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...I now feel a lot less f***ed up.
Last night, Bobby and I saw Hostel. Now you might ask--indeed, I am asking--what a pansy, blood-phobic pacifist like me is doing at the opening night of a film about gratuitous torture that is being promoted using the notion that, at the Toronto Film Festival premier, ambulances had to be called for two of the viewers.
Bobby and I saw a preview for this movie a few months ago, and as we are conniseurs of the horror genre, it was added to the list. Last week, Bobby got word that it was opening this Friday, and so, of course, he wanted to see it right away.
Now most of you know that I'm blood/injury phobic. Badly. I got woozy the other day by someone's icon of a cartoon character with a knife embedded in his head. I always preface going to movies being billed as shockingly or intensely gory--the first Saw movie earned this sort of behavior--with a good deal of private freaking out and worrying. One might wonder why a blood/injury phobic goes to these sorts of movies at all: After all, they involve a good deal of both blood and injury. It seems rather an invitation for disaster. However, weirdly enough, blood in movies doesn't bother me, at least not in the usual sense. While most specific phobias provoke severe avoidance behavior in the form of panic attacks--think of how an arachnophobic responds to a giant tarantula crawling across his chest--the blood/injury phobia has its own unique reaction that feels a lot like hypoglycemia. There's a bit of lightheadness and a general visceral discomfort: squeamishness, you might say. The blood/injury phobia is also the only specific phobia that seems to have a genetic link. Thanks, dad.
When I look at a painting or an icon with blood, I have this sort of reaction. When I cut myself, I have this sort of reaction. But a movie can have buckets of blood--think Saw or the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, both of which I've seen--and I remain unaffected. I do have a strong empathetic reaction for the character(s) being hacked to pieces and a normal flight-or-fight sort of rush, but isn't that the point of horror movies? If one can sit and watch someone's toe being snipped off with garden shears and doesn't experience a bit of a physiological reaction, I'd start to wonder about that person.
At no point in Hostel did I have any sort of phobic reaction: no lightheadedness, no queasiness, no blacking out (which is about the extreme of a phobic reaction for me). Perhaps there's another crackpot psychologist like me out there who can provide an explanation for this; I think it comes down to that good ol' much-scorned, much-blamed word "desensitization." Yes, I am desensitized to movie violence. But as anyone who has lived with a bona fide specific phobia can tell you, a little desensitization every now and then is not necesssarily a bad thing.
But was Hostel intense?
Oh, Eru, yes.
Following my normal MO, I found myself yesterday perusing reviews of the movie, not only to see how the reviewers were rating it but also to get an idea of the gimmicks that were going to be employed that might or might not bother me. I did this before the first Saw movie, which my friend Zach was heralding as seriously f***ed up, and by the time I saw the movie, I knew all of its tricks and so could watch it in relative peace. Despite never having a phobic reaction to a movie, those of you with phobias probably know that sometimes the fear of a phobic reaction is just as scary as the phobia itself. And I wasn't feeling too good about my track record for the week, having gotten batty once over an LJ icon and twice having to scold Bobby for putting the knives in the dishwasher with the point facing up, after I stabbed myself under the cuticle a few weeks ago while dropping in a spoon and had to drink a couple cups of cold water to get my head to reattach to my body.
Horror movies are certainly going beyond the middle-of-the-night chase of the big-bosomed girl in her nightie in the forest (add sprained ankles, cut phone lines, or cars that won't start) to something much darker. One of the reviews I read said that horror movie audiences are no longer frightened by the notion of death so much as torture, the fate worse than death. And so it's no longer enough to have a camp-counselor bloodbath in a remote place, where people mercifully die instantaneously of wounds that should keep them around kicking and screaming for a while; now, we must prolong the death, make it as bad and painful as possible. Consider the gentle easing into such bloodstained waters: First, a few years ago, we had the Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake, where a guy got hung off a meathook and had his severed leg packed with salt. Then came Saw (and inevitably, Saw 2) with its myriad of tricks involving razor wire, reverse beartraps, large ovens, and vats of syringes. Still, these movies cut away from the worst of the action and left a lot to the viewer's imagination. Hostel takes these movies just a step further by leaving less to the audience's imagination and letting the camera linger where we'd normally be whisked to another scene. No, we don't have the luxury of imagining that the tormentor got his 25K-worth of jollies simply by popping a cap into his victim's head. We don't get the luxury of imagining that the victim passed out or died of shock or his wounds before it got too bad. Even when Hostel didn't show exactly what was happening, you could hear what was happening thanks to a higher-than-usual reliance on power tools as torture implements, with the interesting dilemma for squeamish viewers that it is no longer enough to cover one's eyes or avert one's gaze. No, we need earplugs now too.
