I was terrified of everything as a kid.
No, I mean, everything. Things in the closet. Things under the bed. My youngest uncle left a short stack of DC horror comics in the car once and I had nightmares for weeks based off a five-page pastiche of Doc Savage and “The Picture of Dorian Gray.” The original Land of the Lost gave me recurring nightmares of Grumpy the rubber-puppet dinosaur looming outside my bedroom window and tearing through the walls to get me. Let’s not even talk about some of the darker episodes of Fantasy Island. It wasn’t until college, actually, when our fine host here sat me down and showed me a little British horror film called Hellraiser, that I came to realize there was a real art to horror, and it was an art I’d danced around all my life.
We all love to scream. We’re all tempted by the darkness to some extent. We like the rush of adrenaline, the evil thought indulged, and the thrill of knowing it’s not happening to me. As Mr. Farrell, my tenth grade teacher pointed out, nobody forced all those folks to go watch beheadings during the French Revolution.
El Juano mentioned werewolves, which has always been a favorite of mine. However, I think part of that appeal is a deeper, more primal fear there that we all relate to. The idea that we’re the monster. That perhaps we could do awful, horrific things, not just on purpose but maybe even with a degree of pleasure. That we’d enjoy being the monster.
A few of us on the older end of the spectrum were introduced to this idea through the television plight of Doctor David Banner (physician/ scientist) searching for a way to unlock the hidden strength that all humans have. But an accidental overdose of radiation altered his body chemistry, and when Doctor Banner grew angry or outraged, a startling metamorphosis occurred. Of course, in its own savage, scary way, we all knew the Hulk was a force for good, and it wasn’t until most of us got a bit older that we learned about the earlier doctor who had experimented with separating himself into two people.
As the story goes, Robert Louis Stevenson scribbled out The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde over three days in 1886 to help cover his late rent. However, when his wife read the first draft the idea of it horrified and disgusted her so much that Stevenson burned the manuscript in the fireplace—then rewrote it from memory a few days later. The novella became an instant classic, a major play, one of the first full-length silent films, and then one of the first talkies. It’s still in print today in a variety of editions.
(By the way, if you haven’t seen it, last year the BBC put out a fantastic miniseries called Jekyll starring James Nesbitt that will really make you think about your dark side. Plus it’s got a pre-Bionic Woman Michelle Ryan as the good doctor’s faithful and fashion-conscious assistant)
Jekyll & Hyde rocked the Victorian world with the simple idea that a man could be two people at once—a saint in public but a sinner behind the curtains (fun fact—in the original story this was the big third act twist that horrified people, that Jekyll and Hyde were two sides of the same man. It’s a mystery novel up until then). It tapped into a primal, societal fear that most of us still have today. Anyone who’s ever lost their temper has wondered how far they could lose it. We’ve all felt the temptation to have one more drink or take the evening a little farther than we should. And most of us have a dim understanding of what we’d be willing to do if someone we loved was in danger.
That’s what Stevenson found, and what we all worry about on one level or another. The idea that we could kill, cheat, and destroy without a thought. Worse yet, we’d probably enjoy doing it. Wouldn’t it be fun to beat the crap out of that guy who talked through the whole movie? To ram that jackass who cut you off and made you miss your freeway exit?
The worst monsters come from inside, because Hyde and the werewolf are the monsters that are us.
(Virtual Stranger is the first guest writer in our big horror crossover. He's one of the few people participating who actually writes for a living - crazy! And he owns one of those wacky Hellraiser Rubik's Cubes - supposedly, the Cenobites come bearing jelly donuts when he calls them. Do they fear his might? Are they weird Canadian demons with tooks and a sugar fetish? Who knows - but you should check out his blog for more answers. Why he's slumming it here, I'll never know...)
