Historic and Filmic Horrors in Philippine and Korean Cinema
(February 4, 2018)
Horror film culture is often downplayed for the lack of active social critique and the recruitment of established stars in order to fund the production and commercial success– that is merely a capitalist product. This generic identification is often the case in Philippine Cinema where the horror genre is understudied in film critique and culture, with only a handful of critics that dare to operate within the horror film conventions to explain a wider range of ideological concepts. Like in Hollywood film scholarships, most of the critiques are grounded on the social anxieties reflected within the horror film. Using David Schmid’s “The Limits of Zombies: Monsters for a Neoliberal Age” (2016) and Rolando Tolentino’s “Shake, Rattle and Roll Horror Franchise and the Specter of Nation-Formation in the Philippines” (2016), I hope to briefly discuss the notion of the horror film genre as symptomatic of nation-formation through anxieties it depicts using the two films: “Train to Busan” (2016) by Sang-ho Yeon, and the most successful horror film franchise in the Philippines, “Shake, Rattle and Roll” within three recurring arguments that I have found, namely the role of neoliberalism, the cycle of horror, and the female imagery in horror films.
As a brief introduction, “Shake, Rattle and Roll” is considered the most successful horror film franchise in the Philippines starting in 1984 (having 16 titles to date), as well as the most number of sequel titles in all kinds of genre in Philippine cinema. It’s unique take on horror stories revolves around the traditionally orally transmitted form of ghost stories, wherein the narrative does not need to take up so much time (as in the case of one feature-length film), but rather in the format of a 3-segment horror story retelling, with its subject matter ranging from horrific experiences of ghosts and folkloric creatures both in the urban and rural landscape. This creates a temporal and spatial displacement of what is real and fictional (that a supernatural phenomenon can occur in the bustling urban community, or centuries-old horror resurfaces into the modern world due to incessant industrialisation and societal development,) and recreates the daily life of ordinary citizens, thus a personalisation of the narrative. Each segment has a different director, cast of actors, and themes, often than not, following a similar theme of story-telling or social anxiety being depicted. Because of this, Shake, Rattle and Roll can be considered as a historic recording of Philippine Cinema as it featured established and upcoming directors, scriptwriters, sound and special effects technicians in the industry, as well as featuring the biggest stars of the year for their cast. As such, the film franchise can work as both the subject and object of the critique it wishes to impart. Train to Busan, on the other hand, is a feature-length horror film grounded on the concept of “zombies” or the reanimated dead that hunts the living. In this film, we witness the struggles of survivors against the tide of zombies, as well as interpersonal relationships that are tested by the desire to live, and the lack of morality of others.
In terms of production style, the two films are clearly different. However, there are a few points of similarities to be found. One point is the casting of the famous lead actor, Gong Woo, who had recently returned to the limelight in Korean Drama after his brief engagement in civil military service, thus, his reintroduction entails a diversification of his acting repertoire in this film. This is a common thing with other horror film actors who, upon landing their roles, would be put to a different stage and setting from their normal acting repertoire. Another point is the setting of the narrative within the local sphere, that is to say, they deal with ordinary lives in ordinary settings, only to be disturbed by the supernatural. One more point, and perhaps the driving issue for this paper, is the concept of “linking of the filmic horror and the real” (Tolentino, 2016, 138). Tolentino argues that horror films, following the Bakhtin School of Thought, may be interpreted as a heteroglossia, or having multiple tongues to speak of the continuity of the historical past in the filmic present, in such that the film becomes a mode of translation of the historical horror into filmic horror, using various means of retelling, reinterpretation and representation.
This historical-filmic horror link can be traced to the rise of neoliberalisation. 1980’s to 2010’s saw the rise of neoliberalisation in the Philippines, with privatisation, deregulations, commercialisations, and marketised public services, leading to rising social anxieties to conform with the ruling status quo. As Tolentino elaborates: “What the horror film franchise also informs are the anxieties and the making-do process and mechanics of both ordinary people represented by characters in the film, and the imperative of profit and state formation as rendered by the choice of horror stories to tell, stars and film technicians to incorporate, and the general competition to stay afloat in the anual nationwide film festival through the use of horror series” (2016, 136.) With censorship during the Martial Law years of the Marcos Dictatorship, one form of entertainment that could bypass the censorship board was the horror film genre as it supposedly evoked “out of this world” realities. Ishmael Bernal, director of the segment episode “Pridyider” in Shake, Rattle and Roll 1 (1984), was known for engaging his films in with social and historical realities and critiques, especially as he, himself, was active in the anti-censorship for artist rallies. In this segment, mother and daughter of an overseas contract worker in Saudi Arabia move into a new rented house, together with a household help. The horror in this narrative is the possessed appliance, the pridyider” (refrigerator), that haunts the people inside the house, molesting and eating them. This is later explained as the previous residents were once killed by a serial rapists whose soul now resides in the appliance, an object that is mundane yet necessary to provide comfort and stability within the household. Here, the historical horror being represented is the current status quo of the ordinary citizen and dependency to modern technology. “Bernal unwittingly used his popular and now iconic segment to draw attention to the internalisation of fear in the everyday, the introduction and penetration of fear, especially in the domestic relations and space” (Tolentino, 2016, 142). At one point, it can be read as if the haunting spirit is a daily observer of the on-goings of the household, which can be analogous to the then government’s martial law rule over the citizens– a close observation of the mundane life that can have terrifying consequences.
