Object #75 - Speargun - Friday the 13th Part III (1982)

Dir. Steve Miner

I went into Friday the 13th Part III knowing Jason Voorhees (Richard Baker) would finally don the iconic hockey mask. Naturally, I thought this would be the object in question to discuss, as it's one of those rare objects in film which is ubiquitous with Jason himself. Hockey masks were never the same once they became tied to the slasher villain, being now a cold, but unique mask covering the disfigured face of the brutal, child-minded killer. Unfortunately however, it's clear in Part III that the film crew didn't realise how iconic the reveal of Jason wearing the mask would go on to be.

The moment comes 60 minutes into a 95 minute film, after Jason has already escaped police capture and murdered his way through the inhabitants of Higgins Haven, as well as visiting young campers. The dweeby, practical joker Shelley (Larry Zerner), is the owner of the mask, who uses it as part of an underwater prank on friend Vera (Catherine Parks). She's relaxing next to the lake, and Shelley grabs her leg from under the murky water, revealing his masked face. Vera rebuffs him, telling him that she'd like him more if he wasn't such an idiot, with him responding that being an idiot is being better than a nobody. It's typical for this franchise, the woes of young campers who just want to sleep with each other while holidaying. 

Unfortunately for Shelley, he is soon after dispatched by Jason in the boathouse. We never see Jason take the mask, but nonetheless he appears, now masked, slowly walking out onto the pier. Vera's wading to recover Shelley's lost wallet, and here Jason appears, holding a speargun. Vera doesn't know him, and tells him to leave her alone, with Jason responding by dispassionately raising the gun, and firing the spear, straight down the camera. We cut to the spear impaling the shocked Vera in the eye, as she falls into the lake, slowly sinking. Jason drops the now empty speargun to the ground, turns, and...slowly walks away. 

I don't want to criticise Richard Baker's performance, as throughout the rest of the film he brings that beefy menace to Jason that would go on to be so iconic. However the angle of the shot, which follows Jason as he walks back to the boathouse does the masked killer no favours. His outfit, from this angle, alongside Baker's walk, do not paint a picture of an insane killer, but rather a middle-aged man nonchalantly walking through the park! I'm not being critical of the intent. I think the intent of portraying Jason as a cold, detached killer is admirable, as he's clearly unaffected by murdering Vera. But this nonchalant nature utterly dampens what would otherwise be an iconic moment of horror cinema.

Instead of cutting after the kill, or having Jason menacingly walk (as he does in later films), we have this lackadaisical saunter to the house, which does not inspire fear in any way. It's disappointing with the eyes of history that the iconic reveal of the now masked Jason flounders due to a poor performance choice, and unflattering camera angles. The kill itself is well done, as are most within the film, numbering high within the franchise for number of on-screen kills.

 The 3D nature of the film, which is lent into heavily throughout, is also present here as the spear is shot straight into the camera, making you imagine how theatre-goers at the time must have recoiled, or laughed at the campy effect. It's truly endemic of what Part III is going for - inventive kills, creepy killer, 3D fun. But the moment ends on a cheap feeling, and an unintentionally funny note with Jason's walk to the boathouse. For that reason, it doesn't feel right for me to select the mask as the object for the blog, at least from this film from the Friday the 13th franchise. Perhaps one of the later films (which I've yet to see) will really sell how the mask can be used to instil fear. For Part III, it has to be the speargun for encapsulating the main problem with an otherwise iconic scene. 

As not to end on a bum note, I just want to convey how brilliant the actual ending of Part III is, particularly as the trilogy-ender it was designed to be. Chris (Dana Kimmell), the final girl of the film, had dispatched Jason with an axe to the head. She pushes a canoe into the lake to escape from his body, collapsing from exhaustion. In what we learn to be a dream sequence, the film teases the audiences with potential closers to the film. Each previous Friday film has toyed with the image of the canoe on the lake, where the first film ended with the final girl being pulled under by the supernaturally alive, and rotten body of the young Jason.

