Last weekend Renee and I went to see David Fincher’s Zodiac, a re-telling of Robert Graysmith’s account of the police hunt for the Zodiac killer in the San Francisco Bay area in the late-60s/early-70s. As usual, Fincher (Fight Club, Se7en) knocked it out of the park, delivering a tense, though never over-done, mystery film. The scene which made Renee squeal, “Ooh, that’s creepy!” was in fact the scene that summed up the entire film, although it would strike many as a throw-away scene (and for the record, she didn’t, nor ever does, squeal: she mused. I say this because she might be reading this right now): the camera spans over, then descends into, the fog surrounding the Golden Gate Bridge at night. This view epitomizes the haziness surrounding the search for the real killer, and immerses us in the cops’ own uncertainty about the ability to bring him justice, or even of the man’s existence. Very cool shot. Fincher rocks.
But there was another scene that has stuck in my mind, partly because of the scene itself, and partly because of the audience’s reply to it. Fincher shows us one of the actual attacks by the Zodiac killer, one which occurs in broad daylight at a secluded lake. The mood is what you would expect, considering the circumstances: light and airy, as a likable couple is lounging out at the lake while on break from college classes. Out of nowhere approaches the Zodiac killer, who pulls a gun on the two, has them hog-tie each other, and then stabs both of them repeatedly in the back while they lay on their chests, shoulder to shoulder. It’s a harrowing and horrific scene, mostly because of how Fincher downplays the usual horror movie techniques of manufactured suspense. He instead opts for a realism that is blunt and shocking, and that allows us all to fit ourselves into the situation of these unfortunate, formerly hopeful kids.
I’d read an interview, previous to seeing the film, with the man portrayed in this scene. He lived through the terrible attack, though his girlfriend did not, and has stayed out of the public’s eye up until now. (Can you blame him?) Hearing his thoughts about that day heightened the horror of this scene for me, but I could tell while watching this part of the movie that that was not happening for everybody.
Amidst the shocking violence on screen, amidst the terrors in my own mind of imagining myself in this man’s position, amidst the dying dreams of a full and normal life ahead of these characters, I heard something I never expected in a million years.
I heard laughing.
Several members of the audience, mostly teens and young adults, were giggling during this awful scene. Their laughter probably shocked me more than the scene itself, and it threw me off track. It was a moment in which I began to sympathize with all of the usual critics of violent movies and video games, thinking that desensitization to violence was to blame for this unusual response. Another surprising moment came earlier when another couple faced imminent death and the guy behind me laughed to himself, saying, “Die, bitch!”
However, the more I thought about the incident the less I blamed producers of violent films. I gave less and less credit to the makers of Grand Theft Auto. I began to wonder if the problem here was not exposure to too many violent movies, but rather a mind which had not been taught how to really watch a movie.
My empathic response to these horrible scenes in this movie did not stem from my naturally empathic nature; it did not happen simply because I am just a generally great guy. Instead, I believe it came from the influence of friends of mine with whom I had had countless conversations about theology, ethics, and movies. We often discussed our favorite films and the impacts these films had on us. Also, through these friends I was introduced to the writings of Fuller Theological Seminary professor Robert Johnston, who writes extensively on theology and the arts. Both of these influences changed the way I watch movies; they shaped my viewing habits in a very real sense. Through personal conversations with my friends, and through the silent conversations I had with Prof. Johnston, I began to read movies in a certain way, where I looked for the human element in the story. And considering that I have grown up as a fan of horror movies, the way I approached these films has changed as well.
Undoubtedly, the many people who laughed during these scenes in Zodiachad seen countless horror movies in which the murder of a victim is an opportunity to “wow” the audience by a fresh, exciting, and more gory way of ending someone’s life. Before I was trained in the ways of watching movies faithfully as a thinking Christian, I found these films to be amusing. Anymore, however, I look for more in my horror movies. I’ve learned to see the human side of the events, and that has changed everything. Although Zodiac is no horror film, it has scenes in it which are the bread and butter of horror flicks: unsuspecting couple approached by strangely dressed man, unsuspecting woman picked up from side of road after a blown tire, etc. And its director handles these scenes with a truly human concern for these people.
The lesson I learned from Zodiac, perhaps more than anything, taught me the lessons of how to watch horror flicks faithfully. I learned that there are two types of horror movies that can teach us more about ourselves and others, films which add to our understanding of what it means to be human. The first is what I’d label “A Call to Empathy.” These films give us the tools necessary to unearth the similarities between ourselves and those who commit heinous crimes against their neighbors, as well as those against whom the violence is perpetrated. Like Sufjan Steven’s ballad ”John Wayne Gacy, Jr.,” movies like Dahmer and Gacy reveal the emotional and psychological struggles inside of two men whom we’ve come to know as monsters, but whom we should see as not too far removed from ourselves, for we too hide our secrets in dark places.
The second type of horror movie that I see as educating us on our predicament is what I’d call the “Show Us the Darkness” flicks. Most notable among this type of movie is the recent British film The Descent, a tale of six woman who go on a cave-diving trip in order to help one among them gain some distance between herself and a recent tragedy. As the story unfolds, we see not the usual gore-for-gore’s sake, but rather a violent representation of one’s descent into madness, a capability which, we realize upon completing the film, we all possess not too far beneath the surface.
Let’s be honest with each other: these two kinds of horror films are certainly the minority in a culture which is seeing a resurgence of horror flicks as of late. But we should see these movies because we just might learn something new about ourselves in the process. And as we learn to watch these movies properly, with the proper instruction from a group of friends around us, perhaps we can begin to recognize the tragedy of death in other places as well, be they in Zodiac or even closer to home in our everyday-violence kind of world. In that way, we can leave a horror flick as a more empathic human being.
Who thought, right?
2 Comments
March 8, 2007 at 10:12 pm
I’ve never thought of horror flicks this way, thanks.
I see what you are talking about in other media however. if you bring your faith with you, you’ll see people are really writing, singing or producing something about God.
God bless.
June 16, 2007 at 2:29 pm
[...] it’s apparent resurgence as of late. I’ve written here on this site before about the greatness available in the horror genre, and so I do not want to bore you with repetition. Rather, I wanted to tell about a book. A book [...]