Not Quite Horror contains reviews of films not traditionally considered horror films. By analyzing them as horror films (identifying the monster, discussing the shared worry for the audience and the main characters, and understanding the depth of horror available to the viewer), who knows? There more than one way to watch a movie.

Three Men and a Baby (1987)

The Monster: Three Men and a Baby’s monster does not come from the movie itself. In fact, this monster is the unintentional result of accident and imagination.

The monster is the ghost of a 9-year-old boy who committed suicide on the set of the film and shows up in the background of a scene, peeking through curtains. Except the scene was filmed on a soundstage and the image of the ghost is really a cardboard standout from an odd angle (if you’re not familiar with this particular urban legend, read more about it here).

The Horror: Reality never stopped a good haunting. The wacky, heart-warming comedy becomes horrifying and upsetting when it is watched specifically for the purpose of finding the boy’s ghost.

The movie is about three bachelors opening their hearts to love a baby left on their doorstep. Watch the same film to see the ghost of a sad, dead boy and the joy turns to a powerful sadness. What would go through the mind of such a lost soul? How dark and angry would he become, watching and waiting? Who could blame him?

The Shared Fate: People die. More than that, they die in all sorts of places. If a PG rated family comedy can be haunted by a dark force, can anywhere truly be safe?

After all, do you know everything that happened in the buildings you work in? Shop in? Live in?

What’s peeking through your curtains?

— I am indebted to Noel Carroll’s The Philosophy of Horror for his ideas on defining horror, as well as John Skipp and Craig Spector’s article “Death’s Rich Pageantry, or Skipp & Spector’s Handy-Dandy Splatterpunk Guide to the Horrors of Non-horror Film” in Cut! Horror Writers on Horror Film for a similar idea.–

–Axel Kohagen

Not Quite Horror contains reviews of films not traditionally considered horror films. By analyzing them as horror films (identifying the monster, discussing the shared worry for the audience and the main characters, and understanding the depth of horror available to the viewer), who knows? There more than one way to watch a movie.

Enron: The Smartest Guys in the Room (2005)

The Monster: This Oscar-nominated documentary about Enron may be factual, but its narrative comes straight out of Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. The company grows under the mad-science tinkerings of Ken Lay and Jeff Skilling. The mad scientist owners pumped their creation full of risky investments and creative accounting regarding the costs. Unable to stay alive, the Enron Frankenstein died of bankruptcy.

The Horror: During its meltdown, the Enron monster was more Godzilla than Frankenstein. Jobs were lost. Companies were ruined. Presidents and former presidents were mentioned. One Enron executive committed suicide.

The Shared Fate: With every purchase we make, with every job we take, we are reminded decisions made by companies of every size can affect the entire world. The bigger the company, the bigger the group of people that company could potentially affect.

Most of these relationships are positive. We can eat what we want to eat and we can find the products we want to buy.

When one of these giants is tainted by mad scientists and becomes hurtful, its footprint can smash cities.

When a documentary reminds us we are all vulnerable. A monstrous company may not leave craters or bonfires in its wake, but Enron demonstrated it can leave destroyed households and tragedies just the same.

— I am indebted to Noel Carroll’s The Philosophy of Horror for his ideas on defining horror, as well as John Skipp and Craig Spector’s article “Death’s Rich Pageantry, or Skipp & Spector’s Handy-Dandy Splatterpunk Guide to the Horrors of Non-horror Film” in Cut! Horror Writers on Horror Film for a similar idea.–

–Axel Kohagen

Not Quite Horror contains reviews of films not traditionally considered horror films. By analyzing them as horror films (identifying the monster, discussing the shared worry for the audience and the main characters, and understanding the depth of horror available to the viewer), who knows? There more than one way to watch a movie.

“Dinner Party” The Office (2008)

The Monster: A nearly-mandatory dinner party at boss Michael Scott’s (Steve Carell) turns his condo into a labyrinth and his live-in girlfriend Jan Levinson (Melora Hardin) into a beast.

Long past her days as a successful business professional, Jan Levinson has become a symbol for unashamed, unbridled sensuality. She dances seductively to music, tries to get investors in her candle company, insists dinner be prepared perfectly, and harasses Pam (Jenna Fischer) because she considers her a sexual rival. When the evening spirals out of control, Levinson breaks Scott’s prized TV by throwing a trophy through it.

