While analyzing David Cronenberg's Rabid (see Revenge of the Phallic Woman) is when I first contemplated the idea of interpenetration as a solution to the gender paradigm. If you remember Marilyn Chambers' character from the film, you will probably remember the phallic syringe concealed in her armpit and its usefulness in re-imagining the porn star as a sexual predator. Although it seemed obvious to me that this phallic appendage represented the monstrosity of men, I was surprised to come across a plethora of contrary interpretations from various feminist authors. Anchored in mostly paternalistic, early psychoanalytical theories, these interpretations strangely vied to criticize Rabid for its insensitivity toward women when it is actually akin to a feminist manifesto. The film's incredible lenience toward the innocent protagonist-turned-monster (named Rose, no less), its insistence on the folly of male scientists (a typical Cronenbergian motif) and the punitive nature of the murders committed by Rose, all of these elements should lead one to a unequivocal interpretation thereof. But they don't, since psychoanalysis is now desperately impregnable in its pragmatic use by biased interest groups.
Evidently, the horror genre is a popular target for feminist psychoanalysis. Understood as a primarily "chauvinist" genre by many people, it is either dismissed categorically as a lesser art form, or intellectually broken down into bare components, which are then dipped in acidic verbose. Unfortunately, the vast majority of its detractors, in their ideological zeal, fail to see the most obvious, most revealing aspects thereof. If we're to trust scholars, then every knife ever used in slasher films is an expression of phallic violence, which itself makes female empowerment subservient to that violence (with the heroine's appropriation of the killer's weaponry). Hence, psychoanalysis would tend to prove the secondary importance of women within the genre. But that is the biggest lie of all. Aside from the obvious fact that slasher films systematically star female heroines, these films also systematically showcase impotent antagonists and useless male protectors who die without a fuss. And while the male killer could be said to be the real star of the film, he is usually subservient to the survivor girl for whom he exists only as a catalyst toward self-determination.
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| Psychoanalytical appreciation of David Cronenberg's Rabid is very problematic. |
This all-encompassing thesis on slasher films might appear dubious to some, but it is quite well-defended by Scott Glosserman's genre gem Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon, which manages to successfully integrate elements of the horror, the documentary and the romantic comedy genres to create a highly complex manifesto on the power of symbols. Basking in psychoanalytical savvy, the film effortlessly deconstructs the slasher sub-genre by positing a series of codes inherent to its construction, codes that might appear obvious to the seasoned horror fan, but which are also cleverly used to help awaken the female protagonist to the idea of the that genre as an essential expression of social angst. Hence, the central discussion about phallic and yonic symbolism is cleverly used to reveal the subtle interplay of gender referents hiding behind the crude representations of sexes, which the average critic will cite as a shortcoming. Even if the film was merely an analytical exercise in appraising horror cinema, then it would be great enough. But Glosserman also delves quite brilliantly in the codes inherent to the documentary genre as well, articulating his narrative around the ethics of non-intervention. In doing so, he proves to be a surprisingly savvy film scholar and practitioner. But what is perhaps his biggest achievement is how he manages to create an absolutely symbiotic, violently passionate love story at the center of it all, one that shatters the conventional conceptions of the slasher sub-genre like so many wooden poles caught in a nuclear blast.
The film opens with live shots from famous slasher locales where tragic massacres have occurred throughout the years (Crystal Lake, Haddonfield, and Elm Street, where muscular Kane Hodder scurries inside his house as the camera approaches). That's right. Behind the Mask is set in a world where supernatural murderers are real, casting a tangible shadow over their victims and prompting uptight journalism student Taylor Gentry and her unsightly crew of helpers to investigate. When contacted by mysterious loner Leslie Vernon, who offers them rare insight into his own murderous activities, the team heads for the small town of Glen Echo, where an all-new rampage is about to take place. Using shots bearing the "University News" stamp at first, the film quickly shifts gears and uses the rushes taken by the young filmmakers to narrate their story. That's when we are introduced to charismatic newcomer (and stage actor) Nathan Baesel, who plays Leslie Vernon, the mild-mannered psycho whom we will follow through his elaborate massacre prep.
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| Kane Hodder as an "Elm Street Resident": Glosserman cleverly introduces a world in which slashers are real. |
Leslie is a cool guy with smarts to boot. He loves turtles and is revealed to be a very dedicated professional on his way to becoming another legendary slasher. When asked if his in-depth study of the heavy reference manuals found in his library is job-related, Leslie chuckles and declares: "I wouldn't recommend reading Grey's Anatomy for kicks". If that joke is lost on the uneasy reporter that is Taylor, it is certainly not lost on us, and thus the narrative takes hold, with candid Taylor and the viewer sitting at opposite sides of the spectrum. Leslie's next moves are all obligatory as we assist him in picking out a target group of victims, a convenient location where to massacre them and a proper anchor for his legend. Thanks to a well-rounded cast of supporting characters, including a retired slasher (Scott Wilson) and his survivor girlfriend, a Loomis-like investigator played by Robert Englund and an elderly librarian played by Zelda Rubinstein, the pieces of the puzzle slowly fall into place, making the prelude to a gory massacre a wholly enjoyable, convivial experience. Not realizing what they're truly in for, the three reporters partake in the whole operation with a certain measure of glee. But that glee quickly evaporates once the killing starts and they finally see themselves for what they are, namely the willing accomplices of a killer about to slaughter innocent high school students.
