vampires are the personification of wasting disease, a slow and silent killer. Werewolves are the id unleashed. Ghosts are our attempt to make sense of death itself and what happens afterward. Still others are the result of barely glimpsed mysteries. Sea monsters exist in every culture with sailing in its history. And the ocean is a big place to hide all kinds of freaky nightmares. Most lands have some variation on the Bigfoot legend. My own native Pennsylvania has one. There are several in Asia and Africa. I'm pretty sure there's one in Scotland. Speaking of, the Loch Ness monster is only one of many. Pretty much every loch in Scotland contained a monster at some point. Nessie was simply the most palatable to the mainstream because it's the least disturbing. If you know anything about Celtic mythology, you know what I'm talking about.
When you get right down to it, monsters are an important part of mythology and culture. Angels and demons, vampires and werewolves, witches and warlocks, ghosts and zombies, sea monsters and yeti, the list goes on. They're every bit as prolific as the monomyth itself. We fear and respect the power that these creatures represent.
However... here's where this gets a little uncomfortable. There is another side to monsters. For centuries, people have been terrified of their mythic creatures, yet also have a desire to objectify, tame, and capture that power for themselves. Francisco Goya once hung one of his own paintings in his dining room. It depicted the Roman god Saturn devouring one of his own children. The Japanese mercenary Hatori Hanzo had such a fearsome reputation that he acquired the nickname Hanzo no Oni (Devil Hanzo), which he happily embraced. The Ford motor company named one of their luxury cars after the thunderbird, a creature from American Indian myth that created thunderstorms by battling with a giant rattlesnake in the sky. Even the Pokemon games are based on the outlandish concept of sending children out into the world to capture and subjugate wild monsters based on Japanese mythology, all of which have astounding superpowers, and train them to beat the living crap out of each other in a nationally recognized and condoned blood sport.
And of course look at modern movies. Blade. Underworld. Twilight. Monsters in these movies are not to be feared so much as coveted for their power. To be fair, the transformation of vampires from hypersexual harbingers of disease into imaginary gay boyfriend for fat teenage girls more or less started with Anne Rice. But the trend seems to be at its peak in the 2000's. Sure, people may fear getting mauled to death by a werewolf. But how afraid do you think they are of becoming one?
It's easy to trace back a monster to a primal fear, and with a little more digging you can easily unearth what's repressed as well. Zombies? Maybe you're really afraid of crowds. Aliens? More like foreigners. Werewolves? Losing control. Clowns? Pedophiles. Witches? Female sexuality. Notice that a lot of these fears also reflect something that you or the people of your culture have repressed for some reason or another. For example, witches are tied to female sexuality. In the West in particular, there's a certain taboo eroticism associated with witchcraft. Dancing naked in the moonlight, flying on broomsticks (a decidedly phallic symbol), and all manner of mysterious and strangely sexy rituals. This came about largely because most men just plain don't get women and misogynists in particular are intimidated by any sexual empowerment given to women in general.
So what does this mean for you? The knowledge of where monsters come from, what they represent, and why we fear them serves to bolster your toolbox of terror. To make something truly scary, it has to mean something. And when you know what it means and why it scares us, that's infinitely more powerful than just having an effect where you suddenly have fangs. You want to be a vampire? You're Patient 0 of a new and horrific disease. You want to be a werewolf? You're a murderer and you don't even know it. You want to be a witch? Then you're sexy and forbidden and a femme fatale and... sorry, kind of lost my train of thought there.
We'll be finishing this discussion on spooky magic with something different. I will be fielding questions from you, my readers. Any questions you have about horror and how it relates to magic I will do my best to answer. The post will be going up soon, so if you have questions ask them here in the comments, on my Twitter feed, by email or through any other channel you know to reach me at. Since I need time to write and edit, I'll only be taking questions through to Sunday. If you have one, now's the time to ask.
Every culture has monsters. Without exception. And they usually represent something beyond our understanding. They reflect the culture they were birthed from. Vampires are the personification of wasting disease, a slow and silent killer. Werewolves are the id unleashed. Ghosts are our attempt to make sense of death itself and what happens afterward. Still others are the result of barely glimpsed mysteries. Sea monsters exist in every culture with sailing in its history. And the ocean is a big place to hide all kinds of freaky nightmares. Most lands have some variation on the Bigfoot legend. My own native Pennsylvania has one. There are several in Asia and Africa. I'm pretty sure there's one in Scotland. Speaking of, the Loch Ness monster is only one of many. Pretty much every loch in Scotland contained a monster at some point. Nessie was simply the most palatable to the mainstream because it's the least disturbing. If you know anything about Celtic mythology, you know what I'm talking about.
When you get right down to it, monsters are an important part of mythology and culture. Angels and demons, vampires and werewolves, witches and warlocks, ghosts and zombies, sea monsters and yeti, the list goes on. They're every bit as prolific as the monomyth itself. We fear and respect the power that these creatures represent.
However... here's where this gets a little uncomfortable. There is another side to monsters. For centuries, people have been terrified of their mythic creatures, yet also have a desire to objectify, tame, and capture that power for themselves. Francisco Goya once hung one of his own paintings in his dining room. It depicted the Roman god Saturn devouring one of his own children. The Japanese mercenary Hatori Hanzo had such a fearsome reputation that he acquired the nickname Hanzo no Oni (Devil Hanzo), which he happily embraced. The Ford motor company named one of their luxury cars after the thunderbird, a creature from American Indian myth that created thunderstorms by battling with a giant rattlesnake in the sky. Even the Pokemon games are based on the outlandish concept of sending children out into the world to capture and subjugate wild monsters based on Japanese mythology, all of which have astounding superpowers, and train them to beat the living crap out of each other in a nationally recognized and condoned blood sport.
And of course look at modern movies. Blade. Underworld. Twilight. Monsters in these movies are not to be feared so much as coveted for their power. To be fair, the transformation of vampires from hypersexual harbingers of disease into imaginary gay boyfriend for fat teenage girls more or less started with Anne Rice. But the trend seems to be at its peak in the 2000's. Sure, people may fear getting mauled to death by a werewolf. But how afraid do you think they are of becoming one?
