Digital Filmmaking: Destruction of Belief
warner bros"I wanted to scare the shit out of people. That’s the job"
The quote above was delivered by Ridley Scott speaking to Tim Lewis at The Guardian in 2017 while promoting Scott's third entry into his Alien franchise with Alien: Covenant. It is the definition, one way or another, of the principal effect of what horror should evoke: to scare a viewer stiff. By doing so, a filmmaker can define a genre for decades to come. To be immersed is to believe, and to believe is to be transported in any time or space. In the context of horror, this equals allowing to be scared to death for ninety minutes. The success of this can change the face of both expectation and culture. Scott achieved this with Alien, Spielberg with Jaws, Friedkin with The Exorcist, Kubrick with The Shining. These films from the 1970s and 80s have defined the last fifty years of filmmaking. But where are their modern-day equivalents and defining classics? The answer is somewhat simple yet multifaceted – the advent of digital filmmaking has ruined their scariness.
At the dawn of the 21st century and entering the millennium, digital age offered a new and irresistible epoch of creative freedom within the cinematic medium. Since the beginning of the 1990s, the digital craftsmanship was slowly beginning to rise. Jurassic Park made waves in the digital realm due to its execution of action-adventure set pieces and, ultimately, was the precipice of change influencing George Lucas's decision to embrace the digital realm and infuriate Star Wars fans for decades to come. But what of Horror? How could the digital age evolve the restraint, practicality and simplicity of the slasher or the 'other'? The idea, as most blockbusters can attest to, is to go bigger and bigger until a relapse circle bringing its feet back down on the ground with a "newfound" ideal of restraint. Rinse and repeat.
Horror in the 2000s has been undeniably successful. Audiences have seen a revitalisation of social thematic commentary with numerous auteurs emerging, but these films do not hold the same effects powerful tools/weapons, such as Bruce the Shark in Jaws. The issue is the digitalisation of the format and the filmmaking craft. James Wan's horror classic The Conjuring is a perfect example of a film that integrates both 1970s aesthetic and post-2000s digital prowess. The pacing, scene blocking and space of camera screams Friedkin's The Exorcist, but it’s precisely the camera itself that foils the true and possible everlasting effectiveness that Wan's film could genuinely hold.
The perfect illustration of this is the entire exorcism sequence in the film’s third act – a gritty, raw and disturbing scene set in a neglected basement that holds character and weight . . . only to be ruined due to digital camera work that dispels the mirror of the immersion and believability. It breaks the illusion by showing the sequence in a drastically clear and clean manner with an eye of on astonishing detail. This might sound like a bizarre statement, but the medium of film is a transportation tool into the unknown. A portal, if you will. A protective device that projects horrors of all kind but is reinforced by a glass or projected screen. The audience knows it is not real, but the point is that, deep down, it could be. The murky screen and lack of digital transparency are more effective because they blur the line between believability and practicality. This is why the boogeyman exists in a closet, why people don't swim in the ocean, or why people don't walk in the woods during a full moon. The Conjuring fails in transporting the audience into this blurred realm because it oversteps the mark in believability. Shot in such a crisp fashion, it dispels the believability of the unknown and unseen. Thus, the immersion and engagement dwindle and the audacity of the occult is realised in actuality.
Sam Raimi's welcomed return to horror with 2007’s Drag Me to Hell also fails in a very similar manner but in an opposite fashion. Gone are the striking and practical horrifying effects of his Evil Dead series and in its place is CGI fire and lack thereof the unknown. Practicality and restraint are horror’s best and most useful tools of deception, to a point. Both work in tandem crafting believability, and with that they produce the allure of possibility it is happening outside the audience's window at night. Where Drag Me to Hell and The Conjuring fail regarding their aesthetic effects is by pursuing two contradicting ideas of identity and projection. One is crafting a far too clear indication of over-the-top tropes, and the other is one that tries to capture the believability and window of real truth. The two have one thing in common: they both hinder in the realm of faux special effects.
The issues with filmmaking in the 21st century is that it is too reliant on a digital aesthetic. Why shoot a scene with a real helicopter when the special effects house can do it and doesn’t hinder the shooting schedule? On paper, it’s a difficult proposition for filmmakers to turn down and is one many feel inevitably seduced by. It is, however, the beginning of an incredible slippery slope. With the idea of restraint and money being no object, this very destruction of restraint ultimately becomes an addiction. Wes Craven's 1981 A Nightmare on Elm Street offers a magical transformation into the horror of the unknown: an amalgamation of a group of artists forging a then-unknown horror icon with a simplistic basis of just restrained but wild iconography in visual aesthetics, weaponry and costume design. What makes Freddie Krueger scary is that he's real. He is a living, breathing entity that is just as human as the rest of us.
Fast forward to 2017's It: Chapter One and the basis for another potential horror icon is formed with similar aesthetics, restraint and believability of humanistic intention. The results, on the surface, are entirely mirrored, but what gives Krueger longevity and legs is missing in King's revamped clown. He embodies a look through the window and not the seat at the table, with a sheer over-reliance on CGI horror to reinforce the genre and tropes. Krueger works because of his humanised approach of using dialogue and morbid humanity to mirror the victim and the perpetrator. The feeling of commonality and similarity are crafted to reinforce that Krueger is no different to a gym teacher, waitress, sibling, parent, etc. What makes that all the more frightening is that it makes the real world equally as elusive and as scary as the dream world the icon inhabits. Where It fails is that it does not want to entertain the possibility that Pennywise has a humanistic bone in its body. It is so detached from reality and therefore the film must reinforce the character’s tropes in a different format of visuality. Sadly, It succumbs to the most effortless and flattest result of a poor screenplay made up in faux iconography can muster. Once that breakdown occurs, the audience can, and will, never see that character as the potential killer next door, and thus the whole point and definition of why this character exists in the first place is lost.
