New Jupiter Ascending Trailer.

Wachowskis go Space Opera, featuring Mila Kunis and Sean Bean? Count me in.

300: Freedom, Underdogs, ‘Murica.

I could write a thousand words or so on how the film 300 is a retelling of an age old Western myth filtered through the lens of the American founding myth of a war for independence with the British Empire. Or I could just share this hilarious Robot Chicken clip:

Hulk: From Oedipal Rage to Zen Self-Actualization.

I want to share with you the cinematic journey of one of Marvel’s most loved heroes: the tortured Jekyll and Hyde green monster that is the Hulk/Bruce Banner. To date, there have been 3 films in which he appears (not counting TV movies.) These films are semi-related to each other in terms of canon and as a result, also semi-related in terms of theme. Let us explore how Hulk develops over these films.

The first film, simply entitled Hulk is an (in my opinion) underrated, overly-ambitious vision by Ang Lee. Like a band’s self-titled debut album, the Hulk’s first adventure is free of any goofy epithets. Hulk is a film for the 21^st century, a gritty reboot in a time of gritty reboots – one of the first actually, which may explain the growing pains on display in the film. The film is a serious, sobering take on this otherwise quite ridiculous giant green monster character that truly attempts to be literary and meaningful. Unfortunately, the film is quite muddled and Ang Lee suffers from some serious setbacks in trying to take the comic book form to new artistic heights. Sometimes, it’s a poignant, sombre look at the tragic figure of Bruce Banner and the monstrous, destructive alter-ego he is afflicted with. Other times, it has Hulk facing off against a giant mutant poodle. It’s also quite boring and lifeless at times for a movie about a giant green monster. It would be a few years before comic book films would be solidified in popular culture as potentially serious art thanks to The Dark Knight.

In this film, Bruce Banner’s tragic family origins are revealed to the audience as we learn that his father (a mad scientist) killed his mother by stabbing her when Bruce was only a child. Even worse, the knife was actually meant for Bruce, as his father believed the boy was dangerously infected with the results of his own experiments. Bruce’s father was working on manipulating human genetics in order to heal soldiers. When his dangerous experiments are shut down by the military, he sets out to destroy the monster he created, in a twisted Oedipal take on the Frankenstein story. The fatal stabbing of his mother happened right in front of Bruce, messing him up for life; as only witnessing your father kill your mother accidentally whilst trying to kill you can. Pretty dark for a Super Hero story, right? He was going to need some serious therapy.

Father: Fear. Perhaps, Miss Ross. And loneliness, too. Yes. I feel them both. But I have lived completely once. I was so much in love. And she so much wanted a baby. My baby. I could tell from the moment she conceived that it wasn’t a son I had given her, but something else. A monster, maybe. I should have put a stop to it right then, but I was curious, and that was my downfall. And as I watched this tiny life unfold, I began to imagine the horror of it, and my curiosity was replaced with compassion. But they took away my chance to cure him. Your father threw me out. I remember that day so well. Every moment. Every sensation. Walking into the house. The feeling of the handle of the knife in my hand. I knew I was doing a father’s work, fulfilling a father’s mercy… but then she surprised me. It was as if she and the knife merged. You cannot imagine the unbearable finality of it. And in that one moment, I took everything that was dear to me and transformed it into nothing more than a memory.

It’s only later that Bruce is involved in the gamma radiation accident that famously created his monstrous other-half: The Hulk. Ang Lee’s version of the Bruce Banner/Hulk relationship is an underrated retelling of the age old Oedipus complex theme. Here, part of what created Hulk wasn’t just the gamma radiation accident, but rather the results of his father’s experiments passed to Bruce through his DNA and given full fruition by his exposure to the radiation.

Betty Ross: [after witnessing Bruce transform, and then transform back] Oh, God. It must be the nanomeds. It must be the gamma exposure. But we’ve never seen any effect like this before.

Bruce Banner: No. Deeper. The gamma just unleashed what was already there.

Betty Ross: Unleashed what?

Bruce Banner: Me. It.

We begin to see that Bruce is gradually losing control of himself, and becoming more like the raging Hulk monster. This uncontrollable rage is directed at and unleashed by his father, becoming an Oedipal rage. The Hulk monster becomes a metaphor for the pain and anger that poor Bruce feels over his repressed memories of his mother’s death at the hands of his father and the lingering daddy issues he has kept locked away whilst focusing on his genius research into nanomeds – a similar area of research to his father’s. What happens of course when feelings are repressed is that they eventually break free in violent and destructive tendencies. In film and literature, these tend to be metaphors, such as werewolves and other monsters that mirror what the character is going through. In this way, Hulk is almost a horror movie. Whilst not particularly scary, it certainly doesn’t feel like a comic book film for kids.

In my article on the Spider-Man films, I wrote about how many of the villains in the series represent patriarchal figures trying to go beyond what nature/God has ordained for them by attempting obtain Peter Parker’s youthful virility for themselves. Here, the Oedipus symbolism is much more overt and intentional.

Dr. David Banner: And what have I done to my son, Miss Ross? Nothing. I tried to improve on the limits in myself. Myself, not him. Can you understand? To improve on nature, MY nature, knowledge of one’s self. It’s the only path to the truth that gives men the power to go beyond God’s boundaries.

The film’s narrative follows Bruce’s destructive meltdowns as he begins to unravel psychologically. His romantic interest Betty Ross tries to help him whilst her father, a military general tries to contain him, and understandably wants to keep his daughter away from this dangerously unstable man. The plot moves toward its inevitable conclusion: Bruce’s final confrontation with his father. Just to highlight this, Ang Lee has them both imprisoned by the military, Betty’s father has Bruce and his dad tied to chairs with a big spotlight on them; essentially forcing a meeting that Bruce must have fantasised about much of his life.

Bruce learns that his father has powers of his own but that they are far more unstable, and his dad wants Bruce’s “power” for himself.

“now son listen to me…my cells can transform too, absorb enormous amounts of energy, but unlike you they’re unstable. Son, I need your strength. I gave you life, now you must give it back to me!”

To him, Bruce is just like one of his mutant dogs – simply a thrall that he gave life to and his to command, not a person in his own right. The final fight scene between Bruce and his dad is a chaotic scene of beautiful, fractured, mosaic-like imagery; harking back to the Greek tragedy it draws its thematic undercurrent from.


Despite containing a visual poetry, it is a bit confusing and not very satisfying. When people go to see the Hulk, they expect a very physical character who will punch his way to victory, rather than the abstract battle that is fought at this film’s climax. Interestingly, Bruce’s father attempts to literally steal his son’s power for himself, but ultimately can’t handle it and is defeated somewhat anti-climatically when Bruce’s unleashed power overwhelms him.

Dr. David Banner: [absorbing Hulk’s energy] Sleep, Bruce, and dream forever. Struggle no more… and give me all of your power.

Bruce Banner: You think you can live with it? Take it! TAKE IT ALL!

And so, Bruce Banner has defeated his abusive father and experienced a catharsis of patricidal rage.

The next instalment in the Hulk cinematic journey is the sort-of-reboot The Incredible Hulk. The epithets are back this time around as we are given a much more typical Hollywood action movie affair that is a sort of sequel. It takes place years after Bruce’s transformation and wisely doesn’t reference it much. Bruce is now hiding out in Brazil, working on a cure for his affliction, both through research and breathing exercises meant to calm him down.