I was quite surprised to see that Hostel actually received fairly decent reviews for a horror movie, which usually features two minutes to get to know the characters before the campy action in all its glory begins. Most of Hostel--fortunately, perhaps--doesn't take place in the "dungeon" at all but following the characters through their capers on a backpacking trip across Europe. And while horror movies generally share a talent for making horrifically stupid and unsympathetic characters, I didn't mind Paxton, Josh, and Oli so much. They're no worse than many of us have been (or would have been), in our days of youthful folly, certainly not deserving their eventual fates. (Although I must shake my head at the director and producer for spending the most gratuitous detail on the softest, nicest of the characters...oh, who am I kidding? I would have probably done the same thing.) The movie certainly plays well on our fears, not only of being some sadist's playtoy, but also our xenophobic dread of finding ourselves at the mercy of desperate people in a desperate land, where your life buys their family bread for a week, where the language spoken is not our own (and which we have no hope of understanding, as they gab away right in front of us) and every dark face on a street corner portends dread.
After one of these movies--with Hostel being no exception--I inevitably find myself wondering: What ever posseses people to make movies like this? What ever posseses people to watch movies like this? Are we no better than the people in the film who pay money to be able to do whatever they would like to their victim? Aren't we also paying to relish in their pain and screams?
With my NaNoWriMo novel, I found myself falling inevitably into the realm of darkfic. Now, I'd flirted on the edges of darkfic before--AMC certainly has its dark parts, and some of my short stories test the waters a bit--but the NaNo novel has so far been pushing even what I'd thought possible for me before. A good part of the novel follows a young man who founds himself born into a "cult" of Dark sorcerers, himself innately gifted in magic, and expected to learn their Dark ways or chance his own immolation. My premise for "Dark"--perhaps revealing my fascination with clinical psychology--is the slow destruction of empathy and physiological reactions to the pain and death of others, traits that are seen in psychopaths. Needless to say, then, the road of a Dark sorcerer--one who is not by his nature lacking in empathy--is a difficult one and makes me wonder what is wrong with me to consider such themes in my own writing.
Why do I sit for horror movies, with my nails dug into my own arms, watching things that are uncomfortable to ponder? Why do I write such tales and make others go through the same thing? I think it is about facing fears, which for me, has always been blood and injury. For a long time, I denied my phobia because I was a biology and pre-veterinary medicine major and it certainly wasn't a "cool" squick to have. When I'd get lightheaded during experiments, I would blame it being close to lunch and needing to eat. Then, study was the way that I faced my fears. Now that I no longer have that--when my study is safely ensconced in language, the human mind, and yes, Elves--I find my phobia getting worse and worse.
And I despise this.
I would like to be rid of my phobia altogether, but I lack the courage for an actual desensitization treatment, would it even work. (I've never read a case study of this being used for a blood/injury phobia, only more tangible fears like snakes and spiders.) And so I see horror movies, I write darkfic, and I obsess over the parts in The Silmarillion that in truth bother me the most: Maedhros, Maeglin, the transformation of Elves into Orcs, and my own sick, twisted version of Rumil.
Bobby asked me this morning how many E.L. Fudge "Elves Exist" cookies I would give Hostel. I told him that it's not the kind of movie to which you feed cookies, leading him to ask, "What if you bit the heads off first?"
I really do not recommend this movie for people who are easily bothered by such things. For those of you with stronger stomachs, it is a surprisingly good--and very disturbing--movie. (And I'm happy to reveal all the gory tricks to those of you who like to be prepared, as I do!) The characters aren't half bad--especially considering the genre--the premise is actually somewhat believable. (Gangs along the US southern border that deal in human trafficking do the things seen in this movie--and worse--and Hostel is supposedly based on a website operating out of Taiwan that offers people the chance to murder someone for 10K.) I'm pleased to say that there are no unbelievable car chases nor are the usual ploys and scare tactics of the horror genre employed. I didn't really have to suspend disbelief at any point, as much as I would have liked to. And just when the intensity seems unrelenting, there is a bizarrely humorous moment involving a child gang and a bag of candy that did the trick to coax some relieved laughter from the audience.
