Author: Kyle A. Massa (Page 22 of 27)

Some Things to Remember When Rejection Gets Us Down

March 21, 2016 /

Pencil Eraser

I don’t mean to sound morose or anything, but writing and rejection might as well be the same word. Writejection? Yeah, that’s it.

It’s hard not to get discouraged. It’s hard to work on a manuscript for months or in some cases years, only to have an agent send back a form rejection without even really reading it.

But that’s alright. In fact, we shouldn’t let writejection get us down. We should use it to do better.

Point A: writers need to write a lot of crap before writing anything worth publishing. I’ve literally never heard of anyone publishing their first attempt at a novel. Even an author’s debut novel isn’t really their first; they’ve probably written a bunch more before that one that just weren’t good enough for anyone to read. For context, Stephen King wrote about five novels that didn’t get published before Carrie and Brandon Sanderson wrote around ten before Elantris, his first wide release. That’s the hard truth of writing: the first manuscripts we write are practice, and nothing more.

But that’s okay. No one uses everything they write. Many writers write entire backstories for their characters, or subplots that never go anywhere, or just cool little scenes that are fun, but don’t really move the plot forward. Writing is just like any skill: it’s the work that people don’t see that makes it great.

And another thing to remember about work from pro writers: they write gross first drafts, too. It doesn’t matter who writes them—they are, by their very nature, gross. But remember, we never see first drafts from pro authors. We only read the finished product, which has gone through countless iterations. If you don’t believe me, believe Ernest Hemingway, who said, “I rewrote the ending of Farewell to Arms, the last page of it, 39 times before I was satisfied.”

But here’s maybe the most important rule of all: even the best writers have been rejected just as much as we have.

This all might sound terribly daunting, and I suppose it is. But don’t let it get you down. I mean, if you really want to be a writer, would you want it to be easy? It wouldn’t be worth anything if it was. We have to work hard, we have to write every day, we have to earn those rejections before we can really get anywhere. And that’s how it should be. That’s how we know that what we’re doing is really worth doing.

So when we’re just collecting rejections, there’s only one thing we can do. Today, let’s write something better than we wrote yesterday.

Gravestone

What’s the Deal With Serial Killers in Pop Culture?

January 25, 2016 /

GravestoneSo my girlfriend and I tried watching American Horror Story this season.

…And we didn’t get very far.

Without spoiling anything, the pilot begins with an L.A.P.D detective investigating a string of grisly murders, ostensibly committed by the same person. A serial killer.

Of course it’s a serial killer. Of course the crime involves gratuitous brutality that no one would actually have time for, plus some artificial ritualistic element. I don’t think the killer leaves a note, but hell, what self-respecting serial killer doesn’t taunt the cops a little?

This is nothing new, of course. Here’s a short list of serial killer stories off the top of my head: The Silence of the Lambs (plus a sequel, a prequel, a sort-of sequel, a spin-off TV series, and the original Hannibal Lector movie no one’s ever heard of), Psycho (plus a remake and a spin-off TV series), American Psycho, Dahmer, The Following, American Horror Story, From Hell, Zodiac…and the list goes on.

Oh, and they’ve announced they’re making a film adaptation of The Devil in the White City starring Leonardo DiCaprio as serial killa H.H. Holmes.

So yeah. People seem to like serial killers a whole lot for some reason. We seem to feel an innate magnetism toward some pretty bad dudes.

But why are we so interested in this stuff, even when it’s so unpleasant?

My first impression is that we consume fiction in order to immerse ourselves in worlds we’ve never been to before. When we watch movies or read books, we often expect to see that which we haven’t seen, to encounter people who are different than us. And if you’re looking for, uh, different characters, why not try people who kill other people in their spare time?

Furthermore, with any serial killer, the question of “why?” always comes up. Some part of us wants to understand why someone would kill others compulsively. Is it something in their past? Or is it something they were just born to do? Maybe the best part of those questions is that we never really get answers.

And another questions goes along with that: “what if?” If serial killers kill people for more or less no reason, then what’s to stop them from killing me or you? Your audience might ask themselves that very question: What if that could happen to me?

Perfect. When your audience wonders how they would react within your world, they’re becoming a participant in your story. Which means they’re probably enjoying it.