It's easy to trace back a monster to a primal fear, and with a little more digging you can easily unearth what's repressed as well. Zombies? Maybe you're really afraid of crowds. Aliens? More like foreigners. Werewolves? Losing control. Clowns? Pedophiles. Witches? Female sexuality. Notice that a lot of these fears also reflect something that you or the people of your culture have repressed for some reason or another. For example, witches are tied to female sexuality. In the West in particular, there's a certain taboo eroticism associated with witchcraft. Dancing naked in the moonlight, flying on broomsticks (a decidedly phallic symbol), and all manner of mysterious and strangely sexy rituals. This came about largely because most men just plain don't get women and misogynists in particular are intimidated by any sexual empowerment given to women in general.
So what does this mean for you? The knowledge of where monsters come from, what they represent, and why we fear them serves to bolster your toolbox of terror. To make something truly scary, it has to mean something. And when you know what it means and why it scares us, that's infinitely more powerful than just having an effect where you suddenly have fangs. You want to be a vampire? You're Patient 0 of a new and horrific disease. You want to be a werewolf? You're a murderer and you don't even know it. You want to be a witch? Then you're sexy and forbidden and a femme fatale and... sorry, kind of lost my train of thought there.
We'll be finishing this discussion on spooky magic with something different. I will be fielding questions from you, my readers. Any questions you have about horror and how it relates to magic I will do my best to answer. The post will be going up soon, so if you have questions ask them here in the comments, on my Twitter feed, by email or through any other channel you know to reach me at. Since I need time to write and edit, I'll only be taking questions through to Sunday. If you have one, now's the time to ask.
Monday, September 20, 2010
Spooky Magic 101 part IV
And we're back. Today's discussion is about the creation of atmosphere. When trying to create horror, you live or die by your atmosphere. It's an integral part of the genre and cannot be neglected.
Isolation
Humans are social creatures and as such we fear being alone. True, sometimes solitude is a good thing. It's good for sorting out thoughts and emotions, contemplation, and spiritual refreshment. But it also represents vulnerability. Humans need human contact. We evolved to live in groups and part of our mind still recognizes that alone we lose most of our strengths.
Isolation is easiest to create in smaller, more intimate settings. With smaller groups, it's possible to create a pervasive feeling of loneliness and seclusion. The fewer people are around, the greater the danger of any lurking threats. It also works well in settings where it's harder to call for help. There are certain ideal situations, but you won't get them very often. That doesn't mean however you can't get the effect intended.
The key here is to keep it understated. Pointing out the isolation factor bluntly only serves to dispel most of the effect. This is a general rule to abide by. Show don't tell, and all that jazz. Explaining to people why they should be scared only hurts your efforts in the long run.
Darkness
Humans are diurnal creatures, meaning we primarily function during the daytime. We're so drawn to the sunlight that if we don't get enough of it we actually grow mentally sick. People with seasonal affective disorder lapse into depression during the dreary winter months due to the diminished sunlight. Consequently, we fear that which lurks in the darkness. We can't see into the shadows like nocturnal predators can. We sleep at night, and that's when we're most vulnerable.
This is one of the easiest ambient techniques to conjure up. Candles can provide all the light you need while still casting long, deep shadows. Draw the curtains and perform at night. These things seem like no-brainers, but you can't underestimate the power that simple darkness holds in creating atmosphere. Humans are visually oriented creatures. Anything that hampers our ability to use our primary sense to judge our environment is going to make us nervous.
Complete blackouts are uncommon except in haunted magic, but if you can find a creative way to use them, more power to you.
Paranoia
As vital as this is to horror, I don't recommend using it in a performance. Only the most seasoned magical veteran with an excellent grasp of audience management and theatricality should attempt this. The reason being that to be truly effective, paranoia has to create a sense that no one can be trusted. Not even the performer.
A great example of how this is used would be the original version of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. It's arguably the first of the paranoid sci-fi films and holds up surprisingly well today. It's been remade twice, once in the 70's rather successfully, and again in the 90's that was, well... not so much.
Paranoia is tied closely to isolation in that it separates the individual from the support of a group and makes it more difficult to call for help. What distinguishes paranoia is the duplicity of friendly faces that are enemies in reality. Again, this is not to be undertaken lightly. Keep it in the back of your mind, but do not attempt it unless you have the appropriate experience under your belt.
Incongruity
This one requires a very subtle touch. In my ebook, Exalt of the Weird, I discuss the difference between spooky and creepy. Spookiness is explicit images of horror, but creepiness plays off the incongruity between what the surface shows and what certain actions imply. The rub here is that it's very easy to take this too far because it puts people on edge and can cause them to lash out inappropriately.
A little goes a long way here. The intent is to create an eerie atmosphere where things are subtly off or not quite right. It ties in with paranoia often in that it creates a setting where it's hard to tell who can be trusted. A medium who never smiles, a lack of ambient sounds you would expect, distinctive scents (such as perhaps roses) despite a lack of obvious source, that sort of thing. The intent is to create a scene where people realize that things are not what they seem.
Again, approach this with caution. Use it sparingly and tactfully, and it will be good to you. A little bit too much and you risk coming across as creepy yourself. More than that, and you may end up crossing the line into camp and everyone will see you as trying too hard.
There are more elements to creating proper atmosphere of course, but this should be enough to get you started.
Isolation
Humans are social creatures and as such we fear being alone. True, sometimes solitude is a good thing. It's good for sorting out thoughts and emotions, contemplation, and spiritual refreshment. But it also represents vulnerability. Humans need human contact. We evolved to live in groups and part of our mind still recognizes that alone we lose most of our strengths.
Isolation is easiest to create in smaller, more intimate settings. With smaller groups, it's possible to create a pervasive feeling of loneliness and seclusion. The fewer people are around, the greater the danger of any lurking threats. It also works well in settings where it's harder to call for help. There are certain ideal situations, but you won't get them very often. That doesn't mean however you can't get the effect intended.
