Day 34: The Shining

"All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy."

The horror genre has gone by the wayside. What was once a provocative, if not dangerous form of film, has now become watered down to only grasp the attention of teens. More or less, Hollywood doesn’t see fear in the supernatural or the unknown anymore than they do in a fading bottom line. From this comes formulaic horror films with cheap jump scares, excessive gore, and 20 year old women running around with their breasts bursting through their tight, tight shirts. Ok, so maybe the latter is all right, but horror movies now have either been missing a sense of fear or have all been remakes of popular foreign films that have been diluted to reach that now essential ‘PG-13’ rating. It seems to me that in order for anyone to truly enjoy a film from the horror genre, they need to look back at a time when horror films were on the cutting edge and dripping in subtext.  For example, in the 70’s and 80’s.  And it’s in the past where you’d often find a serious film auteur delving into the genre which has now become starting points for studio directors. One auteur that dove into the realm of horror was Stanley Kubrick, a man known for his cold and calculated films that often feature subject matters that were fit for the horror mold. Well, in 1980, Kubrick ventured into the world of horror with “The Shining”. Based off of the Stephen King novel of the same name, “The Shining” is a surreal film that lets madness reign free in the shape of a fragile family and a daunting, snowbound hotel.

The madness begins with Jack Torrence (Jack Nicholson), a writer who agrees to be a caretaker for the Overlook Hotel during the winter months. The only catch is that there is nobody in the hotel nor within 20 miles of it. In another words, complete seclusion. This is not only a paying gig for Jack, but also one that allows him some space to feed his anemic creativity. Accompanying Jack is his wife Wendy (Shelly Duvall) and his son Danny (Danny Lloyd). Both, wife and son, possess an attitude of uncertainty towards Jack. Nonetheless, Jack packs up his family and they move into the Overlook Hotel for a six month stay that encompasses a deep winter. But, upon their entrance into the hotel, each of the family members have separate, but distinct feelings about their new humble abode. Jack, who instantly connects with the hotel,  feels like he’s been there before. Wendy, despite her forced attempt to be positive about the new move, has a sense of unease in her eyes. And Danny, a boy with what one could deem a supernatural power, feels a presence of  death pouring out of the hotel’s pristine walls. After that first moment, and after months of seclusion pass them by, the Torrence’s slowly begin to unravel as paranoia and the emergence of a dark past tear them apart. This degradation of their family bond can be attributed to the strain their family was experiencing prior to the Overlook Hotel, but can it also be applied to either cabin fever or the ghastly halls of the hotel. The latter often plants haunting images in the minds of each character. Nonetheless, the film is a claustrophobic masterpiece as the Torrence’s run from the hotel’s apparitions and from each other.

I must admit though that the film isn’t particularly scary anymore than it is unnerving, which is a feat that Kubrick accomplishes by visually absorbing us into the hotel while ratcheting up the tension by matching audible cues amongst the action of characters. The former is done with some beautifully composed shots that start with the camera sitting outside of a room, but as the camera slowly rolls in, the room itself is massive to the point that it engulfs us and the Torrences completely. Even more so, Kubrick shoots characters in long, narrow hallways that seemingly make them a prisoner of the paths they choose. It’s scenes like these that not only allow us to understand the descent of the family, but also to make us feel regretfully isolated amongst the menacing Jack. When these scenes are juxtaposed against vibrant and violent imagery, one of which includes a monsoon of blood pouring out of an elevator, it’s hard not to feel that one’s either losing their mind or caught in the devil’s grasp. Yet for as disheartening as the hotel can be visually, it wouldn’t nearly be as eerie without the score, which sounds like the inner workings of hell. Featuring sharp strings, haunting vocals, thunderous drums, and sound distortions that I can only assume sound like death whispering in your ear, “The Shining” amplifies the sense of dread that Kubrick puts on display.

Now, I’d hate for there to be a pretense that because I’m talking mostly about Kubrick, other facets of the film aren’t worth mentioning. Such a pretense wouldn’t be true. The pacing and the screenplay are impeccably crafted while the acting is extraordinary, especially Nicholson going bat-shit crazy.  But, for as good as these things are, I truly can’t help but inflate Kubrick’s imprint on the film. With him at the reigns, he makes the hotel itself feel like a living, breathing entity. And it’s from Kubrick and his manipulation of his actors, the music, and the hotel itself that a sense of dread is continuously emanating from the screen. It’s this idea of not only putting characters, but also the audience in precarious situations that the modern horror film is missing. Horror films no longer absorb the audience the way they used to. They simply give you the cheap scare and the unnecessary blood lust that make a viewing rather easy to sit through. In the case of Kubrick and “The Shining”, he surrounds you with hell and makes you wallow in it, which creates for a visceral, but exhilarating experience you’d be hard pressed to find in the current horror film climate.