John Carpenter's THE THING has long been a favorite of both horror and science fiction fans for its perfect mood, taut pacing, and its faithful adaptation of John Campbell's unforgettable short story, "Who Goes There?" First written in 1938, the tale lacks the Cold War paranoia of the Body Snatcher films, and touches an existential, primal childhood fear of the unknown. Are people what they seem?
The opening credits, with the dissonant, haunting score thrumming in the background as a helicopter follows a sled dog over the endless, snowy expanse of the Antarctic wasteland, is how most of us remember the story beginning, but first, we see our lonely planet in the darkness of space. But it is not alone; an object circles, then crashes and burns into the atmosphere. A tiny flaming speck, like an insect or even a virus to the massive planet, but we know how dangerous those tiny things can be. Every scene sets a paranoid, chilling mood that eases us into willfully suspending our disbelief for the fantastic tale to come, of an invasion on a cellular level. The dangerous speck of a spaceship is replaced by that of a grey dog fleeing across the snow, looking back over its shoulder eerily at its pursuers, in a way a dog never would. A man with a rifle is shooting at it frantically, panicked beyond reason.
I don't intend to synopsize the film, or do a shot by shot study of it, for that has been done. There are entire websites devoted to it, such as Outpost 31 or these reviews by people who've actually lived in Antarctica. I'm more interested in what makes the film so effective, and popular enough to spawn a prequel 30 years later. And yes, my expectations are quite low for that film, even if it ends with two Norwegians, the last alive, chasing a dog across the snow in a helicopter. Hollywood no longer takes risks like having an all male cast, unless the film is Oscar bait. While it has no basis in fact- women served in Antarctica since the '60s- it makes for a tight screenplay that can safely ignore romantic subplots. Unless you think Blair and Doc Copper were a secret couple. Maybe that's what Doc's nose ring signified? That's a nice little touch that we notice again now that big screen TVs and HD transfers are commonplace, that Doc has a nose ring, very uncommon in the '80s, showing him to be a bit of an odd character like his compatriots.
The story isn't perfect; do we ever learn who sabotaged the blood supply? Like that famous murder in THE BIG SLEEP, where even author Raymond Chandler was hard pressed to explain who did it? Some things are best left unexplained. I don't want to know where the aliens from ALIEN come from; I didn't want to know about Hannibal Lecter's childhood, much less Michael Myers'. The unknown is an important function of horror, and coupled with the isolation of the Antarctic continent, the paranoia of the hidden menace, and the fear of a death that ends with your identity truly stolen, THE THING offers up a panoply of terrors from the beginning. The creature itself, a mockery of the living form, doesn't just steal your face or your corpse; it turns your organs into modern art sculpture and uses them as weapons. We see a flower of dog tongues that H.P. Lovecraft enthusiasts love to point out, because it resembles the Elder Things from his novella "At the Mountains of Madness," and Carpenter is definitely a fan of his work. Not until a year later with David Cronenberg's VIDEODROME would body horror stand on its own; here at least you're dead and being mimicked. Cold comfort.
|"You've got to be fucking kidding me."|
|My favorite scene.|
This post was written for the John Carpenter blogathon this week at RADIATOR HEAVEN. Make sure to go there and check out J.D.'s posts there. I always learn something new, even about films I've seen a dozen times.
© 2010 Tommy Salami