The key here is to keep it understated. Pointing out the isolation factor bluntly only serves to dispel most of the effect. This is a general rule to abide by. Show don't tell, and all that jazz. Explaining to people why they should be scared only hurts your efforts in the long run.
Darkness
Humans are diurnal creatures, meaning we primarily function during the daytime. We're so drawn to the sunlight that if we don't get enough of it we actually grow mentally sick. People with seasonal affective disorder lapse into depression during the dreary winter months due to the diminished sunlight. Consequently, we fear that which lurks in the darkness. We can't see into the shadows like nocturnal predators can. We sleep at night, and that's when we're most vulnerable.
This is one of the easiest ambient techniques to conjure up. Candles can provide all the light you need while still casting long, deep shadows. Draw the curtains and perform at night. These things seem like no-brainers, but you can't underestimate the power that simple darkness holds in creating atmosphere. Humans are visually oriented creatures. Anything that hampers our ability to use our primary sense to judge our environment is going to make us nervous.
Complete blackouts are uncommon except in haunted magic, but if you can find a creative way to use them, more power to you.
Paranoia
As vital as this is to horror, I don't recommend using it in a performance. Only the most seasoned magical veteran with an excellent grasp of audience management and theatricality should attempt this. The reason being that to be truly effective, paranoia has to create a sense that no one can be trusted. Not even the performer.
A great example of how this is used would be the original version of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. It's arguably the first of the paranoid sci-fi films and holds up surprisingly well today. It's been remade twice, once in the 70's rather successfully, and again in the 90's that was, well... not so much.
Paranoia is tied closely to isolation in that it separates the individual from the support of a group and makes it more difficult to call for help. What distinguishes paranoia is the duplicity of friendly faces that are enemies in reality. Again, this is not to be undertaken lightly. Keep it in the back of your mind, but do not attempt it unless you have the appropriate experience under your belt.
Incongruity
This one requires a very subtle touch. In my ebook, Exalt of the Weird, I discuss the difference between spooky and creepy. Spookiness is explicit images of horror, but creepiness plays off the incongruity between what the surface shows and what certain actions imply. The rub here is that it's very easy to take this too far because it puts people on edge and can cause them to lash out inappropriately.
A little goes a long way here. The intent is to create an eerie atmosphere where things are subtly off or not quite right. It ties in with paranoia often in that it creates a setting where it's hard to tell who can be trusted. A medium who never smiles, a lack of ambient sounds you would expect, distinctive scents (such as perhaps roses) despite a lack of obvious source, that sort of thing. The intent is to create a scene where people realize that things are not what they seem.
Again, approach this with caution. Use it sparingly and tactfully, and it will be good to you. A little bit too much and you risk coming across as creepy yourself. More than that, and you may end up crossing the line into camp and everyone will see you as trying too hard.
There are more elements to creating proper atmosphere of course, but this should be enough to get you started.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Spooky Magic 101 part III
Welcome back. The other day we talked about how less is more and delved into a little bit of history in modern horror. We talked about using implication to scare rather than crude shock value. But that which is shocking does have its place. The problem is that it takes a very subtle and clever approach to make it work. If shock magic is something you'd like to work with, then please consider the following words.
Shock Jocking
There is something inherently intriguing and yet repulsive about our own viscera. The hardest thing in the world to watch for most people is a video of an actual surgical procedure. The sight of blood and organs puts us on edge, inspires in us first the paralysis of fear and then the desire to flee as quickly as possible. And yet we can't help but stare at the spectacle to satisfy our curiosity.
In cinema, this has led to what film critics and analysts call "the spectacle of the wet death." And nowhere is this more front and center than John Carpenter's The Thing, the filmography of Herschel Gordon Lewis, and many of the works of David Cronenberg, the Baron of Blood himself. It's a push-pull dynamic of not wanting to watch but being unable to look away that intrigues us so. Part of the recreational aspect of the horror genre comes from this dynamic.
The problem is that the splatter flick which so loves the wet death is also considered among the most disreputable of horror sub-genres. The reason being that these films have the flimsiest excuses for plots imaginable. The plot and characters are only there to facilitate as much torture, death, mutilation, and dismemberment as possible. For those of particularly morbid curiosity that's enough. But for many more people, the repulsion is too strong and completely overcomes all sense of curiosity. The desire to not see overwhelms the desire to see and the push-pull dynamic is lost.
In short, shock factor is difficult to pull off. If you're going to use shock magic, understand that it significantly narrows your demographics. You put yourself in a position where picking the wrong audience will get you a bad reputation and your performance will be nothing but masturbation.
Sadly, many of the young lads who seek to perform shock magic make exactly that mistake. They have no real concept of horror or pathos and believe that any frightened reaction is a good one. They try to bludgeon you over the head with viscera (now there's a mental image) until you react. And as a result, the only person they're entertaining is themselves. It's selfish, boorish and immature. It's not horror, it's not spooky, it's just pointless shock jocking that any half-wit with access to a fake blood recipe could do.
So where does shock magic fit in? Ideally it should be presented to a paying crowd who knows what they're getting. Halloween events for example. It should not be done on the street. It should not be inflicted on innocent passers-by. It definitely should not be done when children are about. If you think that their disgusted reactions are success and a sign of talent and creativity on your part, then you need to stop putting two scoops of stupid in your breakfast cereal.
I'll wrap by saying that shock magic doesn't necessarily have to be horror. It can be done very tongue-in-cheek. It can be funny in an off-beat sort of way. But the basic rules of performance theory still apply. You're dealing with subject matter that is at once repellent and fascinating. You're playing with fire.
Shock Jocking
There is something inherently intriguing and yet repulsive about our own viscera. The hardest thing in the world to watch for most people is a video of an actual surgical procedure. The sight of blood and organs puts us on edge, inspires in us first the paralysis of fear and then the desire to flee as quickly as possible. And yet we can't help but stare at the spectacle to satisfy our curiosity.