In the case of Train to Busan, the controlling corporate life of the lead actor and father, tries to control the lives of the people around him. It can also be read as a social critique to the other corporate mogul in the film, the old man CEO, who saw himself privileged compared to others because of his position in life. Another reading is the neoliberal connection of zombies as the corporate slaves of the country, neither living nor dead, as they could only follow one directive (to hunt for human flesh as zombies.) Schmid cites Henry Giroux for his usage of the term “zombie”: “much too loosely, so that it describes not only the operations of predatory capitalists but also the mindlessness of popular culture and its consumers” (Schmid, 2016, 96). Here, what Schmid offers in light with Giroux’ explanation is the functionality of the zombie film to express the limited, if not totally constricting, world of operations of a zombie– a world where material capital is often the dictator of the privilege. This also resonates within the horror genre convention of the “underclass is the first to die” (Tolentino, 2016, 141). However, analysing zombies as the subject identification of neoliberalism is quite limited. Schmid also cites Slavoj Žižek that “most of the violence enacted by monsters, including zombies, in our popular culture is subjective violence, and consequently focusing only on this violence makes it more difficult to see the violence of capitalism in general and neoliberalism in particular” (98-99). What is necessary is to see the link of historical and filmic horror in order to truly trace the origin and expansive hold of neoliberalism within the horror film genre. Furthermore, Schmid cites David Harvey that “neoliberalism is designed to ‘reflect the interest of private property owners, businesses, multinational corporations, and financial capital’ thus, a need to include the corporations in our [critical] inquiry” (2016, 102). We see the invisible leash of the corporation in the lifestyle discrepancies of the characters in Train to Busan, such as the broken family due to work, the self-privileged CEO, and even the economically degenerate homeless person. Another example is in the narrative of Train to Busan, where near the end, it is revealed that the origin of the outbreak can be traced to the company of father. These examples are subtle and would not easily be recognisable if the focus were simply on the horrifying aspect of the zombies on the film.
Further understanding of the horror through its cycle can also shed light in our understanding of historical and filmic horror. Prior to cinema, storytelling was an oral tradition. Philippines and Korea can trace the origins of horror tales as old folklores, often depicting specific horrors. The modern creation of these horrors, by placing them in both urban and rural setting, transcends the limitation of the original storytelling. In the case of Shake, Rattle and Roll, the 3-segment episode format pays tribute to the brief storytelling nature of varying narratives that can be put together (rural folklores and gossips). Furthermore, recurring scene selections such as the usage of the refrigerator and how it seems to be a purveying eye in the household affair (Shake, Rattle and Roll 1: “Pridyider”) slowly embeds the inevitable horrific encounter as the tale of the old tenants are slowly uncovered, through means of gossip, investigation, and rumours. Identically, most of the family matters and personal backstory of the characters in Train to Busan is explored through monologue exposition, or conversation, a homage to the basic form of storytelling which is oral tradition.
The inescapable threat of the zombie may also reflect the cycle of horror– that it is a reanimated dead, thus, there is no clear end. In another example, “Rain, rain, go away” by Chris Martinez (Shake, Rattle and Roll 13 Segment Episode), the flashbacks of the husband and son’s of trapping children workers in the basement is a social critique of the aftermath of the 2009 Ondoy Flood Disaster, replicating the same consequences of death of the trapped victims. Furthermore, even with the wife’s attempt to ask for forgiveness from the spirits and praying to God, her house would eventually be overrun by the floodwaters and she would drown. Here, the repetition of events has a translation effect from the historical past (recent past) to the filmic realm. As a social critique, even as the woman had a miscarriage and lost many of her loved ones, the unwavering tide of the flood would claim her as if guided by the vengeful ghosts of the trapped victims, who, up to present would still have no justice, reflected both within the film narrative and in the real world politics.
