This Horror Life

I know I’m not imagining things. It happens far too often for it to be some false connection in my mind. It bothers me a lot; enough to take me out of otherwise entertaining horror films and possibly prevent me from connecting again.

 Why do horror filmmakers hate the police? I can see justification for showing incompetence. Horror is larger than life: when the rules of regular life, law and enforcement, fail to reconcile the situation, what else can be relied on? But why are they so frequently becoming the secondary villain? I don’t see how that enhances the story in the least bit.

Case in point: Quarantine. An enjoyable remake, even if it is mostly shot for shot from the Spanish film [Rec]. I’d recommend watching both, to be honest, because they reflect different cultures in vastly different ways though the premise and actions are mostly identical.

 A major reason I like Quarantine is the reflection of the tensions between different action agencies in the United States. Firefighters, Police Officers, Military: they don’t always get along. During big emergencies, their jobs overlap and everyone is bucking for power. It’s almost territorial, and, to me, a big issue in procedures today.

But the film turned me off whenever the LAPD officer was portrayed as corrupt. Someone isn’t following his orders (known in real life as a punishable crime, but horror films (and film in general) ignore that) when it’s crucial to, his next action is always to point the gun in their face or assault them (known as corruption in real life, not standard procedure). I ask why? What does this do to enhance the film? Make people feel justified in hating police officers? Perpetuate an us versus them mentality that only serves to impede justice in the US system? How does this help make a film scary? Suspenseful? Thought provoking? Entertaining?

To a certain extent, police have to be ineffectual in horror films. The victim must bring their own justice or die trying. That doesn’t mean that every police officer must be viewed as corrupt. It disgusts me.

But maybe that’s just me.

And please, if you do comment, I ask you not to try the tired “But it’s what the news shows” argument. News is about ratings and money. “Good Cop Saves the Day” or “Good Cop Gives Directions to Confused Citizen” don’t make for controversial stories. “Corrupt Officer Unloads Gun [at man who attempted to shoot him in the face for apprehending him but we won’t tell you that part because that justifies police action and would make you support them]” sells papers and keeps viewers watching. Police officers doing the right thing isn’t considered newsworthy in America; therefore, much of their actual work is ignored for flashy stories that paint them as villains.

This is not the point of the post. Please stick to fictional horror film police officers. Thank you.

A quick diversion, to start. If you are a member of IMDB, I strongly encourage you to participate in the second Horror Board Book Club reading. The selection for the month is Something Wicked This Way Comes by Ray Bradbury and should certainly stir up some interesting comments.

Which ties in directly to the meat of the post.

Embarrassed by the YA label and “Children’s Reading Room” stamp on my local library’s copy of Something Wicked…, I opted to buffer the reaction of the new crop of the librarians - far too familiar with my grab a bizarre horror novel, a genre short story collection, and a literary classic - by borrowing lost boy lost girl by Peter Straub. A wise choice, considering I am struggling to put it down in the face of a large stack of academic (re)reading I must complete for Monday.

Then I looked at a quote in the dust jacket that left me perplexed: “…Peter Straub affirms once again that he is the master of literary horror.”

This is the first time I’ve encountered the phrase “literary horror,” and to be quite honest, I hope it’s the last. Much like so-called “literary fiction,” “literary horror” is designed to create an almost us versus them dilemma within the horror genre.

Considering the general reaction of literary press to horror, attempting to justify approval of a certain variety of horror seems inexcusable to me. Why create the distinction at all? Shouldn’t all good horror be considered well-written if it accomplishes what it set out to do? What would actually define literary horror? A few well-placed semi-colons and a dispensation of vocabulary that would leave the most well read among us to scramble for our dictionaries?

Perhaps the part I dislike the most about “literary” in this context is the poor use of the term. Literary is defined from literature and refers to the nature of books and writing. Literature itself either means the combination of form and substance in writing or all writing printed in a particular language. It’s clear that “literary” is used to distinguish what some consider the highest quality of writing, but it’s also an insult to other writers not considered worthy of the demarcation.

Am I trying to claim all written works are created equal? Absolutely not. But this “literary horror” distinction seems to be one of the newer steps in downplaying the merit of horror. It’s the same way a horror film will suddenly be credited as a thriller or drama in the face of award season buzz. It’s an admittedly clever workaround to pretend that horror, as a whole, has no value to society. This is the kind of rhetoric that makes me want this site to work so much.

Questions? Comments? Concerns? Post them below.