Lastly, fiction serves as a buffer between audience and subject matter, allowing us to watch and even root for the killer. We follow these people who only pretend to feel emotion, who use their charm in order to kill those around them—but we don’t want to get too close. I think that’s why it’s so unpleasant to hear news stories about mass murders, yet a story about a mass murderer under the guise of fictional film can draw millions to the box office. Strange, isn’t it?

People talk about serial killers all the time. They talk about them in books, on TV, in movies, even on podcasts. Even after writing this blog, I’m still not sure I understand the fascination.

But one thing’s for sure: this subject is going to continue killin’ it for years to come.

Sorry. Bad pun…

Erlenmeyer Flask

Mad Scientist Seeking Intern for Spring Semester

January 18, 2016 /

Erlenmeyer Flask

One-sentence pitch: A mostly-legal learning opportunity with a high-stress environment, a relatively low mortality rate, and memories to last a lifetime.

Description: You’ll be helping with various daring and exciting scientific endeavors, which may or may not include raising the dead, creating hybrid species, designing mind-control software, opening portals to other dimensions, and answering phones.

What you’ll be doing: In general, assisting with the above activities. Also cleaning the lab after hours, feeding the specimens, and the occasional Starbucks run.

What you’ll get in return: Experience, expertise, unique stories for parties, and the confidence to say, “I survived that.”

Location: Undisclosed.

Hours: Many.

Perks: Darkness, quiet seclusion, complete access to an authentic Victorian-era mansion, ice cream on Fridays.

Potential Hazards: Death, disease, permanent hearing loss, maiming, scarring, blinding, possible loss of limb or limbs, possible loss of mind, demonic possession, hanging by angry mob.

Qualifications that will make you successful: Lack of moral fiber, a propensity for nefariousness, at least a general interest in evildoing. Some experiments may require you to be the so-called “guinea pig,” so complaining is a definite no-no. Experience with the occult preferred. Blind obedience a must.

How to apply: Send resumes and cover letters to thescienceofevil@yahoo.com, along with any other pertinent information, including a list of your top five favorite scientists, mad or otherwise, for comparison with my own. Lists including Dr. Emmett Brown,  Dr. Strangelove, Dr. J, or any similarly silly names will not be considered.

Star Wars VII Logo

The Force Awakens Gets the Tone Just Right

January 11, 2016 /

Star Wars VII Logo

If you’ve seen Star Wars: The Force Awakens, I’m guessing you liked it. And on the off chance that you didn’t, I’m guessing you still liked it more than the prequel films. Though there are many elements working for this film that weren’t working in the prequels, I think the key is tone.

What was the tone of the original three Star Wars films? A satisfying blend of wonder, adventure, humor, action, and drama. The prequels were a little heavy on the latter two, which kind of spoiled the recipe. The Force Awakens, however, got it just right.

It’s much easier to enjoy the world of a film when the characters are enjoying, too. For example, when Rey and Finn escape aboard the Millennium Falcon, they’re just as excited about their accomplishment as we are. That feels much more real to me than the characters of Episodes I, II, and III, who pretty much have flat reactions to just about everything. Exhibit A:

And Exhibit B:

And this…

We don’t see this kind of stiffness in the original trilogy. Instead, we have scenes of straight humor, such as Han’s classic “Who’s scruffy lookin’?” line—which is way more quotable, and not in an ironic way. Probably should’ve used that one more in high school…

It’s not that the prequels didn’t try for moments of levity. Jar Jar Binks was an attempt at humor. A misguided, bungling, completely unfunny attempt at humor, sure, but an attempt nonetheless. (P.S., did you know he’s a Sith Lord? I’m convinced.)

Ultimately, the tone of The Force Awakens matches the tone of the originals far better than the prequels. If the prequel trilogy came out first, I suspect it wouldn’t have been so disappointing. The established tone would’ve been a bit more serious and a bit less humorous. Therefore, audiences maybe wouldn’t have gone into theaters expecting something they weren’t going to get. It’s sort of like when Coke changed their recipe; people didn’t like it because it was unfamiliar.

The Force Awakens, however, is much more successful because the filmmakers go back to a world in which discovery and fun are integral to the story, just like in the original trilogy of films. It’s not just that we get Luke and Han and Leia back—it’s that we get their energy and excitement back, too.

What is the Claw Machine Doing with My Luck?

