For the
past few weeks, I've been talking about horror, and you can't really talk about horror
without talking about John Carpenter. And you can't really talk about John Carpenter
without talking about The Thing.
While it scared the generation before me with its hulking, brainless, apparently unstoppable and obviously communist incarnation, I have much fonder memories and attitudes towards this Thing. At least this movie isn't as mind numbingly anti-intellectual. Plus, this movie has by far the better opening sequence.
A Norwegian helicopter chases a husky across the ice fields of Antarctica. Chasing the husky into an American research camp (nobody bothers to tell us what is being researched, but oh well) gets both helicopter passengers killed. The dog, being a dog, is taken in by our intrepid Americans, while a small contingent of the research personnel departs to the Norwegian's camp. Maybe they have something to say for themselves.
Resident doctor, (who's name I can't remember, we'll get to that later) and helicopter pilot MacReady (Kurt Russell) arrive at the camp . . . or what's left of it . . . and find only frozen bodies and smashed equipment. And one of the bodies doesn't even look human. So, of course, they cart that one back to camp.
While resident scientist, Blair (no, not the Witch; Wilford Brimley, the Quaker Oats guy), does some experiments, the dog (after running loose around the base for an entire day) is put into the base kennel, where it finally drops the cloak and dagger stuff and reveals it's true nature.
Yes, the dog is The Thing, and this ain't no slouching, Tor Johnson look-alike Carrot Man, oh no. This bad boy is one of the most disgusting creatures in genre history; a shape shifter that absorbs genetic information and mimics whatever it absorbs. And, thanks to a masterful performance by the special FX crew, it goes about this absorption in the slimiest way possible.
Luckily, The Thing is hardly inconspicuous, and MacReady, along with flame-thrower wielding Token Black Dude, Childs (Keith David, our old buddy from Spawn) make short work of it. Well . . . most of it. The hell of it is, pieces of the Thing can break off from the center mass whenever they so choose. Soon, everyone is looking at everyone else suspiciously.
Okay, custom dictates, so here's the bad stuff first. It may be based on a story from 1938, but The Thing's plot holes are 100%, pure 1980s Horror Movie. Splitting up in a Horror flick is always dumb, but in this situation, everybody gets extra points on the Stupidity O' Meter. Why do they keep splitting up? Why do they keep cutting themselves off from the group voluntarily? Is their will to survive that low?
Darwinism at work, man. You gotta love the 80s.
Well, actually, I don't. Because here comes another hallmark of 1980s Horror: no
characterization. None. We're supposed to sympathize with the plight of these poor
bastards, and, really, who can't? Who hasn't been afraid that their neighbor, or their
teacher, or their best friend is something other then what he appears to be? Probably
something worse then what he appears to be. Ya think?
And that's the appeal of this story. That's why it's survived 70 years. The fear of The Other, the evil, unnamable Thing that comes from Somewhere Else, whether it calls itself the Germans or the dirty, rotten, evil, monster, pinko, commies (go USA!) is always present. Following closely on its heels is the fear that The Other from Somewhere Else will take over Us and (horror of horrors) Our Stuff! It's been prevalent in every human society since humans stopped being nomads, 'round about an eon ago. It's the universal concept of The Thing that makes it so damn creepy on that deep, reptile brain level that just makes you want to scratch the back of your neck and stare suspiciously at the person next to you.
None of which changes the fact that these characters are paper. No, I can't even say that, because paper has too many dimensions. Bill Lancaster's script doesn't waste time with "sympathy" or "character development" or "personification," and in a movie like this, it really kills the suspense. People need names so we can tell who they are, and we can know just who the hell a character is talking about when he asks, "Where's (insert name here)?"
Everyone here is a poor, scared, paranoid SOB, and that's all. I guess we're supposed to identify with Kurt Russell because he's . . . ya know, Kurt Russell. And it's . . . ya know, a John Carpenter flick.
That it is, and Carpenter is obviously the one behind the camera. The old master is using all his little tricks to try and scare the crap out of us. Mostly it's light and shadow, detail and non-detail, and the ever-present wind screaming in the background. That, plus some kick ass cinematography by Dean Cundey works full time to creep your ass out, just in case the special effects weren't doing it already.
And these FX are some sick, sick stuff, man. If you still can't watch The Fly then you're gonna be working overtime to keep that pizza down. So if you've got a strong stomach, and a need to be scared by something other then today's guest on Jerry Springer . . . well, you know.
A Happy Halloween to you and yours. Keep the bonfires burning. Who knows, you might even see me out there.