 In Part III this shock-scare is teased as various noises scare Chris, as we expect something to rise from the lake. Instead, this expectation is subverted as Chris sees Jason, now resurrected for the second time in the window of the house. She panics, and Jason runs down onto the shore, where he disappears, thus making us think that Chris is simply hallucinating out of grief. Then, in a double-twist, the rotten corpse of Jason's mother (Marilyn Poucher), the killer of the first film, rises from the lake and drags Chris down. This twisted reprise of the first film is revealed to be part of a dream sequence, as Jason is shown to still be dead with an axe in his head, and Chris is taken away by the police, mind addled by grief and shock. The final shot of the film shows the still lake, indicating that the danger has indeed passed, and the trilogy has come to a close. 

I loved this entire sequence, as it is only enhanced by the knowledge from later films that Jason does often return, resurrected from the grave for one last shock. The presence of Jason's mother, and the nature of her surprise return, is a wonderful tip of the hat to the first film, and gives one last reminder that it is family dysfunction which is at the heart of Jason (and indeed Pamela's) compulsion to kill. This sort of inter-franchise playfulness goes a long way, beyond the normally inventive kills, to convey how much fun the filmmakers are having with the concept, and in this case, that fun is felt by the audience as well.    

Object #74 - Portrait - The Haunted Palace (1963)

Dir. Roger Corman

The Roger Corman AIM (American International Pictures) films, usually based on and named after a particular work of Edgar Allen Poe, are horror classics. However, they are odd classics as they don't serve much insightful commentary, as the likes of Get Out or Dawn of the Dead do, being rather vehicles for Vincent Price to chew fantastically-designed scenery. In your mind, where films reside as echoes and shadows after being viewed, the Corman films tend to be remembered for locations, sets, and Price's shenanigans within them, rather than the message they invoke, or even the scares you might have felt.

To a modern audience, there is little of actual fright to be had in viewing these films, as like Poe's stories, they deal less in making you jump, and more in making you despair. Corman adapts them into entertaining, enjoyable yarns, but interestingly in The Haunted Palace, despite being nominally named after a Poe poem, it is in fact H.P. Lovecraft's The Case of Charles Dexter Ward which is adapted. Lovecraft's horror deals more with creatures beyond human comprehension, often idolised by cults, offering sacrifices and women to mate with these unearthly creatures. In The Haunted Palace, it is Price's Joseph Curwen who acts as a necromancer or warlock, offering women from the local village to a caged monstrous demon, one which lies under his manner home. 

Curwen, who is burned alive for his actions by the villagers, promises a curse on the families of the villagers for generations to come. Now in the 19th century, Charles Dexter Ward (Vincent Price), the descendent of Curwen, returns with his wife (Debra Paget) to their inherited home, the manner/mansion of Curwen. We see that Curwen's curse has had an effect on the denizens of the town, as blind, disfigured children walk the streets, or are hidden in barred rooms. 

Within the dusty palace, above the mantle-place is a portrait of the original Joseph Curwen. The similarity of likeness between Curwen and Ward is commented upon by himself and his wife, as well as the villagers, who fear that his evil has returned. From his arrival, Ward appears to have a knowledge of the mansion, and slowly-but-surely it becomes apparent that Curwen is actually possessing Ward's body, in essence, returning to life to finish what he had began. Aiding Curwen are the similarly possessed descendants of his servants. 

The portrait itself is presented multiple times throughout the film, as Curwen's striking features seem to probe malevolence outwards. Here then, in a similar manner to Poe works such as The Fall of the House of Usher, also filmed by Corman starring Price, we see the past return and negatively influence the present. In The Haunted Palace, this literally occurs as Ward is possessed by his ancestor, and made to do horrific things. Such things include: attempting to rape Anne, Ward's wife; murdering the descendants of those villagers which burned him alive, often through the use of their own deformed children; and finally, a direct repetition of the past, as the possessed Ward offers Anne to the Elder God residing under the mansion. 

The horror of Lovecraft and Poe, where the past can never be forgotten, always returning to effect the present no matter how long it has lain dormant (see The Call of Cthulu where the eponymous Elder God sleeps awaiting a call to awake and wreak terror upon the Earth) is a strong streak of horror. I daresay in 2018 it is apparent that particular evils of the past, in particular fascism and xenophobia, have arisen anew, both within older generations and the younger. Therefore perhaps the creaky horror or The Haunted Palace isn't as outdated as it first appears.