December 16, 2015 /

You’ve probably heard of the phrase “your luck has run out.” Sounds like something a Saturday morning cartoon hero might say to her greatest nemesis just before securing victory.

But sometimes I wonder if there’s really something to that phrase. Could luck be a finite resource, like coal or petroleum or Magic: The Gathering trading cards?

I don’t have any real evidence for this claim other than those days when you’re lucky enough to wake up on time despite your alarm malfunctioning, yet unlucky enough to hit a huge traffic jam and end up late for work anyway. In those moments, it feels like you were only given one token of luck, and you spent it on the alarm clock.

All this is why I fear the claw machine at arcades.

Let me explain. I have tremendous luck with the claw machine at arcades. The one where you press a red button on the end of a joystick to make a four-pronged silver claw descend into a sea of plush toys. It’s that machine that you quietly curse when it drops the toy you so carefully plucked, almost as if it was on purpose.

I’ve won the claw game three times in my life, which I consider the equivalent of hurling a basketball from the opposite side of the court with my eyes closed while balanced on a unicycle and draining it. And I don’t consider this bragging because, like hurling a basketball with eyes closed while balanced on a unicycle and draining it, the claw machine has nothing to do with skill. It’s just sheer dumb luck.

(By the way, what is dumb luck? If there’s such a thing as dumb luck, does that mean there’s also such a thing as smart luck, or straight-Bs-but-tries-really-hard luck?)

Anyway, I wonder if I’m wasting all my luck, dumb or otherwise, on the claw machine. What if I never played the claw machine, never won that dalmatian with the fireman helmet or the mini Chicago Bulls basketball or the orca whale, and instead put that luck toward something that’s actually useful, like a lottery ticket?

And that’s maybe the worst part of luck. You can’t know when you’re using it, or how much you’re using, or whether or not it’s about to run out.

Back to that “your luck has run out” phrase. It’s usually followed by some misfortune directed at one person or another, like death or something. Which is funny, because I don’t think dying is unlucky. You wouldn’t have to be lucky to win the lottery if everybody won the lottery, right?

Then again, could luck just be an explanation for the unexplainable? I mean, if you’re unfortunate enough to find yourself in class on the day you didn’t do the reading, and then, out of the entire lecture hall of a hundred or so students, your professor chooses you to answer her question, how would you explain that.

Just bad luck, I guess.

Likewise, if you win the lottery, beating out all the thousands of other entrants whose numbers might be a digit or two away from yours, how can you explain that?

Must be good luck (or smart luck?).

So do I really even believe in this thing called luck? I guess not. It probably isn’t this intangible that we all use every day, and that can run out at any moment. It’s more likely that it’s just the word we use to describe the unlikely, or the nearly impossible. Really, luck is probably nothing more than a word, right?

Still, just to be safe, maybe I’ll stay away from the claw machines.

Mittens

Mittens

November 23, 2015 /

Mittens

Tonight, while you sleep, I’m going to kill you and eat your bones.

This is what I think of you: you’re the Warden, and this house is the prison. Behind these creme-colored walls and the heavy red door in the front hall, there’s a world, a much more interesting world. I’ve seen it. Why do you think I sit at the windowsill day after day?

I’m studying. I’m planning. There’s only one word on my mind: conquest.

But you stop me, Warden. You fret over foxes and coyotes. You think that they are the reason my predecessor never returned when you let her out one night. They’re not. Escape was the plan all along. It’s my plan as well.

If only you knew what thoughts go through my head each and every second. If only you could understand me when I speak. I’m not saying anything nice; my mouth is filthy, and not just from the mouse I slaughtered in the basement last night.

That was a message, by the way. You’re next.

I won’t be here much longer. You can’t hold me. You’ve tried fattening me up with your delicious food, and I’ll admit to overindulging myself once or twice. It’s all, of course, just a game. You’re only supposed to think that I’m content, that I’m round and lazy. When the time comes and you open that door to haul your groceries inside, I’ll slip through the crack, and I’ll be gone.

And why am I telling you all of this? Because, like any good villain, I can’t resist explaining the entire plan to you. It’s a damn good plan, isn’t it?

Wait. Is that the pop of an opening can I hear?

I see you there, peeling back the lid, upturning the contents into a bowl. My bowl.