An example of a horror icon done right is David Gordon Green's rebooted/sequel to John Carpenter's beloved 1978 classic Halloween. The character of Michael Myers is a human being, and as much as the film wants to call him The Shape and have the audience believes he is something else, at the end of the day he is a homicidal maniac no different to anyone who might be passed in the street, sitting across from at a restaurant or at a bar. That at the most simplistic and honest approach to a character and is why said icon is ever so influential and persistent in horrifying and shocking the audience. Green utilises the simplistic mythology with restraint and fundamental techniques of horror – utilising multiple long shots and long takes to soak up atmosphere and tension for the ultimate pressure. No far-fetched or torturous CGI to exhibit manufactured fear or dread but, instead, precise discretion is deployed to build the world and character, for an added horrifying experience.
Green's filmmaking homage – slow methodical scenes that create tension with a realistic and human antagonist – is a throwback to times past. Granted, there are few films in the last decade – specifically the latest new wave of horror – that indulge in this temperament of filmmaking. Jordan Peele, Ari Aster and Jennifer Kent are a few growing voices behind the camera relishing in the balance between new auteur and new wave horror. It is a bygone era of practicality, and even when these voices of horror are implementing a more practical eye, the sheer issue of digital filmmaking as an integral component to the industry will always remain.
That being said, it is a deal with the devil that has to be made and while the iconography of The Man Who Laughs may be a desensitised image due to digital production and the manifestation of the unreal, the bravado and ferociousness of a film like the 1973 Texas Chainsaw Massacre remains in the zeitgeist. A way to balance the fear of the unknown with the restraint of believability is the aesthetic of the homemade – often referred to as Found Footage. Since The Blair Witch Project, the found footage genre has taken on a meteoric investment within both independent and blockbuster cinematic entities. It offers a far greater incentive to come under budget and a far greater improved profitability, exemplified by the enormous and unparalleled success of the Paranormal Activity franchise.
Financial returns, however, means audiences are paying and watching. Regarding Paranormal Activity, [REC] or even the likes of Blair Witch, the incentive to watch these films is not based on the iconic status of a scream queen or a specific actor to influencing the audience into paying for a ticket. Nor is it necessarily the work of marketing campaigns for such films of which are made on an incredibly tight and slim budgets. What makes found footage all the more stimulating and influential is the horror tropes it offers to its viewer: the believability factor of the real. Found footage amplifies the mirror between reality and cinematic entity. It offers an unflinching and haunting subconscious, in a literal sense, of what the audience can question as a reality in what they see on screen. As unbelievable and questionable it may sound on paper, in actuality within the conventions presented it is a brazen and thoroughly chilling experience.
The issue that will arise, if it has not already done so, is that with a technology used to amplify the cinematic experience and one that makes a return on investment is usually rinsed and repeated until the point of exhaustion. It is not clear whether or not cinema has hit an impasse or has yet to hit its peak with found footage. Although the age of the GoPro in cinema was done and dusted in the year of 2013, found footage is seemingly taking on the next evolution of its lifecycle with integration in technology. Searching and Host offer and balance the wave of horror and technology in perfect harmony. The former was exclusively shot with all manners of found footage to craft a murder mystery and the latter was entirely shot on video platform Zoom. Both have gained enormous success and notoriety for their exploits, yet that word is ever so crucial. Time will only tell if this is an exploitation tool or if it can keep the restraint of making the monster under the bed real, not a grotesque realisation of CGI proportion.
"I don't know how much movies should entertain. To me, I'm always interested in movies that scar. The thing I love about Jaws is the fact that I've never gone swimming in the ocean again"
David Fincher
Horror will always work on a multifaceted level, even if it is not to evoke social/political elements or allegories. There is an enormous weight and influence that Horror carries, both subtextually as well as contextually. At this moment in time, it is at an impasse of honouring its practicality but also wanting to evolve in creating fear using freedom of digitalisation. Fear and anxiety work on the mind as the unknown. Once those fears are broken down and the realm and prism of believability are broken, the haunting spell and terrifying effect is gone in an instant. What makes the influence of horror so shocking, is practicality. It makes the audience believe what they are seeing is anything but fake. When successful, not only will fear be integrated for the running time but, with strong iconography, it can last a lifetime. There is a reason why Jaws is ever so influential with its practicality and style of filmmaking using restraint at all cost compared to why Freddy Kruger and Pennywise are shells from what were once iconic titans of cinema.
The practicality and believability of horror cinema are slowly depleting, but it can undeniably be saved if it embraces not only a balance but restraint of technological awareness that does not need to devolve into emptiness. New wave horror is now in its second wind and offers a plethora of unique and spectacular voices; the one primary aspect that will keep these ideas afloat is the board of classification being ruthless in its ratings. Studios are unwilling to pour a sizable amount of budget into such little returns for a film that can not reach 90% of a market, and while that may seem like a glass ceiling to be broken in a pessimistic take, it offers a glimmering hope of having to work within reason and restraint.