Unfortunately however, unlike The Haunted Palace there is no easy fix. In the film, the solution of the past is required once again to break the hold of the past over the present. The villagers rally and burn the entire mansion down. In doing so, the portrait of Curwen is destroyed, allowing Ward's presence to return. In razing the physical remnants of the past, the past's negative influence is removed. If we apply the analogy to the rise of fascism, then unfortunately the repeated historical solution would be a world war against an organised fascist party - a road that is unbearable to even contemplate. 

The film appears to make-out that the portrait was what held the malignant spirit of Curwen, a concept best known to many in Voldermort's Horcruxes, which physically hold parts of a distorted soul. However the film crescendos with the reveal that Ward may not be free of Curwen's influence, as Price turns to the camera, his face pale with the possession of Curwen. Unfortunately, I think this undermines the message of the film, as it appears more as a playful tease to allow the viewing audience to leave the cinema (or wherever they view the film) with a knowing laugh. 

However, it may belie a darker message, one where the past cannot simply be burned away, and the evils spirits of the past have the ability to continue on. Here the allegory of that message is strengthened by Ward being an ancestor of that same evil, as the past overcomes a once normal, average man. In real-world terms, I'm afraid that this possessive power is not fantastical, as some people today fall into the same psychological traps that allowed evil to rise in a new, horrific way back in the 1930s and the 1940s. I mentioned Get Out earlier, which managed to act as a contemporary warning of the repeated horrors of the past, many of which don't seem to have left at all, only laying dormant, or transformed into 'new' versions of the same evil. The Haunted Palace addressed similar themes but in a much more direct, fantastical way. The seemingly outdated horror of the Corman era may not have fright, but it certainly still has a bite.      

Object #73 - Mirror - Eyes Without a Face (1960)

Dir. Georges Franju 

"The eyes are the window to the soul". 

In Eyes Without a Face, we are presented with the tale of Christiane (Edith Scob). She, a victim of a car-crash perpetrated by her father (Pierre Brasseur) has been left disfigured. Her father, a pioneering plastic surgeon specialising in skin grafting, has attempted to graft the face of a kidnapped local student onto his daughter. As we are introduced to Christiane, she is face-down in a pillow, depressed and in anguish, the surgery a failure, leaving her face as disfigured as it ever was. An assistant to her father, Louise (Alida Valli) attempts to comfort Christiane, and stresses that she should wear her mask. The mask, completely plain of features beyond a nose and lips, allows us to view Christiane's eyes. They have not been impacted by the crash, it is only through her eyes that we are able to see Christiane behind the mask. 

Eyes Without a Face is a cold film, lit starkly throughout, with the mansion home of Dr. Genessier a modernised Frankenstein's castle. A basement of caged stray dogs, a clinical surgical room, and large empty rooms, occupied only by Christiane, her father, and Louise. In the introductory scene to Christiane, she bemoans to her father that all the mirrors within the house have been removed or blacked-out. Christiane knows she has been left hideous, and catches reflections in the window of her true visage. Her father is established throughout as being driven by success, and controls his environment. Late in the film, Christiane again bemoans the fact that even on the road, her father has to be domineering, thereby causing the crash which has impacted her life. 

None of the main trio are innocent however. Dr. Genessier, flawed in personality, works with Louise to kidnap young students so that he may operate on them, removing their faces, leading one (Juliette Mayniel) to suicide as she realises her sorrowful state. Louise, who we learn is in debt to Dr. Genessier for fixing her face in the past, entraps young women - specifically targeting lonely, pretty students looking for accommodation. Christine herself goes along with the surgeries, and in a key scene, observes and strokes the face of the soon-to-be-victim. Each is flawed in different ways: the Dr., ego-driven and obsessive; Louise, free of empathy; and Christine, apathetic to the horror that befell her being forced onto other women. 

The controlling nature of Dr. Genessier is best expressed to me in his removal of the mirrors throughout the house. We see one, blacked out in the background of a scene, and in a later scene, Christiane sneaks into the surgery, viewing her face at last. By removing this self-reflective ability, the Dr. is denying her daughter the ability to come to terms with her disfigurement. It's clear from his behaviour that he feels ashamed, less so for the act of disfiguring his daughter, but rather in his inability to successfully graft a face which does not succumb to necrosis. His control of the mirrors is less the empathetic hiding of potential emotional distress from Christiane, but rather a means of disallowing Christiane from getting used to her 'new' disfigured face, as he is confident she will soon have a fixed one due to his work.