I'd give you a rating in Elf cookies, but I can't seem to count all the severed arms and legs and body parts....
Last night, Bobby and I saw Hostel. Now you might ask--indeed, I am asking--what a pansy, blood-phobic pacifist like me is doing at the opening night of a film about gratuitous torture that is being promoted using the notion that, at the Toronto Film Festival premier, ambulances had to be called for two of the viewers.
Bobby and I saw a preview for this movie a few months ago, and as we are conniseurs of the horror genre, it was added to the list. Last week, Bobby got word that it was opening this Friday, and so, of course, he wanted to see it right away.
Now most of you know that I'm blood/injury phobic. Badly. I got woozy the other day by someone's icon of a cartoon character with a knife embedded in his head. I always preface going to movies being billed as shockingly or intensely gory--the first Saw movie earned this sort of behavior--with a good deal of private freaking out and worrying. One might wonder why a blood/injury phobic goes to these sorts of movies at all: After all, they involve a good deal of both blood and injury. It seems rather an invitation for disaster. However, weirdly enough, blood in movies doesn't bother me, at least not in the usual sense. While most specific phobias provoke severe avoidance behavior in the form of panic attacks--think of how an arachnophobic responds to a giant tarantula crawling across his chest--the blood/injury phobia has its own unique reaction that feels a lot like hypoglycemia. There's a bit of lightheadness and a general visceral discomfort: squeamishness, you might say. The blood/injury phobia is also the only specific phobia that seems to have a genetic link. Thanks, dad.
When I look at a painting or an icon with blood, I have this sort of reaction. When I cut myself, I have this sort of reaction. But a movie can have buckets of blood--think Saw or the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, both of which I've seen--and I remain unaffected. I do have a strong empathetic reaction for the character(s) being hacked to pieces and a normal flight-or-fight sort of rush, but isn't that the point of horror movies? If one can sit and watch someone's toe being snipped off with garden shears and doesn't experience a bit of a physiological reaction, I'd start to wonder about that person.
At no point in Hostel did I have any sort of phobic reaction: no lightheadedness, no queasiness, no blacking out (which is about the extreme of a phobic reaction for me). Perhaps there's another crackpot psychologist like me out there who can provide an explanation for this; I think it comes down to that good ol' much-scorned, much-blamed word "desensitization." Yes, I am desensitized to movie violence. But as anyone who has lived with a bona fide specific phobia can tell you, a little desensitization every now and then is not necesssarily a bad thing.
But was Hostel intense?
Oh, Eru, yes.
Following my normal MO, I found myself yesterday perusing reviews of the movie, not only to see how the reviewers were rating it but also to get an idea of the gimmicks that were going to be employed that might or might not bother me. I did this before the first Saw movie, which my friend Zach was heralding as seriously f***ed up, and by the time I saw the movie, I knew all of its tricks and so could watch it in relative peace. Despite never having a phobic reaction to a movie, those of you with phobias probably know that sometimes the fear of a phobic reaction is just as scary as the phobia itself. And I wasn't feeling too good about my track record for the week, having gotten batty once over an LJ icon and twice having to scold Bobby for putting the knives in the dishwasher with the point facing up, after I stabbed myself under the cuticle a few weeks ago while dropping in a spoon and had to drink a couple cups of cold water to get my head to reattach to my body.
Horror movies are certainly going beyond the middle-of-the-night chase of the big-bosomed girl in her nightie in the forest (add sprained ankles, cut phone lines, or cars that won't start) to something much darker. One of the reviews I read said that horror movie audiences are no longer frightened by the notion of death so much as torture, the fate worse than death. And so it's no longer enough to have a camp-counselor bloodbath in a remote place, where people mercifully die instantaneously of wounds that should keep them around kicking and screaming for a while; now, we must prolong the death, make it as bad and painful as possible. Consider the gentle easing into such bloodstained waters: First, a few years ago, we had the Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake, where a guy got hung off a meathook and had his severed leg packed with salt. Then came Saw (and inevitably, Saw 2) with its myriad of tricks involving razor wire, reverse beartraps, large ovens, and vats of syringes. Still, these movies cut away from the worst of the action and left a lot to the viewer's imagination. Hostel takes these movies just a step further by leaving less to the audience's imagination and letting the camera linger where we'd normally be whisked to another scene. No, we don't have the luxury of imagining that the tormentor got his 25K-worth of jollies simply by popping a cap into his victim's head. We don't get the luxury of imagining that the victim passed out or died of shock or his wounds before it got too bad. Even when Hostel didn't show exactly what was happening, you could hear what was happening thanks to a higher-than-usual reliance on power tools as torture implements, with the interesting dilemma for squeamish viewers that it is no longer enough to cover one's eyes or avert one's gaze. No, we need earplugs now too.
