Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.” – Stephen King.
As we approach the end of the second decade of the millennium, it is fair to argue that the single most innovative, psychological, and intellectually stimulating literary or cinematic genre is horror. Few genres have endured as many changes, commented on societal and historical innovations, documented collective states of mind, or evoked fears and anxieties concealed within the subconscious as the horror.
There are a number of artistic pioneers, but I’d be remiss if I didn’t discuss the genre and its indelible impact without mentioning the ways the prolific, American horror writer and screenwriter, Stephen King, influenced and defined the genre. If you were born within the last 50 years, chances are you’ve been subjected to a handful of sleepless nights that can be credited to some incarnation of King’s work. I’ll never forget the first time I watched Misery (1990). I spent a few weeks genuinely believing I had restless leg syndrome, only to later find out that I was simply reliving the trauma of watching Kathy Bates liken James Caan’s lower extremities to meat in need of tenderizing (with a sledgehammer!). I was 9 and I never quite recovered.
King’s impact on the genre and popular culture at large is substantial and indisputable. In many ways, his powerful stories helped viewers understand the necessity, complexity, and functionality of the genre. When looking back at some of King’s most artistic and intellectual contributions, you can witness his hand in the evolution of the genre.
Have you ever wondered why audiences have an insatiable appetite for blood, carnage, and chaos? No, we aren’t closeted cannibals. No, we aren’t sick and disturbed (well, not entirely). The violence in King’s work is more of a byproduct that speaks to our most basic internal terrors. Author Tony Magistrale of Abject Terrors declares that audiences are “drawn to horror’s imagery because it provides an important release mechanism for repressed emotions and projections that threaten the psyche. Without indulging in such a release, these negative emotions might manifest themselves as neuroses.”
This is just a fancy way of saying we’re all crazy, but it’s in our human nature. As spectators we’re allowed to experience and internalize the same fears as the characters on page or screen (“Don’t go in there!”) without suffering their lethal consequences (“I told you so.”) King’s timely narratives were some of the first in modern pop culture to intuit that horror was not about indulgence, but rather alleviation.
“We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.” – Stephen King
Many appreciate King’s exhaustive body of work as a writer and screenwriter (IT, Carrie, The Shining, The Dark Tower, etc.) because it demonstrates his uncanny ability to integrate universal themes, social consciousness, and the full spectrum of human emotion. King is almost exclusively responsible for bringing horror into the mainstream, acquiring unlikely fans by marrying the grotesque and nihilistic with the humanist and cerebral. Having solidified his professional career in the late 60s-early 70s – with more than 60 film/television adaptations and over 350 million copies of his novels sold worldwide – King’s artistic contributions have existed and observed every major evolution of the genre – political, cultural, or otherwise.
Remember the TV miniseries adaptation of King’s It (1990) – the tale of a demonic, shape-shifting clown that abducts and terrorizes the children of small-town Maine? Damn, right you do! In the film, King’s reoccurring “loss of innocence” theme is executed to chilling effect. Much like King’s non-horror classics (Stand by Me, Hearts in Atlantis), he illustrates the things generating fear are often the most relatable. Long before Tim Curry’s iconic Pennywise can dig his claws into our subconscious, other more universal terrors grab hold: Adolescent angst, first love, social anxiety, and the glorious stages of puberty. Because who can honestly say the daily woes of their adolescence years weren’t hell on Earth? If there were a drinking game for the number of wedgies I endured…oh, never mind.
The seven unfortunate pre-teen protagonists (coined “The Loser’s Club”) are each forced to confront a supernatural evil that manifests itself as their individual worst fears. King’s subversion of the coming-of-age and horror genres is genius because it showcases their common origin and elicits the same emotions. Pennywise, while terrifying in his own right (WHO ISN’T AFRAID OF CLOWNS?), is merely a stand-in for whatever phobias the audience possess, conscious or otherwise, during that tenuous transition into adulthood.
Brain De Palma’s adaptation of King’s Carrie (1976) also demonstrated a loss of innocence, both gradual and abrupt, following the unnerving opening sequence. For example, the scene where the title character (Sissy Spacek) is viciously mocked by her female classmates for bleeding out from her period in the girls’ locker room. This traumatic experience was an assault on her naive, docile demeanor and an unforgiving determinant of her transition into womanhood. Like so many young women, Carrie was forced to confront the challenges of her blossoming sexuality, without being fully equipped, physically or psychologically.
What’s also striking about the film is King’s fascination with the symbiotic relationship between power and rage. This is illustrated by Carrie’s religious-zealot mother (Piper Laurie), whose disdain for secular practices govern her stern (and violent) influence over her daughter’s inevitable awakening. Comparatively, Carrie’s inner turmoil morphs into telekinetic powers (a courtesy not afforded to us mortals). King argues that power is seductive and anger simultaneously fuels and amplifies it, especially for the outsiders who have never possessed it.