No, I mean, everything. Things in the closet. Things under the bed. My youngest uncle left a short stack of DC horror comics in the car once and I had nightmares for weeks based off a five-page pastiche of Doc Savage and “The Picture of Dorian Gray.” The original Land of the Lost gave me recurring nightmares of Grumpy the rubber-puppet dinosaur looming outside my bedroom window and tearing through the walls to get me. Let’s not even talk about some of the darker episodes of Fantasy Island. It wasn’t until college, actually, when our fine host here sat me down and showed me a little British horror film called Hellraiser, that I came to realize there was a real art to horror, and it was an art I’d danced around all my life.
We all love to scream. We’re all tempted by the darkness to some extent. We like the rush of adrenaline, the evil thought indulged, and the thrill of knowing it’s not happening to me. As Mr. Farrell, my tenth grade teacher pointed out, nobody forced all those folks to go watch beheadings during the French Revolution.
El Juano mentioned werewolves, which has always been a favorite of mine. However, I think part of that appeal is a deeper, more primal fear there that we all relate to. The idea that we’re the monster. That perhaps we could do awful, horrific things, not just on purpose but maybe even with a degree of pleasure. That we’d enjoy being the monster.
A few of us on the older end of the spectrum were introduced to this idea through the television plight of Doctor David Banner (physician/ scientist) searching for a way to unlock the hidden strength that all humans have. But an accidental overdose of radiation altered his body chemistry, and when Doctor Banner grew angry or outraged, a startling metamorphosis occurred. Of course, in its own savage, scary way, we all knew the Hulk was a force for good, and it wasn’t until most of us got a bit older that we learned about the earlier doctor who had experimented with separating himself into two people.
As the story goes, Robert Louis Stevenson scribbled out The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde over three days in 1886 to help cover his late rent. However, when his wife read the first draft the idea of it horrified and disgusted her so much that Stevenson burned the manuscript in the fireplace—then rewrote it from memory a few days later. The novella became an instant classic, a major play, one of the first full-length silent films, and then one of the first talkies. It’s still in print today in a variety of editions.
(By the way, if you haven’t seen it, last year the BBC put out a fantastic miniseries called Jekyll starring James Nesbitt that will really make you think about your dark side. Plus it’s got a pre-Bionic Woman Michelle Ryan as the good doctor’s faithful and fashion-conscious assistant)Jekyll & Hyde rocked the Victorian world with the simple idea that a man could be two people at once—a saint in public but a sinner behind the curtains (fun fact—in the original story this was the big third act twist that horrified people, that Jekyll and Hyde were two sides of the same man. It’s a mystery novel up until then). It tapped into a primal, societal fear that most of us still have today. Anyone who’s ever lost their temper has wondered how far they could lose it. We’ve all felt the temptation to have one more drink or take the evening a little farther than we should. And most of us have a dim understanding of what we’d be willing to do if someone we loved was in danger.
That’s what Stevenson found, and what we all worry about on one level or another. The idea that we could kill, cheat, and destroy without a thought. Worse yet, we’d probably enjoy doing it. Wouldn’t it be fun to beat the crap out of that guy who talked through the whole movie? To ram that jackass who cut you off and made you miss your freeway exit?
The worst monsters come from inside, because Hyde and the werewolf are the monsters that are us.
(Virtual Stranger is the first guest writer in our big horror crossover. He's one of the few people participating who actually writes for a living - crazy! And he owns one of those wacky Hellraiser Rubik's Cubes - supposedly, the Cenobites come bearing jelly donuts when he calls them. Do they fear his might? Are they weird Canadian demons with tooks and a sugar fetish? Who knows - but you should check out his blog for more answers. Why he's slumming it here, I'll never know...)
2 comments:
Pete, I thought we saw "Hellraiser" together in Plymouth? Hmmm...maybe that was Marty and Shaun. I just remember bursting into hysterical nervous laughter when we left the theater.
Alas, nope, it wasn't me. Heck, I still remember being a bit too nervous to go see "Fright Night" when it was up against "Back To The Future" and "Big Bird's Big Adventure"... :)
I think before college I cringed and winced through videotapes of "Friday the 13th Part 2" and the first "Nightmare of Elm Street," and that was all my delicate nature could handle...
At the time. :)
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