The Horror: The Office, as a location, cannot abide sensuality. Levinson’s behavior is too much for her dinner companions to tolerate. New couple Jim (John Krasinski) and Pam tiptoe past serious displays of affection with humor. Andy and Angela are polite and reserve to the point of being repressed. Michael Scott can’t handle any talk of sensuality without resorting to adolescent humor and giggling.

With her prominently displayed cleavage and her lack of subtlety, Jan Levinson destroys the boundaries these characters have spent years developing. Each moment trapped in her presence threaten to expose hidden desires none of them can bear facing.

The Shared Fate: For anyone horrified about sharing their sensual sides, being trapped with an out-of-control Jan Levinson is a very realistic threat indeed.

The hero of this episode may be found in an unlikely person. The only person impervious to Levinson’s reign of terror is the ever-awkward Dwight K. Schrute (Rainn Wilson). He may be saddled with legions of his own personal problems, but he is not afraid of sensuality. He leers at his former lover Angela, dresses comfortably, and brings his own food so he doesn’t have to wait for dinner.

For this one dinner party, Dwight K. Schrute is a role model. He embraces his own sensual side and cannot be held hostage by the Jan Levinsons of the world.

— I am indebted to Noel Carroll’s The Philosophy of Horror for his ideas on defining horror, as well as John Skipp and Craig Spector’s article “Death’s Rich Pageantry, or Skipp & Spector’s Handy-Dandy Splatterpunk Guide to the Horrors of Non-horror Film” in Cut! Horror Writers on Horror Film for a similar idea.–

–Axel Kohagen

Not Quite Horror contains reviews of films not traditionally considered horror films. By analyzing them as horror films (identifying the monster, discussing the shared worry for the audience and the main characters, and understanding the depth of horror available to the viewer), who knows? There more than one way to watch a movie.

The Monster: Johnny Ringo may have been a real man, but the Johnny Ringo character in Tombstone (played by Michael Biehn) is more demon than man. To begin with, he’s played by a well-respected horror actor. He sports a satanic goatee. Early in the movie, he guns down preacher without a second of hesitation. Later in the film, he even confesses to having made a deal with the devil and screams that he wants his enemies’ blood.

The Shared Fate: Ringo is an exaggerated representation of violent, relentless people who make headlines for all the wrong reasons. When heroic Wyatt Earp (Kurt Russell) is drawn closer and closer to a confrontation with Johnny Ringo, he echoes the audiences’ own worries about being victimized by violent people when he laments, “I can’t beat him, can I?”

Interestingly, he voices this doubt even after he himself has become tainted by the evil of violence, declaring he was bringing the forces of Hell with him in his quest for revenge on Johnny Ringo and his gang.

The Horror: Tombstone’s extended running time (over two hours) and large assortment of characters drain the suspense and terror from Johnny Ringo’s relentless thirst for death. Edited to focus on the confrontation between Ringo and Earp (and Earp’s friend Doc Holliday, played by Val Kilmer), the film could have been billed as a thriller instead of a western.

Even while hidden in the grand scenery and historical subplots, the unstoppable violence of Ringo’s gun is more than enough villain to make the hero demonstrate his bravery. With the less-than-subtle insinuations Ringo might be supernaturally possessed by an actual demonic evil, it doesn’t take much imagination to picture how much further this gunslinger could’ve taken his fury.

— I am indebted to Noel Carroll’s The Philosophy of Horror for his ideas on defining horror, as well as John Skipp and Craig Spector’s article “Death’s Rich Pageantry, or Skipp & Spector’s Handy-Dandy Splatterpunk Guide to the Horrors of Non-horror Film” in Cut! Horror Writers on Horror Film for a similar idea.–

–Axel Kohagen

Not Quite Horror contains reviews of films not traditionally considered horror films. By analyzing them as horror films (identifying the monster, discussing the shared worry for the audience and the main characters, and understanding the depth of horror available to the viewer), who knows? There more than one way to watch a movie.

Crash (2004)

The Monster: Crash won the Academy Award for Best Motion Picture in 2006 despite being more of a failed horror film than a successful drama.