In cinema, this has led to what film critics and analysts call "the spectacle of the wet death." And nowhere is this more front and center than John Carpenter's The Thing, the filmography of Herschel Gordon Lewis, and many of the works of David Cronenberg, the Baron of Blood himself. It's a push-pull dynamic of not wanting to watch but being unable to look away that intrigues us so. Part of the recreational aspect of the horror genre comes from this dynamic.
The problem is that the splatter flick which so loves the wet death is also considered among the most disreputable of horror sub-genres. The reason being that these films have the flimsiest excuses for plots imaginable. The plot and characters are only there to facilitate as much torture, death, mutilation, and dismemberment as possible. For those of particularly morbid curiosity that's enough. But for many more people, the repulsion is too strong and completely overcomes all sense of curiosity. The desire to not see overwhelms the desire to see and the push-pull dynamic is lost.
In short, shock factor is difficult to pull off. If you're going to use shock magic, understand that it significantly narrows your demographics. You put yourself in a position where picking the wrong audience will get you a bad reputation and your performance will be nothing but masturbation.
Sadly, many of the young lads who seek to perform shock magic make exactly that mistake. They have no real concept of horror or pathos and believe that any frightened reaction is a good one. They try to bludgeon you over the head with viscera (now there's a mental image) until you react. And as a result, the only person they're entertaining is themselves. It's selfish, boorish and immature. It's not horror, it's not spooky, it's just pointless shock jocking that any half-wit with access to a fake blood recipe could do.
So where does shock magic fit in? Ideally it should be presented to a paying crowd who knows what they're getting. Halloween events for example. It should not be done on the street. It should not be inflicted on innocent passers-by. It definitely should not be done when children are about. If you think that their disgusted reactions are success and a sign of talent and creativity on your part, then you need to stop putting two scoops of stupid in your breakfast cereal.
I'll wrap by saying that shock magic doesn't necessarily have to be horror. It can be done very tongue-in-cheek. It can be funny in an off-beat sort of way. But the basic rules of performance theory still apply. You're dealing with subject matter that is at once repellent and fascinating. You're playing with fire.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Spooky Magic 101 part II
Welcome back. Last time we talked about the meaning of horror itself. We established that we had to put people in the proper frame of mind for horror and let them scare themselves. Now we need to talk about how to pull that off practically.
Less Is More
You hear this all the time, but I'm willing to bet few people have explained to you how to use it effectively. Well, haunted magic provides an excellent context. Picture the scene if you will:
A dark, well-dressed medium is sitting with you and a few other guests around a table with a couple of candles and the lights turned low. Shadows are long and deep. The darkness gives everything a paradoxical sense of claustrophobia and depth as you gather around in the tiny pool of available light while also being unsure of just how deep the shadows go anymore. The medium speaks as if to a sitter seen only to him, something which may indeed be the case. You watch the one-sided conversation and can only infer what's going on by the medium's reactions. It's not going well. It's turning into something like an argument. The medium is sweating. You look back and forth to the other sitters as if seeking some sort of comfort or validation for your anxiety. The air feels a little staler than before. The medium keeps getting cut off in mid-sentence by whoever he's talking to. He keeps calling the name of his spirit guide but doesn't seem to be getting an answer. Seeming to humor the belligerent specter, the medium holds a piece of paper up to one of the candles. Writing is slowly forming in the scorch marks spelling out words. FIND THAT BASTARD HARLEY "Lights," the medium says with a sense of urgency. "Get the lights. We need to stop."
Now try reading that paragraph in the dark with all the lights in the room turned off. You looked over your shoulder didn't you? Now break that paragraph down. Think of how little action took place in it. There was a conflict between the medium and an unseen force. There was only one effect. But there was enough atmosphere that it put you in the right frame of mind. Did you hear any small noises in the room or outside your window or even in the next room? Were you anxious about investigating them?
People are very good at scaring themselves. Much better than you ever will be. But if you set the stage properly, you won't need to do any real work. Their imaginations will do all the heavy lifting. With that in mind, I'm going to give you a phrase that I want you to write down and put it some place visible in your practice space:
The shadow of a knife is scarier than the knife itself.
Yeah, I know that's an odd thing to say, even for me. Are you a fan of Mystery Science Theater 3000? In season 8 they riffed a movie called, I'm not kidding, The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies. It was a truly incomprehensible film with a writer/director/star who looked like a cross between Nicholas Cage and a Moai statue, and a cast of other oily people with giant hair and little discernible talent. And musical numbers for some reason. Anyway, there was one scene that actually stood out to me at the time. After Nicholas-Cage-looking-guy zombies out and kills someone conveniently and cheaply off-screen, her date arrives at the house and wonders why the lights suddenly have gone out. He opens the front door and walks in, seen only in shadow through the light coming in through the front door. Nicholas-Cage-looking-guy comes up behind him and stabs him in the neck, the camera cutting away the very instant the knife makes contact. Again, that killing is seen only in shadow.
I was about 14 or 15 at the time. Spooked the hell out of me. The movie was really boring and I couldn't make heads or tails of the plot. But that one scene stuck with me. I found out much later that the movie was shot by one Vilmos Szigmond. Mr. Szigmond is a famous and highly respected cinematographer. With a name like that, what other career was he going to have? Anyway, he went on to make a lot of genre flicks, as well as some really good movies like Deer Hunter and The Bonfire of the Vanities. He won an Oscar in '78 for Close Encounters of the Third Kind. My point is, this is a man who knows how to make a good image. That shot of the killing in shadow was one of those moments of a bad movie that got one thing right in a big way. And that's why we're going to use it now. The shadow of a knife is scarier than the knife itself.
One thing that mentalists are generally better at than magicians is the use of implication. This probably has something to do with the fact that mentalism is a much more implicit experience by and large and lacks the sort of sensory extravagance of traditional magic. The sad thing is that most magic could do with less talk and exposition and more actual magic. As Elvis Presley famously said, a little less conversation, a little more action please.