Christiane's mask therefore acts as a symbol of this patriarchal, familial oppression. Her eyes, remarkably expressive due to the superb acting of Edith Scob, inform everyone who witnesses her (including us as viewers) of the emotional pain she is suffering. We see in her eyes how she deals with her loss of innocence in allowing the morally horrific surgeries to take place, and indeed the plight she has been forced into by her father's actions, both by the crash, the effect on her face, and the ongoing surgeries. The accident has removed much from Christiane, but not the ability for empathy to be felt, as her eyes, the window to her soul, remain intact. 

Indeed, during the graphic scenes of surgery we see how her father cuts around the eyes of the victims. This practical act stands as another symbol of identity, as we are left to ponder how one's identity can be physically stolen by surgery, but is spiritually un-tampered by being leaving the eyes un-tampered. However, as we see in Christiane, this is false, as the eyes reflect the corruption of the soul by this cold, violent act. The victim we do see awakes with eyes peering from a bandaged face, as she panics and is hugely distressed, leading to her escape by leaping from a top-floor window, killing herself. Christiane's eyes are corrupted by her internal struggle, which reaches a climax as she frees the potential second victim (Béatrice Altariba), and rejects everything that has been done to her and the victims, by stabbing Louise in the neck, directly through the surgical scars of Louise's past. 

Throughout the film, there are parallels between Christiane and the stray dogs fostered by the Dr.. In one scene, Dr. Genessier laments how people abandon dogs after they grow up and become less cute, still requiring food, care, and attention. He jokes that the raising of the dog is the hardest part, and abandoning them half-way through their life seems a waste. Does this reflect his views on Christiane? Like a sunk-cost fallacy, he has raised his daughter, put a lot of work into the surgeries to fix her, stooped to moral lows - so he can't stop now. The Dr. operates on the dogs, wishing he had better stock to use. 

After the stabbing of Louise, Christiane frees the caged animals, as the dogs escape and maul her father to death, ironically leaving his face disfigured. Christiane leaves the mansion she herself had been caged in, with a dove on her shoulder, a symbol of innocence freed. She is escaping her past, her father, and now embraces a new life of moral purity. For now, she continues to wear the mask, allowing her eyes to express the innocent beauty that was inside her all along. Unlike the famous Phantom of the Opera, whose mask hid monstrous behaviour as well as physical disfigurement, Christiane's mask will hide physical disfigurement, but crucially not a spiritual one. A new spirit borne from the violent killing of Louise and Dr. Genessier, a new rebirth from violence; but unlike the violent car accident, she is this time free from the controlling influence of her father. The film becomes therefore a fantasy, a fairy tale of a young girl in a castle, escaping her controlling father, and becoming a new woman, free as a bird.  

In these terms, we see how the film bares similarity to older horror, such as that of the 19th century. The modern surgical context belies the fact that Louise and the Doctor act, vampire-like, to kidnap young girls to a castle, where their life is sacrificed to benefit others. Beauty is physically stolen to replace the monstrous, like young blood sustaining vampiric everlasting life. The surgery itself a Frankenstein process of imbuing dead tissue with life, here by physically grafting skin from one body to another. However, the process is temporary, as the graft fails and decays, leading to further violence having to be enacted. Life cannot be perverted in such a way. Christiane exemplified the difficulty, but correct response, to embrace the hallmarks of near-death, and while robbed of physical beauty, use it to enrich a stronger spiritual purity. Perverting it with violence, as her father does, on the other hand can only lead to failure, exemplified by the surgical failures, and his violent death by the fangs of his caged animals.

Such themes are presented and modernised by Eyes Without a Face, and go on to be echoed in films such as Frankenheimer's Seconds, or Almodovar's The Skin I Live In. In Seconds, the theme of stolen identity is rooted in ennui, rather than trauma; and even in action films like Woo's Face/Off we see how stolen identity can serve themes such as revenge, duty, and family. Like mirrors, the same subject matter can be reflected in different ways, be it via plot, direction, or even genre. Eyes Without a Face however, nearly 60 years after its release, endures as a classic of horror as it imbues what could have been a simple horror-shocker with deeper themes of identity, control, and morality.