The monster in Crash is racism, and it is portrayed as nearly supernatural in origin. Throughout the film, various characters are “possessed” by racism. Those possessed behave horribly, and often criminally, toward each other. The film portrays the afflicted as caring and human outside of the context of their racist “possession,” to remind us the villain is racism and the people can be saved.

The Shared Fate: Like Crash’s characters, any person is vulnerable to a damaging racist encounter. People are also vulnerable to being “possessed” by racism and doing racist things, regardless of the total quality of their character. It seems likely people who enjoyed the movie Crash were more likely to identify with the former point than the latter.

The Horror: Few films try to be as horrific as Crash does, regardless of what genre it has been classified. If you consider each upsetting racist moment as a scare tactic, the movie just like any scary movie. Something upsetting happens regularly, to keep people from falling asleep. Like traditional horror films, Crash creates dramatic tension by constantly raising suspicions of different characters, making people wonder who the real villain really is.

There are two major differences between Crash and The Haunting, The Haunting of Hill House, and The Legend of Hell House.. The first is that Crash is more concerned with discussing topical issues than entertaining an audience (although an argument could be made the latter point was also important to the filmmakers).

Secondly, Crash does not offer a thrilling climax to all of the tension and suspense it spends it running time building. Without this final showdown, the movie fails as a thriller. There’s no release of pent-up energy. Viewed as social commentary, this lack of resolution becomes a challenge to move the showdown to the world outside of the theater, to create change.

When Crash won its Best Picture Oscar, it was clearly because people appreciated the film as social commentary. Years later, it makes just as much sense to view the movie as a failed horror film.

— I am indebted to Noel Carroll’s The Philosophy of Horror for his ideas on defining horror, as well as John Skipp and Craig Spector’s article “Death’s Rich Pageantry, or Skipp & Spector’s Handy-Dandy Splatterpunk Guide to the Horrors of Non-horror Film” in Cut! Horror Writers on Horror Film for a similar idea.–

–Axel Kohagen

The following are reviews of films not traditionally considered horror films. By analyzing them as horror films (identifying the monster, discussing the shared worry for the audience and the main characters, and understanding the depth of horror available to the viewer), who knows? There more than one way to watch a movie.

— I am indebted to Noel Carroll’s The Philosophy of Horror for his ideas on defining horror, as well as John Skipp and Craig Spector’s article “Death’s Rich Pageantry, or Skipp & Spector’s Handy-Dandy Splatterpunk Guide to the Horrors of Non-horror Film” in Cut! Horror Writers on Horror Film for a similar idea.–

CSI: Crime Scene Investigation (2000-Present)

The Monster: With a few notable exceptions, the monsters of CSI are relatable people with a flaw or secret. Very few of these monsters stay on the show from one episode to the next, although later seasons of CSI seem to utilize recurring, charismatic killers more frequently.

The Shared Fate: CSI reduces human beings to objects in a similar way to the Saw and Friday the 13th franchises. Episodes are frequently filled with bodies sliced apart (both by murderers and by forensics experts), gallows humor in the presence of the deceased, and explosions of festering bodily fluids.

Unlike traditional horror franchises, CSI benefits from our understanding that we will all end up in a room where we will be prodded, drained, and ignored by joking technicians. Many of the show’s plotlines are far-fetched and heavily fictionalized, but the end result of body on slab is unavoidably true. Ironically, some use this morbid truth as their reason to avoid considering CSI a horror show.

The Horror: CSI may be the most gleefully sadistic show on television, and it’s inspired dozens of imitators (including two spin-offs) and has stayed on the air for well over a decade.

Few shows have delighted in showing all of the ways the human body can become an unrecognizable, lifeless thing. The camera squirms inside the human body like a burrowing worm to get close-ups of squishy organs and stabbing blades. Dead bodies are found in whole and shredded states, as well as in solid and liquid states. The show isn’t afraid to murder its own main characters, either. In fact, the very first episode of the show focuses on a character that dies before the end credits roll.

CSI often offers a message praising the value of rational thought (especially when William Peterson’s Gil Grissom was the star of the show). This is true, but the even deeper message of the show is one of decay. All things decay on CSI, as they do for people in real life.
Watch the show long enough and you can feel yourself rotting and seeping right into your couch cushions. Which will be where they find you.

(Read more about the horrors of your imperfect body with Julia Kristeva’s Powers of Horror, which greatly inspired this reading of CSI.)

–Axel Kohagen