Horror fiction is interesting in that well-written prose understand that showing is better than telling, and that implying can be more effective that showing. Stephen King's fantastic novel "Pet Semetary" is a fine example of this, merely hinting at some of the more disturbing themes such as cannibalism and having a bleak, defeatist ending that still goes out leaving so much to the imagination. Compare to that to the movie that left almost nothing to the imagination. Of course if we're being honest, my favorite part of the movie was the Ramones song so make of that what you will.
Horror film used to understand the concept of less is more much better in the past and this was largely due to technical limitations. Special effects were very primitive and crude. It wasn't until the 1960's when Hammer Films eroticized horror and pornographer Herschel Gorden Lewis invented the splatter flick that gore and explicit content became the order of the day.
However, it wasn't until the 1980's that this sort of subtlety truly started to be ignored. As we'll detail in a later entry, the 80's was an era of excesses. It was also the point when special effects tech really jumped ahead. And while this produced some really good movies like David Cronenberg's The Fly and John Carpenter's The Thing and An American Werewolf in London, it also produced a lot of direct-to-video crap. The nadir for less-is-more in cinema is arguably the brief period of mainstream popularity enjoyed by the torture porn sub-genre, which started with Saw and Hostel and ended pretty decisively with the box office flop of Captivity, quite possibly the stupidest, most pointlessly sick movie ever made.
Video games are experiencing a similar problem. Early horror games, as the linked video in the previous entry pointed out, had to work within technological limitations. One of the best examples of this remains Silent Hill 2. The PS2 was very strong technology for its generation, but it still had limits. Konami kept the thick fog from the first game in order to limit the draw distance and deliberately kept everything just ever so slightly out of focus so that they wouldn't have to render as many textures. The result was picture perfect atmosphere for horror, plus indistinct features on the monsters that left room for the player's imagination. And they didn't stop there either. In for a penny, in for a pound. Since the game's aesthetic was built so heavily on allowing your imagination to fill in the gaps, they also presented this derelict town with a handful of other characters who were universally unreliable and never seemed to see the same things you did, leaving you to wonder just what the hell was going on. Furthermore, the scenery was littered with enigmas such as the famous graffiti piece, "THERE WAS A HOLE HERE. IT'S GONE NOW."
But nowadays, games want to show off their technology. Every texture is rendered with realism rivaled only by James Cameron's most recent cash cow. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it's often done in a manner of just giving the level and character designers an ego boost. The graphics wars are to video games what the weekend box office totals are to Hollywood. It's a pointless game of one-up-manship that's only holding the industry back.
So take a moment to think about what you're doing. Are you providing too much exposition? Are you explaining too much? Are you taking the mystery out of mystery entertainment? Are you leaving anything to the imagination? If you really want to make a scary routine this Halloween, you need to learn to let the audience scare themselves. The shadow of a knife is scarier than the knife itself.
Now, as promised we'll wrap up with some recommended movies.
Nosferatu (1922): The first vampire film ever made and still one of the best. The original Symphony of Horror.
Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956): This was the beginning of the paranoid horror movie playing on the anxieties and xenophobia of the 1950's to create a ubiquitous and Freudian uncanny enemy.
Psycho (1960): One of the most iconic films in history and to this day it's still scary and disturbing. A perfect example of the Neo-Gothic.
Carnival of Souls (1962): Produced on the cheap by educational documentarian Herk Harvey, this is still a monumental and significant film for its innovative use of sound and silence, atmosphere, and haunting imagery. Avoid the 1998 remake like the bloody plague.
Rosemary's Baby (1968): Polanski's career defining masterpiece still resonates today for its portrayal of paranoia and creeping dread. There is very little explicit content, no blood, and yet it's one of the most haunting films ever made. This shows you don't need to be some whacked out creepazoid carrying severed body parts to be scary.
Halloween (1978): Forget the sequels. This film is often imitated but never equaled. Unlike the slashers the followed it, the film contains little actual blood, only a few on-screen kills, and a nail-biting buildup of tension to the eventual climax.
The Thing (1982): The 80's were no less a paranoid time than the 50's. And though the Cold War is over, modern anxieties over terrorists and extremists make the story of the enemy within just poignant today as ever before. Here we have one of the most frightening movies ever made because it's so unpredictable and it alternates between showing us every disturbing detail and then giving us nothing. From the spectacle of the wet death to being left with only our own paranoia. Take away the right lessons from this and you'll learn a lot about being scary.
Less Is More
You hear this all the time, but I'm willing to bet few people have explained to you how to use it effectively. Well, haunted magic provides an excellent context. Picture the scene if you will:
A dark, well-dressed medium is sitting with you and a few other guests around a table with a couple of candles and the lights turned low. Shadows are long and deep. The darkness gives everything a paradoxical sense of claustrophobia and depth as you gather around in the tiny pool of available light while also being unsure of just how deep the shadows go anymore. The medium speaks as if to a sitter seen only to him, something which may indeed be the case. You watch the one-sided conversation and can only infer what's going on by the medium's reactions. It's not going well. It's turning into something like an argument. The medium is sweating. You look back and forth to the other sitters as if seeking some sort of comfort or validation for your anxiety. The air feels a little staler than before. The medium keeps getting cut off in mid-sentence by whoever he's talking to. He keeps calling the name of his spirit guide but doesn't seem to be getting an answer. Seeming to humor the belligerent specter, the medium holds a piece of paper up to one of the candles. Writing is slowly forming in the scorch marks spelling out words. FIND THAT BASTARD HARLEY "Lights," the medium says with a sense of urgency. "Get the lights. We need to stop."
Now try reading that paragraph in the dark with all the lights in the room turned off. You looked over your shoulder didn't you? Now break that paragraph down. Think of how little action took place in it. There was a conflict between the medium and an unseen force. There was only one effect. But there was enough atmosphere that it put you in the right frame of mind. Did you hear any small noises in the room or outside your window or even in the next room? Were you anxious about investigating them?