While it cleverly dabbles in the common grounds of the slasher sub-genre, thanks in part to a two-tier method of storytelling that mixes subjective shots taken from the reporters' cameras and atmosphere-heavy theatrical shots, the film also covers the academic debate surrounding the legitimacy of the genre as a symbolic mode of representation. But it does so in such a level-headed way as to obliterate the verbose of essayists for the greater satisfaction of the common people. "She's empowering herself with cock", says Leslie of the slasher heroine reaching for a long slashing weapon in one of the casual interviews to which he is subjected. While this is obvious to anyone who has the slightest interest in psychoanalysis, the wording used here brings the entire theory to street level. And it does so not only as a superficial reflection on the sub-genre, but as part of a complex narrative canvas that prefigures the end of the ideological dead-end stemming from rigidly psychoanalytical readings of slasher films. Because while it exposes the mechanics of sexual symbolism within the genre, it does so in regards to a caricature. The symbolic imagery it uses might be quite explicit, such as the alley in the orchard representing the vaginal passage through which the heroine is "born again" (a pun made famous by Peter Jackson in Bad Taste), but it is only so in order to draw attention to the automatic conclusions stemming from the mindless adherence to psychoanalytical interpretation. As such, it is a welcome remedy to the bitter and often self-defeating academic debate concerning the legitimacy of horror.
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| Through casual discussion, Behind the Mask bares not only the serial killer, but also the scholarly detractors of the horror genre. |
Obviously, the slasher film is a fairly transparent affair as it proceeds from a set of prefabricated characters and situations, making its dissection a slightly dubious feat. Fortunately, the film finds additional depth in its appraisal of documentary cinema and its crucial ethical implications, especially in regards to non-intervention. Explored earlier in C'est arrivé près de chez vous (1992), another film starring young filmmakers who befriend a vicious serial killer, this idea of non-intervention under fire is constantly relevant here, as Leslie's actions are becoming increasingly reprehensible as the narrative unfolds. That idea has actually obsessed filmmakers since the beginning of the last century, when the first cameras were taken to the battlefields of Europe. Are documentary filmmakers mere witnesses of the action (like the flies on the wall idealized by a certain current of direct cinema) or are they part of it? When given the opportunity to save lives, are they morally obliged to do so, or is their testimony too valuable? In the present context, this question is essential as the need to unbolt the slasher mythos is constantly at odds with the necessity to prevent the slasher's actions. It even provides the crucial plot twist necessary to propel the narrative into its gory final act. This happens when Leslie slips out of Taylor's frame and murders his first two victims, the muffled moans of which are accompanied on the soundtrack by typically clunky, outrageous stabbing sounds. We don't get to see the actual slashing, but we can imagine it quite easily. At this point is when the film crew finally dissociates itself from Leslie's actions by joining the side of heroes, thus emerging from their stupor and doing "the right thing". Consequently, the film's aesthetics change to accommodate the change in philosophy, dropping the subjective camera for the horror camera, and allowing the film to organically end in true slasher fashion. So the film ultimately proves to be not only a relevant meditation on both the horror and documentary genres, but a brilliant intertextual interpretation of those two genres. Quite a commendable feat for such a lowbrow effort.
(The following paragraph contains spoilers.)
Brilliant intertextual interpretations aside, the film also makes a revolutionary contribution to the slasher sub-genre by highlighting a typically underplayed aspect thereof, namely the love story between the psychotic killer and the survivor girl, further proving its under-appreciated tragic nature. Aside from the fact that his mentor, a crotchety retired killer, is living with a loving survivor girl, Leslie's own infatuation with Taylor provides a powerfully endearing ending that seems to redeem the entire sub-genre. Usually, the murderous slasher is a sexually deviant individual plagued by an unhealthy fixation for the female protagonist, his murderous endeavor being a mere last ditch effort to compensate for his sexual shortcomings. But what if that killer was a clever, gallant gentleman with a genuine desire to liberate the heroine? Then, you'd suddenly have a respectable outlet for the unrequited love of inadequate men. Luckily, Leslie is just that kind of killers. In one of the later scenes of the film, he is seen putting the finishing touches on his costume under the watchful eye of an oblivious Taylor. With Midnight, the Stars and You playing on a cranky gramophone in the background, he suddenly starts shedding tears of joy as he envisions the breadth of his final gift to Taylor. Clumsily trying to comfort Leslie, it is her who eventually makes this a truly romantic scene, freezing their wondrous embrace in time. And thus the film introduces a radical new interpretation of the murderous slasher. Desperately infatuated with the survivor girl, he is actually a romantic soul willing to viciously murder people and ultimately sacrifice himself for her sake, allowing her subsequent liberation from the shackles of uncertainty, doubt and fear. This makes him a selfless, noble and eminently tragic character. But most importantly, it makes him something that critics rarely see in him, namely a true lover of women.
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| What better anchor into the world of horror than an elderly Zelda Rubinstein? |
Behind the Mask is somewhat of a cool oddity: a clever hybrid of the documentary and horror genres. It was a tough gamble to make, but I must say that director Glosserman passes the test with flying colors. He is obviously a very savvy film connoisseur who perfectly understands the symbolic power of cinema, lovingly framing horror icons Robert Englund and Zelda Rubinstein and combining the main tenets of both genres in an explosion of intellectual brilliance. And despite its scholarly appeal, the result remains sufficiently lowbrow to please any film fan, no matter his personal preferences. A total success by any stretch of the imagination.
4/5 This cleverly self-reflexive documentary slasher should appeal to any film fan, no matter their creed.