When the iconic, pig-blood soaked prom scene prank transpires, we are subconsciously rooting for the annihilation of the perpetrators. King is confident and privy to the audience’s empathy of Carrie’s rage and thirst for vengeance. The emotions felt instinctual and at the time eerily prophetic when compared to the events of Columbine and various school shootings that would follow the film’s release.
“Heeeeere’s Johnny.”
While Carrie ranks amongst King’s most accomplished adaptations, Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining (1980) is easily King’s most polarizing. The story introduced the now iconic Jack Torrance (a brilliantly menacing Jack Nicholson) and his fervent descent into madness in a snowy, isolated Colorado hotel, is by turns a moody ghost story and a visceral critique of the oppressive patriarchal family structure. Jack’s sinister metamorphosis is mirrored by his young son Danny’s (Danny Lloyd) feverish premonitions.
Thanks to this film, I was never able to watch another Olsen twins vehicle without imagining they had sinister motives (I wasn’t entirely wrong — e.g. “New York Minute”), but I digress. As Jack’s behavior becomes increasingly more violent, Danny’s once fragile disposition is compromised and his ascent to power and liberation becomes inevitable.
To be fair, Kubrick’s film functions more as a loose, artsy re-imagining of King’s source material, omitting significant – even pertinent– story elements in favor of visual panache and cerebral dread. His use of an unreliable narrator and abstract, foreboding imagery (e.g. ominous twins, a river of blood engulfing a hotel lobby, etc.) has a meta-like way of distorting audience perception while also presenting King’s central narrative in a unique fashion. While critically acclaimed and admired by fans, King notoriously hated the film. This proves that his cultural influence transcends even his own approval, providing a multitude of different interpretations.
“We’ve switched from a culture that was interested in manufacturing, economics, politics – trying to play a serious part in the world – to a culture that’s really more entertainment-based.” – Stephen King
For better or for worse, King’s work has always been a critical voice in the cultural landscape. As the horror genre transitioned from the vintage slasher films of the yesteryears to full-on “torture porn” (Saw, Hostel, The Human Centipede), Hollywood’s focus on story, artistry, and originality took a back seat. Take Kimberly Pierce’s 2013 adaptation of Carrie, for example. With the onslaught of the feminist movement, contemporary women’s rights issues, and a reputable female director known for her strong female characters (e.g. Boys Don’t Cry), King’s classic story was armed with a variety of cultural resources to draw from.
Instead, viewers were fed a stale, dated story that has no distinct identity of time or place and seemingly fearful to explore provocative ideas. It inexplicably feels more tame, tasteful than its predecessor, settling instead for bankable cheap thrills, gore, and genre cliches. By attempting to merely recreate the tone, the atmosphere of the 70’s classic, the remake bypassed a great opportunity to provoke and appeal to the unique concerns of audiences (particularly, women and millennials) of a new generation.
Then there’s this year’s The Dark Tower, which doesn’t exactly qualify as straight horror (rather incorporating elements of horror, sci-fi, and western), but still suffers from Hollywood’s rigid reliance on profitable popcorn flicks rather than brave, compelling storytelling. The tale of a guardian gunslinger (Idris Elba) that seeks to thwart the plans of a madman (known as “the Man in Black”; Matthew McConaughey) to destroy an ancient tower that binds two worlds together, was ripe with opportunities to explore issues regarding the preservation of historical monuments, geopolitical adversity, and the consequences of absolute power. But no.
While aesthetically pleasing, director Nikolaj Arcel’s inept rendition of King’s story lacks emotional depth and characterization and is stripped of any intellectual insight. What remains is a run-of-the mill actioner that reduces King’s story to a commodity rather than an artful exercise in the darker depths of humanity. And it’s one of the countless validations that Elba is the new Bond (if in our hearts only). Ironically, to King’s credit, the film still says a thing or two about the vapid, commercially-inclined direction of popular culture in practice rather than artistic execution. Don’t fret, though. The auteurs of our generation that aren’t governed by commercial impulses continue to explore King’s rich worlds in exciting and fresh ways. Andy Muschietti’s (Mama) 2017 adaptation of It, is Hollywood’s latest reminder that King is still one of the masters of horror.
If you took King’s collective body of work (both literary and cinematic), what you’ll take away is a vivid, collection of ideas and social insights that span over six decades of American history. He is as much a cultural critic as he is one of the most renowned writers of our time. Despite the varying success of his adaptations, his profound insight into the human experience has united us all in some of the most unlikely circumstances. By implementing universal, humanist themes to the horror landscape, King expanded the perimeters of the horror genre and provided a perfectly mounted canvas by which our unique fears could be realized.