I was quite surprised to see that Hostel actually received fairly decent reviews for a horror movie, which usually features two minutes to get to know the characters before the campy action in all its glory begins. Most of Hostel--fortunately, perhaps--doesn't take place in the "dungeon" at all but following the characters through their capers on a backpacking trip across Europe. And while horror movies generally share a talent for making horrifically stupid and unsympathetic characters, I didn't mind Paxton, Josh, and Oli so much. They're no worse than many of us have been (or would have been), in our days of youthful folly, certainly not deserving their eventual fates. (Although I must shake my head at the director and producer for spending the most gratuitous detail on the softest, nicest of the characters...oh, who am I kidding? I would have probably done the same thing.) The movie certainly plays well on our fears, not only of being some sadist's playtoy, but also our xenophobic dread of finding ourselves at the mercy of desperate people in a desperate land, where your life buys their family bread for a week, where the language spoken is not our own (and which we have no hope of understanding, as they gab away right in front of us) and every dark face on a street corner portends dread.
After one of these movies--with Hostel being no exception--I inevitably find myself wondering: What ever posseses people to make movies like this? What ever posseses people to watch movies like this? Are we no better than the people in the film who pay money to be able to do whatever they would like to their victim? Aren't we also paying to relish in their pain and screams?
With my NaNoWriMo novel, I found myself falling inevitably into the realm of darkfic. Now, I'd flirted on the edges of darkfic before--AMC certainly has its dark parts, and some of my short stories test the waters a bit--but the NaNo novel has so far been pushing even what I'd thought possible for me before. A good part of the novel follows a young man who founds himself born into a "cult" of Dark sorcerers, himself innately gifted in magic, and expected to learn their Dark ways or chance his own immolation. My premise for "Dark"--perhaps revealing my fascination with clinical psychology--is the slow destruction of empathy and physiological reactions to the pain and death of others, traits that are seen in psychopaths. Needless to say, then, the road of a Dark sorcerer--one who is not by his nature lacking in empathy--is a difficult one and makes me wonder what is wrong with me to consider such themes in my own writing.
Why do I sit for horror movies, with my nails dug into my own arms, watching things that are uncomfortable to ponder? Why do I write such tales and make others go through the same thing? I think it is about facing fears, which for me, has always been blood and injury. For a long time, I denied my phobia because I was a biology and pre-veterinary medicine major and it certainly wasn't a "cool" squick to have. When I'd get lightheaded during experiments, I would blame it being close to lunch and needing to eat. Then, study was the way that I faced my fears. Now that I no longer have that--when my study is safely ensconced in language, the human mind, and yes, Elves--I find my phobia getting worse and worse.
And I despise this.
I would like to be rid of my phobia altogether, but I lack the courage for an actual desensitization treatment, would it even work. (I've never read a case study of this being used for a blood/injury phobia, only more tangible fears like snakes and spiders.) And so I see horror movies, I write darkfic, and I obsess over the parts in The Silmarillion that in truth bother me the most: Maedhros, Maeglin, the transformation of Elves into Orcs, and my own sick, twisted version of Rumil.
Bobby asked me this morning how many E.L. Fudge "Elves Exist" cookies I would give Hostel. I told him that it's not the kind of movie to which you feed cookies, leading him to ask, "What if you bit the heads off first?"