He is a tortured soul, now played by Edward Norton, who portrays this kind of character with ease. General Ross continues to hunt down Bruce, sending one of his top men named Emil Blonsky to take him down. Later, Blonsky gets hold of some of Banner’s blood and a recently developed super soldier serum. Obsessed with power (sound familiar?) he uses this to turn himself into “Abomination” a mutant of similar stature and strength to the Hulk. Banner/Hulk must take him down, which this time leads to a straight up brawl. So Hulk ends up defeating what is essential an evil mirror image of himself, which like his maniacal father represents what Bruce fears his anger may lead him to become.

The film is a perfectly forgettable action movie that fulfils audience expectations. Something a lot of people have missed is the post credits sequence, in which a smug looking Bruce seems to have learned to control his powers. This is how he is able to transform seemingly at will in the Avengers.

Now, Hulk has had his somewhat successful comic book action movie, and has faced his anger; coming out the other side in one piece.

Hulk’s third appearance in film is in Marvel’s Avengers: Assemble. In this film, Hulk is a self-actualized version of himself. Bruce Banner is working as a doctor in Calcutta before being recruited into the Avengers team. Far removed from his monstrous first outing, the Hulk in this film is more of a jolly green giant. Used largely for laughs in his action sequences, he easily got the biggest audience reactions in the film and his popularity has skyrocketed since. Bruce loses control in the beginning of the movie due to Loki’s trickery and magic, but later on he transforms at will with controlled anger (“that’s my secret, captain…I’m always angry”).

By embracing and controlling his anger, he is able to not only save those around him from his catastrophic breakdowns, but actually becomes a net benefit and a hero in his own right. He is the strongest of the heroes, save for perhaps Thor, and becomes the muscle of the group, which suits his character. Almost invincible, he becomes a symbol of the Avenger’s and humanity’s strength (“we have a Hulk”). He is not only controlled but even seems to be enjoying himself – cracking a smile and roughhousing with Thor.

He gets the biggest laugh of the film when he lays the smackdown on Loki, putting the God in his place.

This is far cry from Ang Lee’s Bruce Banner racked with barely contained rage at his tragic childhood, and The Incredible Hulk’s tortured, beaten man on the run. He even has what I assume must be a well-paying job at S.H.I.E.L.D now. It’s interesting witnessing Hulk’s journey across his cinematic appearances. As Bruce Banner has become more self-actualized and confident, his popularity has grown. Now he is at his peak, and I sense that whatever film Hulk appears in next may be his ultimate story for the die-hard fans. Unfortunately however, the writers have written themselves into a corner with Hulk’s thematic development. A more or less fulfilled character, Hulk has little reason to take centre stage anymore, and is in danger of becoming a hired muscle character that shows up to wreak havoc whenever things get to much for the rest of the Avengers. Marvel will have to give Bruce Banner some new demons to slay if he is to remain relevant as a character. Personally, I hope that Marvel branches out into the World War Hulk storyline, though this may have to be after the first few Avengers sequels (may there be many). There was a time, when such a story could never have made it to the big screen, but nowadays with the cost of special effects significantly lowered (not to mention the quality significantly improved) and huge anticipation for the space-based story of Guardians of the Galaxy and time-travelling adventures of X-Men: Days of Future Past we may see Hulk get his own saga in space. I can’t think of anything that would be better received by fans or offer a more exciting direction for both Hulk and Marvel’s cinematic universe. I’m looking forward to seeing what comes next.

“Why do you find it so hard to believe?” – Theological doubt in post 9/11 American TV. (Lost and Battlestar Galactica)

John: “Why do you find it so hard to believe?”

Jack: “Why do you find it so easy?”

John: “It’s never been easy!”

Right now we are going through a golden age of TV. Never before have there been so many quality shows, with such interesting premises, quality acting, high production values and fantastic writing. This trend began in the early two thousands with the arrival of the Noughties Drama. My favourite two shows among these series are genre pioneers Lost and Battlestar Galactica, which I feel share similar themes. They are the most important series of their respective decades not just because of the way they captured people’s attention and imagination (Lost especially was a new kind of TV phenomenon that has spawned many imitators and BSG was the best thing to happen to sci-fi in years) but also because they reflected the world they were created in.

More specifically – these two shows are both post 9/11 stories, replete with tropes and imagery that mirrored contemporary events. These include:

A multicultural cast of survivors of some kind of traumatic disaster

(Lost featuring explicit plane crash imagery in its opening cataclysm).

An elusive enemy that has a habit of infiltrating our heroes.

Infighting, finger-pointing and betrayals.

Torture scenes reminiscent of Guantanamo Bay (both series feature at least one scene of a guy getting drowned, similar to waterboarding).

The characters having their civil liberties revoked in the face of enemy threats and dwindling resources.

Cult like extremists with dangerous loyalty to a particular individual or ideology.

Kidnappings.

Characters who find themselves knowingly or even unknowingly working for the enemy.

The search for an almost mythical Zion-like homeland and an older more comfortable society from years gone by: “we have to go back!”

Imagery of bomb-like timers counting down and time running out.

Scarcity of finite resources becoming a major problem.

Suicide bombing scenes/generally people getting blown up.

Role reversal in which the heroes become the terrorists fighting a guerrilla campaign against an opponent that outmatches them (the Lost heroes infiltrate the “Others” and Whidmore’s mooks whilst the BSG heroes are literally held in a prison camp like environment by the Cylons and literally become the defiant suicide bomber themselves.)

PTSD like symptoms after returning home (in Lost, Jack goes off the rails after leaving the island and Hurley even starts hallucinating; in BSG the characters finally locate earth only to discover it is an irradiated wasteland, which understandably causes extreme distress and even suicide).

A return to man’s primal state, and a garden of Eden-like hunter gatherer lifestyle.

Anti-heroes that are often just as bad as the villains.

A solution that can only involve peace and co-operation between former enemies.

Signs and symbols from religion and myth.

A proclivity, but also a hesitancy to incorporate religious symbolism and occasionally religious characters and mythology.

This last one I feel is the most important in understanding the way these shows interpreted American society in the post 9/11 early 21^st century and also accounts for some of the shows more criticised excesses. As you can see, the writers most definitely incorporated post 9/11-Iraq/Afghanistan imagery and plot themes, (which have been spoken about by others in more detail) but I believe they have perhaps accidentally revealed a much more poignant examination of contemporary American culture than they may realize, something that goes beyond just shocking viewers with torture scenes.

Both shows regularly enjoy going off on religious tangents and have their characters experiencing a crisis of faith. There are many articles online that manage to identify most of the above signatures of war on terrorism, but they tend to dismiss the shows religious themes as just bad writing from writers who wanted to seem cool and enigmatic but couldn’t deliver on the mysteries they set up. As I like to make a habit of reading too much into things and preferring to see the good in entertainment, I actually think that the incorporation of religious themes in these shows does have a significance, though it is not a kind of grand unified theory of everything in the show as a lot of fans enjoy speculating about.

The significance of the religious themes is actually found in their ambiguity and messiness. In my mind, there’s certainly an element of writers making it up as they go along, but they display an important theological doubt in a world that seems to be spiralling out of control, as well as a broader, more watered-down and universal form of Christianity and eventually, a cautious optimism that faith will be rewarded.