Tied with the ghost of neoliberalism, the horror genre follows an escapable cycle of continued retelling without clear answer to questions posed. Tolentino explains that “the return of the horror scene is the open-endedness of closures… the survivor never survives and triumphs over the adversities of the horror scenes” (2016, 145). Clear examples of this can be seen in the ending of Train to Busan, that even in the realm of supposed safety within the perimeter of the military forces stationed in that area, there is no clear answer such as complete eradication of the zombies they left behind. And even if the pregnant wife and the child had physically survived, they have not, emotionally, and cannot triumph against the horror they have witnessed. In “Punerarya” (Shake, Rattle and Roll 12 Segment by Jerrold Tarog), the ending scene has the small boy revealing to be an aswang and eats the teacher’s brother, before the perspective changes to the boy’s point of view as the camera now focuses on the horror on the teacher’s face as the boy launches at her to devour her. And in “Rain, rain, go away”, the silence after the floodwater devours the house, leaving no trace of life, seemingly speaks of washing away the incident, having no clear resolution of any other survivors or of what rescue may have been undertaken by the government.
The last argument most often seen in horror films is the use of female imagery. Tolentino cites Barbara Creed that “the central trope of the monstrous-feminine emphasises gender in the construction of her monstrosity” (2016, 137). In Philippine folklore, the famously orally transmitted horrific tale concerns the so-called “White Lady”, where each oral reiteration has created diverse narratives, pinpointing to several locations across the country. One other famous horrific creature is the manananggal who is a beautiful, if not totally seductive, woman and portrayed by famous sexy actress of the time, luring male victims as well as devouring unborn children. The abundance of female horrors can be associated with shamanistic practices in the Philippines, long before the colonisation of the Spain, where women or feminine men, would become the shamans who commune with spirits. The colonising Spaniards, bringing forth Christianity, would hunt down on these shamans and proclaim them as demons, thus the “monsterification” of the woman who held prowess in the community. However, while the image of the woman is mostly used for the representation of the deceptive and the monstrous, in other horror films, the woman is also the innocent and frail. This is seen in the Shake, Rattle and Roll examples of women as witnesses of the horrors, or the object of desire by the evil horror. Furthermore, in order to draw in more male audiences, Shake, Rattle and Roll casts the best actresses of the year from other known soap operas or tv personalities, an attempt to objectify the woman in an unfamiliar setting. In Train to Busan, the women are often depicted as the connection to family, to tradition, and to innocence, thus the struggles they represent in this film is not only personal but may also be a general critique of the values that they represent in a contemporary world that is overrun by the paralysing zombified neoliberal corporations and government.
In conclusion, I do agree that the horror film genre can be a symptomatic reading of the nation-formation through depictions of anxieties through the lens of a historical and filmic horror linkage in the onset of neoliberalism. However, this mode of analysis have limitations and will require interpolation with other discourses in order to address the unseen issues. With horror film genre studies still understudied or receiving less critical exposure, there is a need for more inquiry, particularly to its relationship with society. As Kristin Thompson and David Bordwell pointed out, “genre is a category best used to describe and analyse a film, not to evaluate them”(300). As such, it would not be surprising if some elements or narrative in genre is closely relevant to contemporary issues. Tolentino further explains that “Horror film is representative of the anxious state and affect in nation-formation, with genre as representational of irony in the anxious state of nation and citizen-formation” (2016, 140). This is to say that it presents an opportunity to represent the ailing society and inability to comprehend and address the issues by the ordinary populace. The act of freight is enjoyable as it draws from the social tensions and creates an avenue for the intensification of anxieties, creating a relatable sphere for the audience, while also exposing the larger scheme of the community.
Word Count: 2,680
Works Cited:
1. Bordwell, David & Thompson, Kristin, “Film Genres”, Film Art: an Introduction (10th edition), University of Wisconsin Press, 328-349. 2010
2. Castillo, D. R., & Browning, J. E. (2016). Introduction : Our Zombies, Our Remnants. In D. R. Castillo, D. Schmid, Reilly David A., & J. E. Browning (Eds.), Zombie Talk: Culture, History, Politics. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.
3. Tolentino R.B. 2016. "Shake, rattle and roll horror franchise and the specter of nation-formation in the philippines". Humanities Diliman. 13 (1): 134-152.
Comments
Post a Comment