I really do not recommend this movie for people who are easily bothered by such things. For those of you with stronger stomachs, it is a surprisingly good--and very disturbing--movie. (And I'm happy to reveal all the gory tricks to those of you who like to be prepared, as I do!) The characters aren't half bad--especially considering the genre--the premise is actually somewhat believable. (Gangs along the US southern border that deal in human trafficking do the things seen in this movie--and worse--and Hostel is supposedly based on a website operating out of Taiwan that offers people the chance to murder someone for 10K.) I'm pleased to say that there are no unbelievable car chases nor are the usual ploys and scare tactics of the horror genre employed. I didn't really have to suspend disbelief at any point, as much as I would have liked to. And just when the intensity seems unrelenting, there is a bizarrely humorous moment involving a child gang and a bag of candy that did the trick to coax some relieved laughter from the audience.
I'd give you a rating in Elf cookies, but I can't seem to count all the severed arms and legs and body parts....
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-07 08:08 pm (UTC)phobicpsychologist... ;-)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-07 08:41 pm (UTC)I suppose it could be much worse! I could be agoraphobic, for example. But I dislike feeling like a wimp, and the blood phobia does just that.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-07 08:45 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-07 09:13 pm (UTC)I'd love to drabble, but I'm going to be leaving soon for my inlaws' house. Sorry I can't be there, but congrats on
Oh, and I also wanted to congratulate you for getting Lothy accepted at HASA! I was overjoyed to see this but have been so busy that I didn't give you proper congratulations. I hope it's okay to do it now. :)
Thanks for the invite and *hugs* :)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-07 10:33 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-08 07:08 pm (UTC)Lol! Lucky you! You must let me know how it is. We just found it at a theater around us, so I'm hoping to see it with my sister soon. And still trying to wear away at Bobby to get him to go with us.
The sucky thing is that my sister's girlfriend was supposed to go with us, but because it didn't come out until later around here, she's already left by now. Boo.... :(
I dunno why people make those sorts of horror movies.
I've asked this about my darkfic: Why do I do it? I think (for me anyway) that it is a safe way to confront one's fears. It's the same reason probably that I like to see horror movies: one gets the visceral rush without actually being in danger. The theory goes that some degree of nervous system arousal (not that kind of arousal!) is normal and needed; hence the fact that psychopaths--who don't experience nervous system arousal to "normal" things like horror movies--have to murder, rape, and mutilate to achieve the same effect. Just a theory, of course. :)
I remember back in the (early 90's was it?) being squicked by the Freddy Krueger movies because I thought they were too bloody.
Then don't see Hostel! And have fun at Brokeback Mountain. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-08 12:33 am (UTC)I'm more the opposite. My blood...ok, whatever. But I hate watching it. I couldn't stand The Manchurian Candidate.
I don't mind reading it. Huh.
But I do understand your "why?!?!! wtf?" I thought of a challenge, for myself maybe (it might not be the best open challenge), to write a horror scene (basically), that reading I would say "make it stop!" instead of being so fine with it...O.o
Anyways...
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-08 07:16 pm (UTC)To quote you: Interesting.... ;)
My blood is the worst for me. I had an instance at The Piece where a newly sharpened knife fell off a counter; my instinct when I see something fall is always to grab at it. I realized it was a knife a split second too late, and it nicked me, but I didn't think it'd be bad at all. So I stuck a fresh glove over it and went on ('cause it was lunch rush and really busy)....
Alas, when I looked down, the glove was full of blood. At which point I had a bit of a fit. Bobby was (luckily) my co-cook that day, and he sent me away, and I cried like a ginormous baby while my mom--who was doing kitchen prep; the whole family was there that day, I think!--bandaged it for me. It didn't hurt or anything; the knife was so sharp that it never did. But I still get teased about that. ;)
I thought of a challenge, for myself maybe (it might not be the best open challenge), to write a horror scene (basically), that reading I would say "make it stop!" instead of being so fine with it...O.o
Anyways...
Sounds like my NaNo novel.... o.O
I wanted to do a horror challenge for SWG in October, but couldn't think of anything good. (A total non sequitir: I'm working on a pervy challenge for February, for Valentine's Day! >:^D)
(no subject)
Date: 2006-01-08 09:45 pm (UTC)Ewwwwww...
I wanted to do a horror challenge for SWG in October, but couldn't think of anything good.
Ooh...That would be cool (out comes my sadistic side!). Of course "write something that makes the reader want to curl up and die" probably isn't the nicest wa to phrase a challenge, but it's the best I could come up with! ;)
I'm working on a pervy challenge for February, for Valentine's Day! >:^D
>:D Forge smut...0:)