In the 1950s, authors like C.S Lewis and J.R.R Tolkien had no problem incorporating overt Christian values and symbols into their work. Christ-like figures from the early 20^th century like Superman and Aslan were popular and portrayed much less ambiguously than today’s religious allegories. It seems like society was more certain of itself and its Christian values. In today’s world of science, and a large developing trend of atheism, there is a tendency to be more hesitant to include these allegories, and also a tendency to make them more meta-mythical (The Matrix might be the ultimate example of this) and universal – as if the writers want to get religious and poignant but can’t bring themselves to be throroughly Christian like their parents (or most likely grandparents). The writers themselves who come up with these stories tend not to be Christian at all, or at the most agnostic; as opposed to deeply religious people like Tolkien and Lewis. As a result, the series themselves come off as agnostic, and manage to spend more than a few seasons dicking around deciding whether they truly want to include religious allegories or not. Are the twelve colonies the tribes of Israel? Is Jacob Jesus and is the Man in Black the Devil? There are also less prevalent but nonetheless important hints at philosophy and other religions – a signature of eastern philosophy here, a character named after a famous philosopher there…

The writers are trying to create a more eclectic and holistic spirituality to their shows but lack a definitive belief system from which to draw from. What we end up with, is a more pantheistic interpretation of divinity and a universalist reinterpretation of Abrahamic monotheism for an increasingly globalised and multicultural world. Call it New Age-y if you want. This is evidence that American society at large is still religious, but struggles to maintain belief in the hypocrisy America must commit in its war on terror, and can also be said to represent a lot of young people who find it difficult to ignore certain truths found in other religions no longer half a world away, – especially in a time when they might live in the same neighbourhood as a Wiccan teenager, a Buddhist man, A Sikh family and have instantaneous access to all the religious information on the internet. In an increasingly interconnected world, with rapidly advancing science it makes sense that society, particularly its young people are transitioning towards something far less rigid and scripture-based and more holistic. Those who do not embrace atheism in the coming centuries will have to embrace a more pantheistic and monist interpretation of God and divinity if their religions are to survive, and so what we are seeing is a younger generation who do not see God as a humanoid grand architect of the universe looking down on his creation judgementally, but rather an impersonal, inexplicable force of nature (the word “higher power” comes to mind) which has been influenced somewhat by Taoism and Buddhism as well as the Abrahamic religions.

Doctor Gaius Baltar: [glances briefly at Head-Six and Head-Baltar] I see angels, angels in this very room. Now, I may be mad, but that doesn’t mean that I’m not right. Because there’s another force at work here. There always has been. It’s undeniable. We’ve all experienced it. Everyone in this room has witnessed events that they can’t fathom, let alone explain by rational means. Puzzles deciphered in prophecy. Dreams given to a chosen few. Our loved ones, dead, risen. Wheather we want to call that “God” or “gods” or some sublime inspiration or a divine force we can’t know or understand, it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It’s here. It exists, and our two destinies are entwined in its force.

Brother Cavil: If that were true, and that’s a big “if”, how do I know this force has our best interests in mind? How do you know that God is on your side, Doctor?

Doctor Gaius Baltar: I don’t. God’s not on anyone side. God is a force of nature, beyond good and evil. Good and evil, we created those. You wanna break the cycle? Break the cycle of birth? Death? Rebirth? destruction? Escape? Death? Well, that’s in our hands, in our hands only. It requires that we live in hope, not fear.

The writers revel in their excellent mystery making but are often accused of failing to deliver on the answers. This is because the writers reflect the agnostic times they live in. They seem to want to insert a resonant meaning into their work but don’t have a definite religion to do so, and end up taking themselves and the viewers on a journey of faith. What we are left with artistically is a confused mess of symbols and metaphors that can be deciphered in any number of ways – because the religion of these people is also a confused mess at this moment and lacks a coherent ideology – though there are certain truths these writers believe in that reveal themselves here and there: humanism, liberal democracy, freedom of choice, a sublime power beyond human understanding, pluralist/multicultural society, and most importantly a feeling that faith will eventually be rewarded, even against impossible odds.

By the end of each series the writers make their mind up and decide to get explicitly religious and supernatural, ending the ambiguity by straight up telling us that Kara Thrace is an angel and that The Island contains a sacred light that must be kept shining or something like that. It’s more than a little muddled at times. The villains are totalitarians – the monolithic, hierarchical Cylons, and those who manipulate things behind the scenes like Benjamin Linus and Charles Whidmore. The heroes are confused, frightened survivors in a post-apocalyptic world searching for meaning. The priest like figures of Mr Echo, John Locke and Gaius Baltar experience serious doubts and often lose their belief entirely but their faith is ultimately validated whilst die hard cynics like Jack, Kara Thrace (and to a lesser extent Adama and some others in the BSG crew) come to terms with their own destiny and the fact that there are supernatural miracles in the world, take the leap of faith and convert to become the leaders they were born to be.

The shows are a cautiously optimistic leap of faith as a response to the fatalism of modern times and are a soul searching journey that show a desire to reach out towards something universal. The fact that they got more muddled as they went along is as much a product of the excesses of the writers as it is of the confusing, agnostic times we find ourselves in.

Locke: [explaining why he wanted to let the island monster drag him off] I believe that I was being tested.
Jack: Tested?
Locke: Yeah, tested. I think… that’s why you and I don’t see eye-to-eye sometimes, Jack because you’re a man of science.
Jack: Yeah, and what does that make you?
Locke: Me, well, I’m a man of faith. Do you really think all this… is an accident? That we, a group of strangers survived, many of us with just superficial injuries? Do you think we crashed on this place by coincidence, especially this place? We were brought here for a purpose, for a reason, all of us. Each one of us was brought here for a reason.
Jack: Brought here? And who brought us here, John?
Locke: The island. The island brought us here. This is no ordinary place, you’ve seen that, I know you have. But the island chose you, too, Jack. It’s destiny.
Jack: Did you talk with Boone about destiny, John?
Locke: Boone was a sacrifice that the island demanded. What happened to him at that plane was a part of a chain of events that led us here that led us down a path, that led you and me to this day, to right now.
Jack: And where does that path end, John?
Locke: The path ends at the hatch. The hatch, Jack all of it. All of it happened so that we could open the hatch.
Jack: No, no, we’re opening the hatch so that we can survive.
Locke: Survival is all relative, Jack.
Jack: I don’t believe in destiny.
Locke: [pause] Yes, you do. You just don’t know it yet.

The real message behind Pacific Rim.

When Pacific Rim was released, it was criticized by certain Chinese military officials as being American propaganda meant to turn the public eye towards the Asia-Pacific area, specifically to wage a propaganda campaign against China’s plans in the South China Sea and export “the U.S.’s rebalancing of its Asia-Pacific strategy”. Whilst I don’t think this is necessarily the case, I think that there is a far more open and intentional meaning to be found in the film.

For Guillermo del Toro, Pacific Rim is clearly a labour of love that pays homage to many eastern influences, especially to Japanese Mecha anime and films, as well as old Monster/Kaiju movies, specifically Godzilla: the most famous Japanese monster of all. Godzilla has long been recognised as a metaphorical representation of the destruction wrought upon Japan by the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Del Toro has also incorporated his own metaphor within this film – a metaphor for the coming destruction of Global Warming.