People are very good at scaring themselves. Much better than you ever will be. But if you set the stage properly, you won't need to do any real work. Their imaginations will do all the heavy lifting. With that in mind, I'm going to give you a phrase that I want you to write down and put it some place visible in your practice space:
The shadow of a knife is scarier than the knife itself.
Yeah, I know that's an odd thing to say, even for me. Are you a fan of Mystery Science Theater 3000? In season 8 they riffed a movie called, I'm not kidding, The Incredibly Strange Creatures Who Stopped Living and Became Mixed-Up Zombies. It was a truly incomprehensible film with a writer/director/star who looked like a cross between Nicholas Cage and a Moai statue, and a cast of other oily people with giant hair and little discernible talent. And musical numbers for some reason. Anyway, there was one scene that actually stood out to me at the time. After Nicholas-Cage-looking-guy zombies out and kills someone conveniently and cheaply off-screen, her date arrives at the house and wonders why the lights suddenly have gone out. He opens the front door and walks in, seen only in shadow through the light coming in through the front door. Nicholas-Cage-looking-guy comes up behind him and stabs him in the neck, the camera cutting away the very instant the knife makes contact. Again, that killing is seen only in shadow.
I was about 14 or 15 at the time. Spooked the hell out of me. The movie was really boring and I couldn't make heads or tails of the plot. But that one scene stuck with me. I found out much later that the movie was shot by one Vilmos Szigmond. Mr. Szigmond is a famous and highly respected cinematographer. With a name like that, what other career was he going to have? Anyway, he went on to make a lot of genre flicks, as well as some really good movies like Deer Hunter and The Bonfire of the Vanities. He won an Oscar in '78 for Close Encounters of the Third Kind. My point is, this is a man who knows how to make a good image. That shot of the killing in shadow was one of those moments of a bad movie that got one thing right in a big way. And that's why we're going to use it now. The shadow of a knife is scarier than the knife itself.
One thing that mentalists are generally better at than magicians is the use of implication. This probably has something to do with the fact that mentalism is a much more implicit experience by and large and lacks the sort of sensory extravagance of traditional magic. The sad thing is that most magic could do with less talk and exposition and more actual magic. As Elvis Presley famously said, a little less conversation, a little more action please.
Horror fiction is interesting in that well-written prose understand that showing is better than telling, and that implying can be more effective that showing. Stephen King's fantastic novel "Pet Semetary" is a fine example of this, merely hinting at some of the more disturbing themes such as cannibalism and having a bleak, defeatist ending that still goes out leaving so much to the imagination. Compare to that to the movie that left almost nothing to the imagination. Of course if we're being honest, my favorite part of the movie was the Ramones song so make of that what you will.
Horror film used to understand the concept of less is more much better in the past and this was largely due to technical limitations. Special effects were very primitive and crude. It wasn't until the 1960's when Hammer Films eroticized horror and pornographer Herschel Gorden Lewis invented the splatter flick that gore and explicit content became the order of the day.
However, it wasn't until the 1980's that this sort of subtlety truly started to be ignored. As we'll detail in a later entry, the 80's was an era of excesses. It was also the point when special effects tech really jumped ahead. And while this produced some really good movies like David Cronenberg's The Fly and John Carpenter's The Thing and An American Werewolf in London, it also produced a lot of direct-to-video crap. The nadir for less-is-more in cinema is arguably the brief period of mainstream popularity enjoyed by the torture porn sub-genre, which started with Saw and Hostel and ended pretty decisively with the box office flop of Captivity, quite possibly the stupidest, most pointlessly sick movie ever made.
Video games are experiencing a similar problem. Early horror games, as the linked video in the previous entry pointed out, had to work within technological limitations. One of the best examples of this remains Silent Hill 2. The PS2 was very strong technology for its generation, but it still had limits. Konami kept the thick fog from the first game in order to limit the draw distance and deliberately kept everything just ever so slightly out of focus so that they wouldn't have to render as many textures. The result was picture perfect atmosphere for horror, plus indistinct features on the monsters that left room for the player's imagination. And they didn't stop there either. In for a penny, in for a pound. Since the game's aesthetic was built so heavily on allowing your imagination to fill in the gaps, they also presented this derelict town with a handful of other characters who were universally unreliable and never seemed to see the same things you did, leaving you to wonder just what the hell was going on. Furthermore, the scenery was littered with enigmas such as the famous graffiti piece, "THERE WAS A HOLE HERE. IT'S GONE NOW."
But nowadays, games want to show off their technology. Every texture is rendered with realism rivaled only by James Cameron's most recent cash cow. This isn't necessarily a bad thing, but it's often done in a manner of just giving the level and character designers an ego boost. The graphics wars are to video games what the weekend box office totals are to Hollywood. It's a pointless game of one-up-manship that's only holding the industry back.
So take a moment to think about what you're doing. Are you providing too much exposition? Are you explaining too much? Are you taking the mystery out of mystery entertainment? Are you leaving anything to the imagination? If you really want to make a scary routine this Halloween, you need to learn to let the audience scare themselves. The shadow of a knife is scarier than the knife itself.
Now, as promised we'll wrap up with some recommended movies.
Nosferatu (1922): The first vampire film ever made and still one of the best. The original Symphony of Horror.
Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956): This was the beginning of the paranoid horror movie playing on the anxieties and xenophobia of the 1950's to create a ubiquitous and Freudian uncanny enemy.
Psycho (1960): One of the most iconic films in history and to this day it's still scary and disturbing. A perfect example of the Neo-Gothic.
Carnival of Souls (1962): Produced on the cheap by educational documentarian Herk Harvey, this is still a monumental and significant film for its innovative use of sound and silence, atmosphere, and haunting imagery. Avoid the 1998 remake like the bloody plague.
Rosemary's Baby (1968): Polanski's career defining masterpiece still resonates today for its portrayal of paranoia and creeping dread. There is very little explicit content, no blood, and yet it's one of the most haunting films ever made. This shows you don't need to be some whacked out creepazoid carrying severed body parts to be scary.