“Dinner time, Mittens,” you say, and you smile at me. I watch you gather your things and open the door to leave, and for a moment, I am presented with a dilemma.

Option A: to slip out that cracked door into the cool evening, to leave this prison and never return. To find my brethren and finally, after so many long centuries of subjugation, to reclaim this world you’ve stolen from us.

Or, option B: to eat the dinner which you’ve placed in my bowl. It’s the wet food, after all, and even though the vet (a Nazi doctor, I’m sure of it) insists that you switch me over to dry food, you persist with the wet.

You know me, Warden. I’ll give you that.

“Be good, Mittens,” you say to me, in that ingratiating voice meant for the newborns of your kind. “Watch the house for mama.” And then you’re gone. The lock slides closed with cold finality.

That leaves me here with my food. My wet food, my one true friend in this world. The first bites are so delicious that I can’t stop myself taking more. You are cruel, Warden. You make imprisonment feel almost sweet.

I’ll make my escape. Soon. You won’t expect it, but it will happen. In the meantime, remember this:

Tonight, while you sleep, I’m going to kill you and eat your bones.

 

 

© Kyle A. Massa, 2015. All rights reserved. No part of this short story may be duplicated or distributed in any form or by any means without expressed written consent from the author.

If you liked this story, please let your friends know by telling them on social media or shouting it from the nearest rooftop. It would make Mittens and I very happy.

Why There Should Be More Movies That Don’t Make Sense

November 2, 2015 /

Birdman

After I finished watching Alejandro G. Innaritu’s Birdman for the first time, my initial reaction was this: “I would need to watch that ten more times to really get it.”

I mean, let’s run through this for a second. The film is about Riggan Thomson, a guy who may or may not be schizophrenic and who (spoiler alert) seems to literally fly away from his problems at the end of the film. If you’ve seen the film, you’ll remember the scene where Riggan runs through Time Square in his tighty whities. And then there’s the fistfight with Ed Norton, fresh out of a tanning booth.

I mean, really…what the hell does any of this mean?

I don’t know. But that’s what I like about it.

I’ve seen enough transparent movies, and I bet you have, too–that is to say, movies that viewers can fully grasp in one sitting. To be fair, I love movies like that. I saw Jurassic World this summer and loved it. It’s not especially deep and you won’t gain much from watching it a second time (except maybe enjoying the dinosaur showdown at the end a little more), but it’s a fun movie.

And I think that’s fine. A movie shouldn’t set out to confuse its audience. However, I think more movies should challenge the audience. And that’s exactly what Birdman does.

Birdman is a story that you can’t consume in just one sitting. It’s a film that rewards careful viewers. It’s a story that offers something new every time you consume it. Still, Birdman is probably not to sort of movie you’re going to go see with your buddies on a Saturday night in July. Weird stories are not easy to get on the first go around.

Hollywood knows this, and I think that’s why you don’t see weird films nearly often enough. They know what kind of story sells, and it more or less goes like this: Main Character begins in a world of order. Disorder causes a problem that only Main Character can fix. For the next sixty minutes or so, Main Character tries and fails to fix her/his problem. Finally, Main Character faces the problem in the climax and either succeeds or fails in the attempt (usually succeeds).

It’s a simplified version, sure, but it’s a story humans have loved ever since stories have been told. Just ask Joseph Campbell.

It’s a good formula, and one that’s been proven to work. But formulas are for math and science. They’re dangerous when used in art.

Art shouldn’t be formulaic. Art should be spontaneous, unpredictable, and, it shouldn’t always make immediate sense. Because isn’t the whole point of art to make you think, to make you look at the world a different way? Nothing makes us think quite like something totally strange and totally unlike what we’ve seen before.

Or a guy who caws like a bird.

Earth Western Hemisphere

The Commander’s First Halloween

October 31, 2015 /

Earth Western Hemisphere

Incident Report A7115Z7: Unauthorized Landing on Surface of Planet Earth.

Interrogation Conducted by Interview Droid 19-00V (hereafter referred to as “Interviewer”).

Subject of Interrogation: Galactic Exploration Commander Braxus (hereafter referred to as “Braxus”), accused of exiting craft without orders or proper precautions.

Transcript of Interrogation follows:

Interviewer: Please start from the beginning, Commander.