The metaphor is simple yet effective.

The hero’s adversaries in this film are gargantuan, powerful, and leave swathes of destruction wherever they go (representing the disastrous consequences of rapid climate change).

They arrive not from space, but from deep under the ocean.

They come in waves, getting increasingly more violent and devastating with each succession.

The wealthy try to wall themselves off behind a literal, giant wall (which doesn’t work and is easily brought down).

The only way to defeat the monsters (the monster that is Global Warming) is to find the source and tackle them head on, with giant robots.

Well it’s not actually the giant robots that are important, but rather the international co-operation required to create them. An all-out Manhattan project is required of the people of earth to defend themselves against the coming onslaught, and it’s only through a combined effort that the heroes are able to pull through.

This film is notable for being one of the few films in which multiple countries (and characters with non-American or British accents!) fight alongside each other and play an equal part in saving the world. It makes sense to have the big three superpowers represented, with the USA, China and Russia having their own “Jaeger” robots defending the coastlines, and interestingly Australians also have a big role to play, which is quite cool. I’ll wager that Japan, Britain and India will have their own Jaegers battling it out with the Kaiju in the sequels (if the film was truly prescient in regards to Global Warming; Canada and Scandinavia would also be involved). This international mix of heroes reflects today’s increasingly globalised world, but also suggests the idea that all countries must work together to defeat the monster of Gobal Warming. This kind of film is most definitely a product of globalisation, and it’s unlikely a film like this could have been made in the 80s, or even the 90s.

The monsters in the film come from another world. Like Godzilla, they are Gods of destruction – inhuman and indifferent to our suffering. These problems are made monsters because they exist outside of the human sphere. Climate change and Global Warming are not the Soviets or Nazis that the film’s action-movie-hero predecessors could infiltrate and kill. Nature itself is by definition incorporeal and amoral. It’s also difficult for the film to get across the human responsibility here, which is tricky to do after creating these other worldly monsters. In the Godzilla films, Godzilla’s food supply has been greatly decreased thanks to overfishing and nuclear testing. In Pacific Rim Dr. Newton Geiszler “drifts” with the invaders, allowing the film to offer this hastily added explanation:

“These beings, these masters, they’re colonists. They overtake worlds, they just consume them and then they move onto the next. And they’ve been here before, sort of a trial run – it was the dinosaurs. But the atmosphere wasn’t conducive, so they waited it out, and now you know with ozone depletion and carbon monoxide, polluted waters well we practically terraformed it for them.”

So if it weren’t for Global Warming the alien invaders wouldn’t have come to wipe us out. Gee, way to go humanity.

Halloween: the sex and psychology of Slasher movies.

As it’s getting near to Halloween time I thought it would be a great opportunity to inject some much needed horror analysis into this site, and I’m starting with the granddaddy of all modern Slasher films: John Carpenter’s Halloween. A true classic in every sense of the word, Halloween has been imitated countless times but never bettered. Its winning formula of a sinister threat amongst American Suburbia, an unstoppable masked serial killer and a group of frightened teens will seem familiar to any horror aficionado and even casual movie-goers but was actually quite unique for its time and one of the first films to utilize this style. This makes it the archetype of the slasher movie and a great place to start introducing the themes of the horror genre.

The main rationale behind this blog and the reason for writing is the belief of mine that artists consciously and subconsciously/unconsciously input meaning into their work which is deeper than the mere surface level of plot or outward appearance, and reflects the fears, anxieties, hopes, dreams and general zeitgeist of the time and place that they live in. When applying this to horror movies, I believe that a lot of horror films, most specifically American horror films communicate a Christian (or otherwise religious) world view. This is not just true of films that specifically deal with Judaeo-Christian belief in phenomena such as demonic possession, or films based on scripture like The Omen; but is also communicated in general horror films that don’t even feature supernatural elements. In Halloween and slasher films in particular, I’m talking about the implied dangers of premarital sex.

Premarital sex is something that the Christian faith is generally against, and Christians in America and elsewhere are always speaking about family values, whilst encouraging youth abstinence and so on. These films tap into a very real Christian fear of a decadent, hedonistic world of youthful, premarital sex, drugs and rock n’ roll. To put it very simply: the character’s that are killed in Halloween and other slasher films are usually killed for having premarital sex. This becomes more and more abundantly clear with each viewing of the film, and I invite you to re-watch John Carpenter’s masterpiece this Halloween to see how it affects your viewing.

In the very first scene, Carpenter establishes the subtext, getting right down to business, as the film opens a young teen couple, um… get down to business. They make out on the sofa whilst the camera watches them through the window, implying that they are being watched.

They then go upstairs and turn out the bedroom lights. The voyeuristic camera moves throughout the house, and it becomes apparent that we are being given a first person view of some killer or stalker. The killer watches the boy leave and goes upstairs to the bedroom, putting on a mask he finds. The killer enters the room of the girl, who is now naked. She shouts “Michael!” revealing the identity of the killer at the camera whilst the audience is forced to watch as she is stabbed repeatedly, making almost sexual moans of pain as Michael stabs her to death while the audience vicariously watches from behind the camera and behind the mask. He then goes outside where he is discovered by his parents. The film then cuts to the present (1978) and the story begins. This intro was basically a microcosm for what is to come – teenagers having sex only to be horribly murdered.

The next scene features Dr Sam Loomis, at the mental asylum, where a breakout seems to have occurred, and we are made aware that Michael Myers, now fully aged has escaped. We then cut to Haddonfield, a typical sleepy all-American suburb – big houses, big cars, big driveways etc. A conservative’s utopia. Surely nothing could ruin this idyllic setting, but it is the night of Halloween, and things are about to get very deadly for some of its young inhabitants.

We are now introduced to our main protagonist, Laurie, who keeps seeing a mysterious man watching her in the corner of her vision, and fears that she is being stalked. The slow build-up of the film gives us plenty of time to get to know Laurie and her friends Annie and Lynda. The girls spend a good two thirds of their screen time together talking about boys. They speak about boys when they see each other in person, and later speak about them on the phone across the street from each other’s houses. Annie and Lynda are obviously sexually active and have boyfriends, and constantly try to convince the more reserved Laurie to ask boys out on a date. The characters actually spend more time talking about sex than they ever do running away from the murderer.

One by one, these characters are killed by Michael Myers, who slowly stalks them throughout the suburban neighbourhood. Meanwhile, Dr Loomis tries to find his former patient and convince the local sheriff that the locals could be in mortal danger. History repeats itself as Myers watches Lynda and her boyfriend make out on the couch and then go upstairs to have sex. We see his shadow move across the wall as they are having sex.

When the boy comes downstairs to get beer, Myers kills him then puts on a ghost outfit and watches Lynda for a while, who thinks that he is the boy and pulling a trick on her. He kills her whilst she is on the phone to Laurie, again making semi-sexual like moans as she struggles against Myers who strangles her to death.

 Laurie thinks it is a joke being played on her, and thinks that it is Annie just fooling around with her boyfriend.