Halloween (1978): Forget the sequels. This film is often imitated but never equaled. Unlike the slashers the followed it, the film contains little actual blood, only a few on-screen kills, and a nail-biting buildup of tension to the eventual climax.
The Thing (1982): The 80's were no less a paranoid time than the 50's. And though the Cold War is over, modern anxieties over terrorists and extremists make the story of the enemy within just poignant today as ever before. Here we have one of the most frightening movies ever made because it's so unpredictable and it alternates between showing us every disturbing detail and then giving us nothing. From the spectacle of the wet death to being left with only our own paranoia. Take away the right lessons from this and you'll learn a lot about being scary.
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Spooky Magic 101 part I
Since Halloween is fast approaching once more, I'll be dedicating posts over the next few weeks specifically to teaching effective spooky magic, a topic that is near and dear to the hearts of many a young magician.
Horror
This is where it all starts. You can't be funny if you've never heard a joke. You can't be romantic if you've never felt attracted to someone. And you can't be scary if you don't understand horror. So how do you learn? Fortunately, most of us have already been scared by something. We have our own little pet fears, there are certain nightmares we always remember, and there's probably that one movie that scared the bejeezus out of you as a kid that still invokes a little shiver even today. So that's where you start. The trick is understanding it. Allow me to provide you with a link to a specific episode of the series Extra Credits playing at The Escapist online magazine. Yes, I know, technically it's about video games but James Portnow and Daniel Floyd are very astute, intelligent, and eloquent, to say nothing of their collective experience in the entertainment industry. They make a lot of very thoughtful and important points about horror and its use in interactive media.
I've blogged in the past that close-up magic and gaming are interactive, and by their very nature require a different language than media such as film or prose. Watch that video a second time and consider what James says about horror as a genre. Now combine that with the writing of film critic Robin Wood who asserted that horror as a genre analyzed that which a culture had repressed. Heavy stuff.
I want you to hang onto this mind set. To be scary, it is less about what you do tell them and more about what you don't. Less is always going to be more. Imply instead of tell, use symbols instead of words, present a mystery that seems to have no answer. Some of you may think that you already do that last one, seeing as how you're a magician and all. But the truth is most magicians don't even get that right. They usually give a painfully stupid explanation for what's about to happen. Don't believe me? Check out any YouTube video of an ambitious card routine. I'm sorry in advance for the pain you will suffer if you take me up on that.
There's a lot of stuff out there that provides you with examples both good and bad about to make effective horror. The classic Silent Hill 2 game baffled players with its Freudian imagery and enigmatic scenery such as the infamous bit of graffiti reading, "There was a hole here. It's gone now." On the other side of the spectrum, the makers of the film Paranormal Activity made a movie building up to an important climax and cop out with a BOO moment. Even more baffling is one of the alternate endings on the DVD, which is much more artistic and leaves room for huge doubts and questions from the audience about what really transpired and why. Questions that will purposefully go unanswered.
It's actually much more difficult than it looks to pull this off. Now that we've established some parameters for horror, I'm going to leave off today's post with a list of recommended reading. A small sampling of horror novels to whet your appetite and get you in the proper frame of mind. I highly suggest you read all of them. Not all at once perhaps, but it's still important that you read them. You can't write horror until you've experienced it. Each book will be followed by an Amazon link formy benefit your convenience. In a few days, will talk about how to use less as more and end that day's lesson with some recommended movies. Pleasant dreams.
Dracula - Not the movies, the book. I love the movies, but this is one of the most important horror novels ever written. It is not without its flaws, but the imagery and visceral undercurrents are timeless. Don't make the mistake of passing this up.
Frankenstein - Again, pass on the movies until you've read the book. This is an important piece of Romantic era and Gothic literature as well as being arguably the first science fiction novel. The use of frame tale narrative, the imagery and symbolism, and the continually developing story of the monster itself have made it a timeless masterpiece.
I Am Legend - You've heard me give Richard Matheson a lot of credit before. This seminal novel has spawned several film adaptations, none of which can equal the original prose. Seriously, get it. Now. And no, I'm not happy about the most available copy being the one with the crappy Will Smith movie on the cover.
Nightmare at 20,000 Feet: Horror Stories by Richard Matheson - For more reasons on why you should buy this, please see my earlier post, Why You're An Idiot for Not Reading Richard Matheson.
The Collected Ghost Stories of MR James - If you want to do seances, haunted magic, and spirit theater, you need to familiarize yourself with the classic ghost story first. This is one of the best places to start, bar none.
Horror
This is where it all starts. You can't be funny if you've never heard a joke. You can't be romantic if you've never felt attracted to someone. And you can't be scary if you don't understand horror. So how do you learn? Fortunately, most of us have already been scared by something. We have our own little pet fears, there are certain nightmares we always remember, and there's probably that one movie that scared the bejeezus out of you as a kid that still invokes a little shiver even today. So that's where you start. The trick is understanding it. Allow me to provide you with a link to a specific episode of the series Extra Credits playing at The Escapist online magazine. Yes, I know, technically it's about video games but James Portnow and Daniel Floyd are very astute, intelligent, and eloquent, to say nothing of their collective experience in the entertainment industry. They make a lot of very thoughtful and important points about horror and its use in interactive media.
I've blogged in the past that close-up magic and gaming are interactive, and by their very nature require a different language than media such as film or prose. Watch that video a second time and consider what James says about horror as a genre. Now combine that with the writing of film critic Robin Wood who asserted that horror as a genre analyzed that which a culture had repressed. Heavy stuff.
I want you to hang onto this mind set. To be scary, it is less about what you do tell them and more about what you don't. Less is always going to be more. Imply instead of tell, use symbols instead of words, present a mystery that seems to have no answer. Some of you may think that you already do that last one, seeing as how you're a magician and all. But the truth is most magicians don't even get that right. They usually give a painfully stupid explanation for what's about to happen. Don't believe me? Check out any YouTube video of an ambitious card routine. I'm sorry in advance for the pain you will suffer if you take me up on that.