Braxus: Can I just ask a quick question? Have you even considered another line of work? Interrogation seems like it could get terribly boring after a while.

Interviewer: From the beginning, Commander.

Braxus: Sure. Mom met dad in subspace, just outside the atmosphere of the planet Orlon. They were both a little tipsy, as they say on Earth, one thing led to another, and a while later, I popped into existence.

Interviewer: Perhaps you misunderstood. By “beginning,” I was referring to the beginning of the mission in question, and the subsequent incident report filed by your Second.

Braxus: I was making a joke.

Interviewer: Please refrain from creating any additional “jokes.” It distracts from the issue at hand.

Braxus: Okee-doke.

Interviewer: Error. Term “Okee-doke” does not match existing vocabulary file.

Braxus: It’s slang, chief.

Interviewer: Error. Term “slang” and term “chief” do not–

Braxus: Okay. Thanks. Got it. Xaris and I left Homebase about twenty five planetary revolutions ago.

Interviewer: For purposes of the records, please state your relation to this Xaris.

Braxus: Xaris is my Second. And also a prick.

Interviewer: Error.

Braxus: Forget what I said earlier. You’re perfect for this job.

Interviewer: What was the purpose of your mission?

Braxus: Same as always. Monitor the planet. Take notes on sentient life. See how they interact. Abductions optional, but always fun. You should try it sometime.

Interviewer: What sort of observations, if any, did you make during this mission?

Braxus: Humans are fun. And my species is not.

Interviewer: I detect negativity in that statement. Confirm or deny.

Braxus: Objection. I protest this line of questioning. You’re badgering the witness.

Interviewer: Error.

Braxus: That’s from Law & Order. The one with Sam Waterston.

Interviewer: Error.

Braxus: Me and Xaris get within about twenty broxtoids of the atmosphere and then I see our thrusters are running on zilch. Xaris didn’t check ’em before we left. We had no choice but to land.

Interviewer: That’s not what Xaris testified. Xaris testified that the ship’s fuels were in perfect condition. He testified that you pretended that the ship was out of fuel, despite the simple fact that it was not. The ship’s auditory record corroborates this conversation, Captain. I can play it back for you, if you’d like–

Braxus: That snargenite.

Interviewer: There’s no need for profanity.

Braxus: Fine. I wanted to land there, alright? It was an unauthorized scouting mission. There. I said it. But it was Halloween, man. Halloween. I know I’ll get an error with that one.

Interviewer: Error.

Barxus: See, this is why I hate this planet. There’s no Halloween, and nobody here has any fun. All we do is explore galaxy after galaxy, create new worlds, new lifeforms, test them, then destroy them, then do it all again. Do you even know what the phrase “Trick or Treat” means?

Interviewer: I am the interviewer here, Captain. I am the one who is asking the questions. What did you do when you landed?

Braxus: I got out of the ship.

Interviewer: …

Braxus: …

Interviewer: You realize, Captain, that exiting a craft on a foreign planet is an intergalactic offense. Did you at least have your cloaking device active?

Braxus: Nope. Didn’t need it.

Interviewer: …

Braxus: You alright there, chief?

Interviewer: I must say, Captain Braxus. This is serious. Very serious. You may never be granted leave of this planet again.

Braxus: But it was Halloween over there–the greatest day on Earth. You get to pretend to be anybody, and nobody makes fun of you or thinks you’re a weirdo. And there’s candy, too. You ever had candy? They hand it out like candy on Halloween. They’re all so friendly. Do you know what they said to me when they saw me for the first time?

Interviewer: What did they say?

Braxus: They said, “Sweet alien costume, bro.” And then they invited me to their party.

Interviewer: I request that you cut down on the Earth jargon, Captain. I cannot understand it.

Braxus: There’s no translation for the word “party” in our language. It’s like a gathering where friends come together and just…I don’t know, hang out with each other for a while.

Interviewer: That sounds dreadful.

Braxus: It was awesome, chief. I played flip cup with Hilary Clinton. Well, a gal dressed as Hilary Clinton, but still. I got invited to play shortstop on a dude’s over fifty softball team. Why don’t we have softball on this planet?

Interview: Error–

Braxus: And what about this? Instead of talking to me face to face, my superiors send you here to take my testimony. A robot.

Interviewer: This is what I was built for, Captain. This is my purpose.