One way to figure out the subtext of the film is to look at the actions and morality of the characters who are killed and of those who survive. The hero survives generally because they exhibit some traits that the audience view as positive, and others are killed either figuratively or literally by their own vices. If it’s a nihilistic film, the antihero might survive when others perish simply because they are the most cunning, ruthless or strong; but in a film with religious undertones, the hero will survive because of some quality that makes them favourable to that religious culture. In Halloween, nearly all the victims of Michael Myers are sexually active teenagers having premarital sex, aside from the dog and the owner of the car that Michael steals, if my memory is correct. Our protagonist Laurie survives in this world because she lives an alternative lifestyle to that of her friends. Whilst the other teens in the neighbourhood are drinking beer and having sex, she is babysitting two kids. She is shown to be modest, kind, motherly and respectable – an ideal for conservative Americans.

The other survivors are older, presumably married men. Dr Loomis is an experienced professional, far past any youthful days of sex, drugs and rock n’ roll. Sheriff Leigh is clearly an upstanding member of the local community. The two kids that Laurie looks after (one of them dumped on her by Annie who is more interested in having sex with her boyfriend) also survive. Myers has lots of chances to go after them but doesn’t seem to even notice them as he tries to kill Laurie. These survivors don’t even factor into the film’s moral lesson – the men are married and devoted to their wives (we assume) and the kids have not reached puberty yet. They are innocently abiding by the rules of society and the will of God/nature; and in horror films it is usually those who go against the accepted norms of society that are killed or meet some other horrible fate. In the case of this film it is the crime of their decadent lifestyle of premarital sex that gets them killed. This pattern can be seen in countless teen horror movies ever since, all featuring a bunch of teens with wild, hedonistic lifestyles that go against the conservative ideals of their parents and society at large dying horribly, making these films akin to ancient fairy tales used to scare children into behaving sensibly and responsibly.

I should point out here, that wasn’t done purposefully by John Carpenter, who claims “The teenagers that were victims are the more sexually active, but that misses the essential point of the film, the movie’s about the revenge of the repressed, and Jamie Lee has a connection with the killer because she’s repressed too. To me these kids are just engaged in normal teenage behaviour. They get killed because they’re not paying attention, they’re involved with their boyfriends and they don’t think anything is going on…there’s no Christian Right morality.” – taken from the Halloween – A Cut Above Documentary featured on the 25th Anniversary DVD.

This brings me to my next point, another layer of meaning in the film that I have not yet mentioned. There is often meaning to be derived in absence – that is what the story does not contain; and the most obvious absence here is the teen’s parents. Though briefly mentioned in the film, they are never seen (save for the sheriff who is Annie’s father). The slasher film is usually about a group of teenagers coming under some sort of threat, nearly always in the absence of adult protection and supervision. There is a correlation here that can be seen emerging between the patterns of divorce rates and the pattern of horror movies in which kids must band together to face some kind of threat. Whether they were intended to or not, Slasher films tapped into this undercurrent of abandonment and isolation by showing the carnage that happens when kids are left alone to their own devices with no moral compass. Take a look at this chart of divorce rates.

The rate of divorce sky-rockets around the beginning of the 70s and shoots up relentlessly until the early 80s when it levels off but remains very high compared to the beginning of the century. You can look at other charts but they all show roughly the same correlation.

Compare this information to Total Film’s list of 30 Greatest Slasher movies. Over half of them are from the 70s and early 80s. Halloween (1978) The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) Deep Red (1975) A Bay of Blood (1971) The Prowler (1981) A Nightmare On Elm Street (1984) Torso (1973) Friday The 13^th Part 3 (1982) Stage Fright (1987) Black Christmas (1974) Sleepaway Camp (1983) The House On Sorority Row (1983) Eyes Of A Stranger (1981) The Burning (1981) Prom Night (1980) Hell Night (1981) When A Stranger Calls (1979) Madman (1981) Happy Birthday To Me (1980) My Bloody Valentine (1981)

Not all of these involve teens but a lot of them do and almost all of them take place in locations and situations when the kid’s parents are absent – sororities, summer camps, babysitting, and prom nights are all staples of the genre and appealed to kids who were more and more often shifted between two divorced parents and left alone as they reached adulthood. This all took place of course just after the 60s which saw not only the peace and love hippie crowd, free love movement and the general questioning of traditional values but also the widespread introduction of the pill. This chaotic mix heralded the slow but inevitable breakdown of the utopian, conservative 1950s suburbs and conservative’s beloved family unit. The social anxiety caused by these disruptive trends birthed a new subgenre of horror in the 1970s – a genre of teens-in-trouble. A genre in which Christian values are abandoned in favour of sex and parties, with disastrous results. You might even say that the horrible masks that are often worn by the killers in these films and the body horror featured in a lot of horror films are a subconscious representation of the horror of STDs. The genre is of course still going strong but had its heyday in the 70s and 80s when these issues were first becoming recognised in society, and most of the best films in genre were being produced when these fears started bleeding over into pop culture for the first time. In many ways the horror genre has always been and will always be about sex and death (see my extensive Alien post), but the slasher film is perhaps the best place to start. Happy hauntings.

Spiderman is all about Sex, Puberty and sometimes Drugs.

Spiderman was my favourite superhero as a kid, and still remains more or less my favourite to this day. I imagine it’s the same way for many people who grew up with the comic books and the cartoons. But what makes this wall-crawler so popular? Sure his powers are cool, and his constant wise-cracking and joking are fun but there’s something more to this character that is easy to overlook; and that is Peter Parker/Spiderman’s age. Comic books during their golden years mostly appealed to kids, yet somehow most of the prominent superheroes such as Batman and Superman ended up being middle aged men. Spiderman broke the mould by being one of the first superheroes who was a perpetual young adult going through college. Like most comic book readers he was dealing with immense changes in life whilst growing up. Unlike comfortable billionaires Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne, or the X-Men who live in Professor Xavier’s mansion; Peter Parker struggles to pay his rent whilst working as a pizza delivery boy and misses most of his college lectures due to his incognito superhero escapades. He is generally portrayed as a shy, awkward nerd, which is what gives him his appeal and is what leads me to talk about the general underlying themes of the most recent Marvel Spiderman films – sex and puberty.

Both Sam Raimi’s Spiderman and Marc Webb’s The Amazing Spiderman introduce Parker and the origin of his powers in a way analogous to the process of puberty. Peter gets bitten by the spider and suddenly his body goes through a number of frightening changes that are out of his control. In the Raimi film, Peter awakens from a daze to find that he is more muscular than before, and no longer needs to wear his glasses. He also begins excreting a white, sticky fluid substance from his….wrists (what were you thinking?) which leads to some, ahem…”sticky” situations and embarrassing moments.

Marc Webb’s Amazing Spiderman is a similar depiction of Parker discovering his powers and going through puberty, with Peter finding that he suddenly has startlingly heightened senses and agility, and he struggles to control them at first, whilst a bemused Uncle Ben and Aunt May wonder if he is on drugs. This is the kind of the thing that almost every kid goes through, and part of Spiderman’s timeless appeal – despite having superpowers, he is just like many of his fans: confused, nervous, shy around girls that he likes and struggling to hold it all together whilst going through many changes.

In both films Peter’s lack of a father figure is one of the underlying causes of his troubles.

“Peter look, you’re changing, I went through exactly the same thing at your age.”

“No not exactly.”