There's a lot of stuff out there that provides you with examples both good and bad about to make effective horror. The classic Silent Hill 2 game baffled players with its Freudian imagery and enigmatic scenery such as the infamous bit of graffiti reading, "There was a hole here. It's gone now." On the other side of the spectrum, the makers of the film Paranormal Activity made a movie building up to an important climax and cop out with a BOO moment. Even more baffling is one of the alternate endings on the DVD, which is much more artistic and leaves room for huge doubts and questions from the audience about what really transpired and why. Questions that will purposefully go unanswered.
It's actually much more difficult than it looks to pull this off. Now that we've established some parameters for horror, I'm going to leave off today's post with a list of recommended reading. A small sampling of horror novels to whet your appetite and get you in the proper frame of mind. I highly suggest you read all of them. Not all at once perhaps, but it's still important that you read them. You can't write horror until you've experienced it. Each book will be followed by an Amazon link for
Dracula - Not the movies, the book. I love the movies, but this is one of the most important horror novels ever written. It is not without its flaws, but the imagery and visceral undercurrents are timeless. Don't make the mistake of passing this up.
Frankenstein - Again, pass on the movies until you've read the book. This is an important piece of Romantic era and Gothic literature as well as being arguably the first science fiction novel. The use of frame tale narrative, the imagery and symbolism, and the continually developing story of the monster itself have made it a timeless masterpiece.
I Am Legend - You've heard me give Richard Matheson a lot of credit before. This seminal novel has spawned several film adaptations, none of which can equal the original prose. Seriously, get it. Now. And no, I'm not happy about the most available copy being the one with the crappy Will Smith movie on the cover.
Nightmare at 20,000 Feet: Horror Stories by Richard Matheson - For more reasons on why you should buy this, please see my earlier post, Why You're An Idiot for Not Reading Richard Matheson.
The Collected Ghost Stories of MR James - If you want to do seances, haunted magic, and spirit theater, you need to familiarize yourself with the classic ghost story first. This is one of the best places to start, bar none.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Boo Moments
I love movies, and horror is my pet genre. But most horror movies suck and are a waste of time and money, like any movie made by Platinum Dunes (the remakes of The Amityville Horror, Friday the 13th, etc) or made by James Wan (Saw, Saw II, Dead Silence). Aside from this pattern of name recognition, I've worked out a system for determining the potential quality of a horror movie by watching its trailer and counting the number of Boo moments. What is a Boo moment? Anything that tries to invoke fear by startling you. The system is very simple:
1 point: A basic boo moment. Something jumps out or appears unexpectedly via a sudden reveal. Usually accompanied by a screeching orchestra hit.
2 points: An intermediate boo moment. This is when the something that jumps out does do directly at the screen or is revealed in such a way that it's looking at the camera.
3 points: Advanced boo moment. This reveal or pop out is preceded by several seconds of build-up. It usually but not always involves someone investigating a suspicious noise and finds nothing, only to have the killer or monster appear abruptly behind them, presumably having been standing there in anticipation of the hapless idiot backing up into them.
Got your boo moments sorted out? Good. Now here's the scale of quality based on the points scored by the number and type of boo moments in a given trailer:
3 points or less: Probably good with the potential to be great. Examples: Rosemary's Baby, Shudder Island, Daybreakers
4-6 points: Might be enjoyable, but could just as easily suck. Defer to track record of screenwriter and director when possible, but this is no guarantee either. Example: Land of the Dead
7 points or more: This is the cinematic equivalent of repeatedly hitting yourself in the junk with a meat tenderizer. Examples: Anything made by Platinum Dunes.
Why am I bringing this up? Because a lot of bizarrists want to do scary stuff and prove to have just as much sense of subtlety, restraint, and pathos as Michael Bay and his cronies. There's a difference between scaring someone and startling them. And to do so requires genuine pathos, intelligence, and an understanding of what actually scares people.
Jim Pace's The Web is a neat little effect and everything, but it's more of a gag than a horror routine. It's scary in the same way that Twilight is romantic: cheap, emotionally exploitative and quickly forgotten. It takes absolutely no talent to get reactions like that. If you want to actually do something that people will remember and enjoy, you need to have more of a method to your madness than just sneaking up on a person and screaming "BOO!!" at them.
1 point: A basic boo moment. Something jumps out or appears unexpectedly via a sudden reveal. Usually accompanied by a screeching orchestra hit.
2 points: An intermediate boo moment. This is when the something that jumps out does do directly at the screen or is revealed in such a way that it's looking at the camera.
3 points: Advanced boo moment. This reveal or pop out is preceded by several seconds of build-up. It usually but not always involves someone investigating a suspicious noise and finds nothing, only to have the killer or monster appear abruptly behind them, presumably having been standing there in anticipation of the hapless idiot backing up into them.
Got your boo moments sorted out? Good. Now here's the scale of quality based on the points scored by the number and type of boo moments in a given trailer:
3 points or less: Probably good with the potential to be great. Examples: Rosemary's Baby, Shudder Island, Daybreakers
4-6 points: Might be enjoyable, but could just as easily suck. Defer to track record of screenwriter and director when possible, but this is no guarantee either. Example: Land of the Dead
7 points or more: This is the cinematic equivalent of repeatedly hitting yourself in the junk with a meat tenderizer. Examples: Anything made by Platinum Dunes.
Why am I bringing this up? Because a lot of bizarrists want to do scary stuff and prove to have just as much sense of subtlety, restraint, and pathos as Michael Bay and his cronies. There's a difference between scaring someone and startling them. And to do so requires genuine pathos, intelligence, and an understanding of what actually scares people.
Jim Pace's The Web is a neat little effect and everything, but it's more of a gag than a horror routine. It's scary in the same way that Twilight is romantic: cheap, emotionally exploitative and quickly forgotten. It takes absolutely no talent to get reactions like that. If you want to actually do something that people will remember and enjoy, you need to have more of a method to your madness than just sneaking up on a person and screaming "BOO!!" at them.
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