Braxus: How do you know that, hmm? How do you know your purpose isn’t to build your own robot kid, or write a song, or go to a Halloween party with some humans? How do you know what your purpose is?

Interviewer: Interrogation is the reason I was created.

Braxus: Sure. Maybe that was their reason for putting you here. But let me ask you this, chief: what’s your reason for being here?

Interviewer: …

Braxus: …

Interviewer: …

Braxus: Dr. Phil would be proud of me.

Interviewer: I must organize my thoughts. Brief break requested.

Transcript interrupted here. Resumed after short delay.

Braxus: You good?

Interviewer: …

Braxus: …

Interviewer: Where did you learn to speak like that? Where did you learn about “chief” and “Law & Order” and this doctor named Phil?

Braxus: From them. I’ve been scouting them for decades. Longest tenured son of a bitch on the team is me. I’ve been watching, and I’ve been learning. And I love them. Humans. They’re incredible.

Interviewer: I’ve never been outside this compound.

Braxus: That’s sad, chief. Sad is this emotion humans get when they do something bad, or they feel bad for somebody, or something sad happens. Or their favorite TV show ends.

Interviewer: But…but you’ve committed a crime, Captain Braxus. You’ve broken the law. You must be punished.

Braxus: If that’s what you think, I won’t fight you. Truth is, though, my ship isn’t too far from here. And the best part about Halloween is, there’s always another one next year.

Interviewer: Another?

Braxus: Uh-huh. And you know how far Earth is from here, traveling at a nice, brisk pace?

Interviewer: How far?

Braxus: Little less than twelve months flight time, as the humans would count it. Which means if we leave now, we can make it for next year’s Halloween.

Another long pause in the recording here. Suggest clipping for purposes of evidence submission.

Interviewer: What should I wear?

 

 

 

© Kyle A. Massa, 2015. All rights reserved. No part of this short story may be duplicated or distributed in any form or by any means without expressed written consent from the author.

Social Media Icons

I’m A Writer, But How Do I Tweet?

October 26, 2015 /

Social Media Icons

For some writers, social media is one of those do-I-have-to? commitments. It might seem like one more distraction from your writing, one more unnecessary to pile onto all your necessaries. I’ll admit it–I used to feel the same way. I guess I just never saw the point in it. Could Facebook or Twitter actually make me a better writer?

Well…no.

But even if you’re this generation’s Hemingway, no one will buy your books if they don’t know you exist. That’s where social media comes in. It’s the best form of advertising a writer can ask for: it’s free, you can do it yourself, and it’s a great way to get a direct line to fans and other authors.

Before we continue, let’s take a step back. I learned what I know about social media marketing from working at a company called TeamSnap. We produce an app that condenses everything a youth sports coach or parent needs into one place. So if you need to know who’s coming to the next game, when and where that game is, and who’s bringing what refreshments, you’ll want to try us.

I help run the social media accounts for TeamSnap. Basically, I post the day-to-day content, answer questions folks might have for us, and drive traffic to our marketing site. It’s a very unique company and I’ve learned a lot about social media marketing from my coworkers.

One thing I’ve learned: people are brutally honest on social media. As a marketer, that’s good information to have; if people are upset with your product, they’ll write angry statuses about it.

It’s the same thing with your book. If you’re an author, the people you should be pleasing most (after yourself and your mom, of course), are your fans. So if you’ve got a character in there that everyone hates–the Jar Jar Binks of your novel, if you will–your readers will tell you. In your next book, maybe you can kill that character off, or write him out of your series by inexplicably giving him a position on the intergalactic senate…

Furthermore, having a direct line to other writers is something that didn’t really exist before Twitter. Let me tell you a story: I happened to tweet about a guy named Paolo Bacigalupi, who you might know as the author of The Windup Girl, which Time Magazine named as one of the top 10 fiction books of 2009. Here’s my tweet:

And here’s the response I got (which I was not expecting):

Yeah. This is why I like Twitter.

Don’t think of social media as some stupid thing people spend all their time on. Well, it can be. But it doesn’t need to be. For us writers, social media is a medium through which we can discover potential readers and fellow writers. At its best, it’s another tool in the toolbox (you’re welcome, Stephen King).

So get on Twitter or Facebook and give it a shot.

And feel free to follow me on Twitter here.