“These are the years when a man changes into the man he’s going to become the rest of his life, just be careful who you change into. This guy Flash Thompson – he probably deserved what happened but just because you can beat him doesn’t give you the right to. Remember with great power comes great responsibility”

“Are you afraid that I’m gonna turn into some kind of criminal? Quit worrying about me ok, something’s different I’ll figure it out, stop lecturing me please.”

“I don’t mean to lecture and I don’t mean to preach, and I know I’m not your father.”

“Then stop pretending to be!”

“You’re a lot like your father, you really are. And that’s a good thing. But your father lived by a philosophy, a principle really. He believed that if you could do good things for other people you had a moral obligation to do those things, that’s what’s at stake here. Not choice, responsibility.”

“That’s great. That’s all well and good so where is he? Really, where’s my dad? He didn’t think it was his responsibility to be here to tell me this himself.”

These emotional outbursts in each film mirror each other and show the true issue that eats away at Peter throughout his life. His argument with Uncle Ben of course increases his burden of guilt when his Uncle is later killed.

But wait – there’s more. Peter Parkers eternal struggle with puberty and the dilemmas of young adulthood may be part of his appeal and are taken full advantage of in these films, but there is more to this underlying theme of sex than is immediately apparent, and this is realized in the film’s villains.

The first film features classic Spidey villain the “Green Goblin”/Norman Osborn. Norman is the father of Harry’s best friend – Harry Osborn, and admires Peter’s intelligence, offering him help and advice. This starts a common signature of the series that will be apparent later. Norman Osborn is looking to unlock human potential by enhancing their abilities with advanced science.

Long story short, he loses patience and nominates himself as a human guinea pig, only to accidentally become a Jekyll and Hyde character, turning into the megalomaniac Green Goblin who must be stopped by our friendly neighbourhood Spiderman. This might seem trivial but it’s an important trend we see with Spiderman’s villains. Here we have an older man, probably into his forties or older, who uses advanced science in order to “increase his performance”. His meddling with the natural order of things turns him into a monster that Peter has to reluctantly destroy, despite Norman Osborn being like a father to him.

Norman Osborn: Give me your hand; believe in me, as I believed in you. I’ve been like a father to you. Be a son to me now.

Spider-Man: I had a father, his name was Ben Parker.

Ultimately the Green Goblin/Norman Osborn accidentally ends his own life, and how does he do that? – oh yeah, that’s right, by impaling himself with his glider, right in the groin.

Ouch.

Spiderman 2 has a similar villain, this time Spidey’s nemesis Doctor Otto Octavius. Doc Ock and Parker hit it off due to their mutual love and understanding of science, and once more this villain becomes somewhat of a mentor/father figure to the otherwise fatherless (and now Uncleless due to Uncle Ben’s untimely demise) Peter who could really use a male role model in his life. Like Green Goblin before him however, Doc Ock is using science to mess with the way things are, this time trying to do the impossible and create a virtually infinite energy source.

In order to control this energy source however, he needs his infamous metallic tentacles. These tentacles have their own AI which unfortunately takes over Octavius’ mind during an unfortunate accident. This turns Octavius into a megalomaniac, determined to continue his disastrous experiments and save his reputation as a result, despite their obvious danger, and once more Spiderman must stop him, all whilst balancing his love life with Mary Jane, his college degree and his job as a pizza delivery boy. A pattern is starting to emerge here.

The Amazing Spiderman also follows suit in this theme. Once again we have a similar take on a classic Spiderman villain – this time Dr Curt Connors, “The Lizard”. Just like before, Dr Connors is originally a good man, one who is interested in Peter because of their mutual love and understanding of science.

Dr Connors is an amputee and is looking to use research into animal stem cells (something that is interestingly happening right now in the real world) in order to grow back his own arm and potentially improve the lives of millions. He uses himself as the first human test subject and once again this attempt to change the natural order of things with science backfires, and he becomes a monster – a giant green scaly one, and also becomes obsessed with completing his dangerous experiments. Parker must stop him and save the day, with help from his new girlfriend Gwen Stacey and her protective father who happens to be the local Police Chief. The local crane operators also give him a helping hand.

So we have seen that in order to be a Spiderman villain, you must possess several characteristics and follow a certain sequence of events:

Be an older man, trying to “enhance” or “upgrade” himself with advanced technology/trying to play God.

Be a mentor/possible father figure to whiz kid Peter Parker and get along through mutual love of science.

Lose patience/run out of time and nominate yourself as the human test subject, only to unleash your dark side and become a monster due to a mutation or other change.

Ultimately express regret in your final moments after being defeated by a reluctant Peter and become a kind of tragic figure.

There is a sort of Oedipal undercurrent here. Part of what makes Peter Parker relevant as a character, especially in these days of divorce and single mothers is his missing father. There’s a kind of suggestion here that by repeatedly beating these father figures, Peter is dealing with the loss of his own father, and essentially symbolically killing his father. These older men want to upgrade themselves in some way, heal themselves, or somehow reverse the aging process or otherwise become a better version of themselves through science. The general underlying psychology here is that they want to become like Peter: they want his youth, his quick reflexes, strength, agility and so on. But they are too old and so it backfires, turning them into Jekyll and Hyde monsters, revealing the darkest side of their ambition and transforming themselves into leering sexual monsters with super strength and often semi-phallic weapons: Doc Ock’s tentacles, Lizards’ swinging tail, that spiked prong thing that Green Goblin pulls out in the final confrontation… They also have a habit of kidnapping Peter’s young girlfriends (and Doc Ock even gets his tentacles on Aunt May!) and Peter must save his damsel in distress from being ravaged by the beast – a tale as old as tales themselves.

 “…but now that you’ve really pissed me off, I’m gonna finish her nice and slow. MJ and I, we’re gonna have a hell of a time! ” – Green Goblin

Peter got his powers accidentally, via the spider bite, as if it was supposed to happen, but these men are playing God, something that tends to go horribly wrong in all sorts of myths that Hollywood has inherited. The fact that Peter Parker represents a kid going through puberty, becoming “the man he’s going to become for the rest of his life” (Uncle Ben) is a deeper reflection on growing up than may at first be apparent, and these villains exist for Peter to defeat because part of growing up is about the overcoming of one’s own father as the dominant male of the family. These villains, whether through conscious decisions by the directors/writers or unconscious coincidence, are a very Freudian representation of Peter Parker’s journey to becoming a man. The general story in all three of these films is that of Peter standing up to the bully (Flash Thompson), managing his job, earning his college degree, starting a relationship with Mary Jane or Gwen Stacey, overcoming an oppressive father figure (and thus resolving issues of his father’s absence and Uncle Ben’s untimely death) and finally; most importantly learning to take responsibility for his actions and his powers, leading to that old phrase that everyone remembers – “with great power comes great responsibility”. Not bad for a comic book superhero.

You might have noticed that I haven’t yet mentioned the often maligned (but not in my mind, entirely terrible) Spiderman 3. The conclusion to the Raimi trilogy features a different set of villains, probably too many for one movie, but the most important thematically is that of Venom. Venom is actually a symbiotic life form from another planet that crash lands on earth in a meteorite. This black, slimy stuff fuses itself to its host, enhancing their abilities but also bringing out their dark side, which is what causes Peter’s main dilemma in this film. Unlike the Freudian take on puberty offered by the other films, there is a different analogy here: drugs.

Peter is growing up, he is thinking of marrying Mary Jane, has sorted much of his life out and is even receiving some gratitude as Spiderman after years of being demonised by the very newspaper he worked for and blamed for many of the problems he helped to solve. Things get messy however, when this symbiote attaches itself to him. With Peter under the effects of this substance, he is more confident, strong and aggressive. The formally noble Peter Parker is now selfish and impulsive due to the effects of this stuff, and although the symbiote needs him more than he needs it, he eventually becomes essentially “addicted” to the way it makes him feel and act, leading to the infamous dancing scene.

The obvious parallel here is that of a drug addiction. Despite making him feel powerful and confident, it brings out the worst in Peter and eventually causes him to hurt the ones he loves the most, in this case Mary Jane.

He ends up in a church (atoning for his sins I suppose) in which he manages to cast off the symbiote and his addiction to it, however he ends up passing it on to Eddy Brock, who the symbiote turns into Venom. Peter then has to resolve his differences with former best friend turned nemesis Harry Osborn and the two team up to defeat him. Eddy Brock however, is truly addicted and destroys himself in trying to get the symbiote back.

So there you have it, more than just a tale about a young man that gains super Spider powers from an accidental Spider Bite, the Spiderman comics and movies are a reflection of what it is like to go from a teen to a man, and what it takes to become a good, responsible man. Peter must cast off his fatherhood issues and let go of of any selfish impulses he has in order to use his powers for good. With great power comes great responsibility.

Iron Man and America.

I’m starting a new “Heroes” series of articles on this blog, in which I take a look at some of the most prominent superheroes and comic book characters and analyse what they mean and why they are so appealing. With the recent release of Iron Man 3, I thought it would be appropriate to start with Iron Man – Tony Stark.

Like DC’s Batman, Marvel’s Iron Man is a sort of personification of the United States of America. Unlike Batman however, Iron Man is less depressing and more of a positive (yet still highly flawed) depiction. He is bold, brash, and narcissistic but also ingenious, resourceful and generally a force for good with a rock star appeal and charisma. As a genius, playboy, billionaire, philanthropist Tony Stark represents some of America’s greatest merits and some of its greatest excesses. Tony is larger than life, over the top, somewhat out of control at times and has his own very powerful arsenal of weapons – the Iron Man suits, which is what makes his character so interesting and relevant. Robert Downey Junior’s effortlessly likeable and charismatic performance as Tony Stark is what largely draws in audiences and has made Iron Man more popular in the cinema than he ever was in the comics, but there are more subtle themes to the films and the character that have contributed to making Iron Man a household name.

The story begins when Tony Stark is taking a trip to the Middle East and is almost killed by one of his own weapons, the very weapons that he not only made a fortune from but also had a large personal role to play in their design, being a genius inventor who single-handedly invents deadly weapons. Like America, Stark’s philosophy is “peace means having a bigger stick than the other guy”; which he inherits from his father. What an irony then, when the foremost weapons designer and manufacturer in the world is almost blown up by a bomb with his own name on it!

There are historical parallels to be seen here – the most obvious being that of Al-Qaeda, who received substantial funding and arms from America to fight back against the invading Soviets and the influence of Communism, only to later attack the very nation that supported them, leading to incidents like 9/11 and the US embassy bombings. This is not the first time America has armed and helped certain insurgents, rebels and other militia groups for its own benefit, only to be later attacked by the same people it supported, and likely won’t be the last. We later learn that it wasn’t our hero Tony himself who supplied the weapons, but Obadiah Stane who was attempting to take Stark Industries for himself.

The Iron Man suit, being the most powerful weapon an individual can utilize has a clear parallel in the idea of a nuclear deterrent. The Iron Man suit is essentially a WMD, one that no foe can yet match. From the beginning of the Iron Man series we see that others are desperate to get their hands on their own version. Like America, Tony Stark is a hypocrite who wields powerful weapons to do good, but must stop others from utilizing them. Iron Man must show the same kind of hypocrisy that the United States shows when denying other countries the ability to build Nuclear weapons and other WMD’s (despite being the only country in history that has yet utilized the atomic bomb) when he has to stop others from building their own suits and wreaking havoc with them. It’s an interesting dilemma when you have a powerful weapon that can be used to defeat evil but must act hypocritically in order to stop it from falling into the wrong hands, one that isn’t actually that common in Hollywood and a theme that makes Iron Man compelling beyond Robert Downy Junior’s charm. How can America sit idly by whilst dangerous states with irrational leaderships like Iran and North Korea attempt to build or procure devastating weapons? How can Iron Man sit idly by when others such as terrorist group the Ten Rings and other corporate rivals try to build their own battle suits, with less than heroic intentions? These are questions that make Iron Man one of the most significant comic book heroes in today’s world.

The sequel Iron Man 2 develops these themes, this time instilling a quasi-libertarian sentiment into the film, with the government attempting to get Tony Stark to hand over the Iron Man suit, and Stark refusing, claiming to have “successfully privatized world peace”. The image of an anti-authoritarian, innovative business man trying to keep his private property and inventions from the greedy hands of the central control that is the American government is a relevant story line in an age where politicians like Ron Paul have gained somewhat of a cult following and both Democrats and Republicans are calling for shrinking the size of the American federal government. Billionaire Tony Stark is basically Ayn Rand’s wet dream and is essentially a capitalist hero fighting against government monopolization.

“Because I’m your nuclear deterrent. It’s working. We’re safe. America is secure. You want my property? You can’t have it. But I did you a big favor. I’ve successfully privatized world peace.”

The film however does do a good job of portraying both sides to the story, and the American Government is just doing the sensible thing: gaining control of the Iron Man suit – the most powerful weapon in the world – and taking it from the narcissistic, out of control Tony Stark, who does not operate under any law when wearing the suit and is the world’s most powerful vigilante. From their view it makes more sense that military men like James Rhodes, who later becomes War Machine and eventually the Iron Patriot; should pilot the suit. Rhodes is far more disciplined (and actually more athletic, trained and skilled) than Stark and operates under the authority of the US Government. He is as a result more efficient, and more responsible. He is less likely to cause a diplomatic nightmare with his actions, as his orders come directly from American authorities, unlike Stark, who can attract unwanted aggression towards his homeland, despite not actually representing it in any official way when he dons the suit and goes to blow up bad guys. What Rhodes lacks however, is Stark’s genius and this is the way that film shows the eternal struggle between centralized, efficient government control and unregulated free-market innovation. It makes sense then, that Stark and Rhodes/Iron Man and War Machine should form a double team to take on America’s foes.

What would happen if Neo took both pills?

This one’s not as complicated as it sounds. Considering the fact that the pills Neo is prompted to choose between in The Matrix are fictional and make only a brief appearance we cannot possibly know everything about them, and so it’s safe to assume that taking both would simply be a combination of both effects. That’s not entirely true with drugs in real life, which can have totally unexpected results when combined instead of taken separately, but seeing as all we have to go on is their description as given by Morpheus, it’s a safe bet to simply combine the two effects. The effects of these two drugs can be interpreted from Morpheus’ speech to Neo in the first half of the film.

“After this there is no turning back. You take the blue pill – the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe…whatever you want to believe.”

From what I can glean from this, the blue pill must be both a sedative – causing Neo to pass out and wake up in his bed (presumably Morpheus and co. would take him there as he is unconscious); and also a memory eraser. That last part is important because it stops Neo from seeking them out again in order to learn about the mysterious Matrix that haunts his mind. How much of his memory would they need to erase in order to do this? Well let’s assume that Neo has been searching for Morpheus and some answers for some time now, otherwise he wouldn’t be losing sleep over it, as we see in the film’s opening. So let’s say at least around a few months, meaning that they would have to erase several months’ worth of memory just to ensure that Neo never tries to contact them again. So, if Neo takes this pill, he falls unconscious and loses several months of his memory. He forgets about the Matrix and believes whatever he wants to believe.

“You take the red pill, you stay in wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes.”

We already know from the rest of this film what taking the red pill does. Neo wakes up in his pod, in the slave fields that the machines keep the humans in as living batteries. The red pill also acts as a kind of tracking method, and allows them to find Neo in the “real world” and rescue him as he is rejected from his pod.

The red pill also acts as a catalyst for a trace program. An operator, or other qualified individual, can use this software program to trace the location of the subject’s body in the real world. The subject will then wake up inside her/his pod, inevitably attracting the attention of a docbot. It will eject the subject from the power plant down a waste chute, necessitating immediate rescue. – The Matrix Wiki.

So if Neo took both pills, he would lose all memory of what the Matrix is and who Morpheus and Trinity are (and possibly think their meeting was simply a dream, if he remembered it at all.) and he would wake up in his pod, having no recollection of how he got there, or what the Matrix is. He would then be rescued by people he did not recognise or had only seen in a dream. So – taking both pills would cause you to forget there even was a choice of pills to begin with and leave you even more confused than you otherwise would have been when you wake up in the Machine’s power plant having no idea what was going on or how you got there, or even that there was anything wrong with the world to begin with.

Worst…hangover…ever.

Video Game Heritage: Halo, The Aeneid and the Western Epic Tradition.

Roger Travis at The Escapist magazine likens Halo to Virgil’s Aeneid:

“The Aeneid centers on an eponymous hero, Aeneas, who escapes from the clutches of the Greeks during the fall of Troy and travels all over the Mediterranean before he arrives in Italy, gets re-married, and founds a city that will found a city that will found Rome. Bear in mind, the Rome in which Virgil writes the Aeneid conquered Greece and Carthage well before Virgil was born, and now faced newer enemies on its frontiers.

Sounds a bit like Halo, if you relax your ears.

The Halo series centers on a semi-robotic super-marine called the Master Chief, who manages in the first game to save the galaxy by preventing a coalition of religiously-motivated alien beings called the Covenant from destroying it by activating the Halo – a ring in space intended to imprison another alien life-form, the Flood. In the second game, the Master Chief performs more or less the same feat, with the notable twist that he is aided by one of the Covenant (the Arbiter), who the player gets to play in certain sections of the game.”

But I think this can be taken further. Masterchief is a larger than life hero. He’s a superman, standing over 7 feet tall with inhuman combat skills and a stoic personality. There are parallels between this and just about every ancient epic poem ever written. Beowulf, Gilgamesh, Nibelungenlied, The Iliad, The Odyssey, Orlando Furioso, and even the Arthurian legends are all Western Epics that feature God-like heroes of impossible stature and strength far beyond that of normal men, as they fight against overwhelming odds. Masterchief fits perfectly into this paradigm, and his epic journey across the Halo games is comparable to the narratives of many epic poems. I believe Bungie are quite aware of this similarity with ancient epics, which is evidenced by the dozens of references to Greek and Norse mythology that they include in the game, sometimes overtly and sometimes subtly. On the page for “Epic Poems” Wikipedia has this to say:

An attempt to delineate ten main characteristics of an epic:

1. Begins in medias res.
2. The setting is vast, covering many nations, the world or the universe.
3. Begins with an invocation to a muse (epic invocation).
4. Begins with a statement of the theme.
5. Includes the use of epithets.
6. Contains long lists (epic catalogue).
7. Features long and formal speeches.
8. Shows divine intervention on human affairs.
9. Features heroes that embody the values of the civilization.
10. Often features the tragic hero’s descent into the Underworld or hell.

The hero generally participates in a cyclical journey or quest, faces adversaries that try to defeat him in his journey and returns home significantly transformed by his journey. The epic hero illustrates traits, performs deeds, and exemplifies certain morals that are valued by the society the epic originates from. Many epic heroes are recurring characters in the legends of their native culture.

The story of Halo contains most of these elements. It certainly contains a vast setting, uses epithets/honorific titles for its heroes (“Masterchief”, “Arbiter”) and it generally features a huge variety of characters and locations and a grandiose scale. I would even argue that Masterchief has his “decent into hell” in Halo 3’s “Cortana” level – infamous for being the hardest level in the game. This is a deliberate choice by Bungie to tell this kind of storytelling, and they allude to this with an achievement named “Orpheus”, that the player achieves for gaining over 15,000 points in this mission. In the Orpheus tale, Orpheus descends into the underworld to save his wife Eurydice. In the “Cortana” mission the chief descends into the nightmarish lair of the Flood in order to rescue Cortana. This speaks volumes about Bungie’s intentions, and also the relationship between the chief and Cortana.

Does Masterchief embody the values of our civilization? Well he certainly exudes a pride in martial valour and military might. This can be found in everything from Roman gladiatorial games to the way we glorify war as a heroic undertaking and necessary duty with war-movies and Call of Duty. It can definitely be argued that Masterchief is a recurring character, which is evidenced by the huge popularity of the Halo series, which is now over a decade old and coming close to the release of its 8^th game (including spin-offs) with Halo 4. Masterchief now has a similar place in our popular consciousness as recurring heroes like James Bond, Spider-Man and Sherlock Holmes.

“We are to the Flood and the Covenant as Virgil’s Roman audience was to the Carthaginians and the Greeks. Through Halo, American culture is to our real enemies as the Romans were to theirs through the Aeneid: in a ceaseless cultural struggle to imagine them as both alien and destined to be defeated by us. This correlation arises from a deep and important similarity between the interactivity of the epic tradition and the obvious interactivity of the action/adventure game.

Both works arose in cultures that value a specific kind of martial prowess. For Rome, it was the prowess of the legionaries and their generals, prowess bound up – at least in propaganda – with the celebrated Roman virtues that centre on honour and loyalty; for America, it is the prowess of the storied United States Marine Corps, memorably bound up in a very similar code, expressed most notably in Rob Reiner’s film A Few Good Men: “Unit, Corps, God, Country.””

When I first began the Halo series, I initially criticised the Masterchief character for being bland and without personality, however seen from this interpretation it makes sense. Masterchief is a kind of legendary demigod, eternally facing mankind’s enemies without fear or hesitation. He’s not so much a character in his own right as an archetype to ceaselessly and unflinchingly take on our foes. I’m not arguing that the Halo series is anywhere near the kind of artistic quality and complexity as The Iliad or The Aeneid – it isn’t and probably never will be; but it does appear to come from the same legacy. When viewed from this interpretation, Halo is a modern interactive epic tale and Masterchief is a kind of modern romantic figure to millions of young video gamers around the world.