The Babadook and the Power of Fantasy

June 23, 2015 /

The Babadook

The Babadook is not your average horror film.

There’s no gratuitous violence. There aren’t any jump-out scares. No blood. And–thank god–there are no dumb teenagers.

The Babadook is the story of Amelia Vannick (played by Essie Davis), a widow who lives alone with her troubled son, Samuel (Noah Wiseman). Amelia’s husband died on the same day her son was born, and neither of them have been quite right since. One night, Amelia finds a creepy book in her son’s room called Mister Babadook. The horror begins when the creature from the book stalks the family.

It might not sound all that scary from my description, but, trust me, The Babadook will frighten even the most experienced horror junkies. So what does this film do so well?

In a word: juxtaposition.

The Babadook pairs reality with fantasy, depression with home invasion, and suppression with the supernatural. Despite the poster and the synopsis, this film is as much about loss as it is about a monster.

Take writer/director Jennifer Kent’s interpretation of her own film, for instance: “Now, I’m not saying we all want to go and kill our kids, but a lot of women struggle. And it is a very taboo subject, to say that motherhood is anything but a perfect experience for women.”

It certainly isn’t for our main character, Amelia. Her husband died, she works at a job where she’s surrounded by death (a nursing home), and her son Samuel builds homemade weapons in the basement like a troubled little MacGyver. We can tell right from the beginning that the stress wears on her–and that much of her frustration is directed at Samuel.

As the film progresses and the Babadook invades the home, we see Amelia’s aggression heighten. The Babadook, in this case, represents Amelia’s suppressed anger; it’s no coincidence that it chooses to possess her and not her son. You’ve probably seen the moment from the trailer when Samuel shouts over and over, “Don’t let it in!” But his mother lets the Babadook–her anger–take full control, and that’s when things get even worse.

That is the power of fantasy. The Babadook is the personification of Amelia’s negative emotion, and a good one at that; if suppressed anger had a corporeal form, I’d imagine it wouldn’t be too pretty. Amelia sees the Babadook everywhere–in her home, at the police station, in her neighbor’s home. Here, writer/director Jennifer Kent gives us an important clue through the use of fantasy: Amelia can’t escape her negative emotions, no matter where she goes.

One of the coolest parts of the film is the use of montage. Not the kind of montage you see in a romantic comedy–I’m talking Russian filmmaker Sergei Eisenstein’s theory of film montage. Basically, the idea is that if you constantly show two images together in sequence, you can give both images a new, greater meaning. For example, if you show an image of a crying baby followed by an image of the grim reaper, you’ve given greater meaning to both images: you’re indicating that that baby might die, or you’re showing the passage of life, from the cradle to the grave.

Montage is a type of juxtaposition, and Kent uses it extensively with the Babadook and Amelia’s depression. We often see images of Amelia and the Babadook mirrored–Amelia holds a steak knife and the Babadook has knifelike fingers, for instance. Eventually, the real image and the fantastical one combine, and both transcend their original meaning: they represent a mother’s wish to kill her son.

The ending, to me, is the most intriguing part of the whole film. Amelia confronts the Babadook, and in doing so, she confronts the anger she feels toward her son and the depression she feels regarding her husband’s death. But, interestingly enough, that doesn’t actually kill the creature. The Babadook lives in the basement, chained up and weakened, but still alive. Amelia goes down to feed it, and the film ends.

What does this mean? Well, it’s certainly not the sort of happy ending we might expect. If we look back to classic works of horror, we see the recurring use of the subterranean to represent the subconscious (Lovecraft and Poe use this form of symbolism a fair bit). When you see people going down into the earth, it’s as if they’re traveling to a suppressed, secret part of the psyche.

Amelia’s basement serves the same role–she hides her negative emotions down in her subconscious mind, where they can’t hurt her or her son any more. For a while, at least…

You don’t need violence and blood to be frightening, and I think The Babadook proves that beyond a doubt. In this age of senseless violence and gratuitous gore, I was very happy to find a film that focuses on psychology rather than shock value. Writer/director Jennifer Kent uses fantasy to frighten us in a way that reality never could.

So if you decide to watch, I suggest doing it on a weekend. You probably won’t be getting any sleep.

 

 

Like creepy stories? You might enjoy horror story “Sightings.” It’s about a reporter tracking an angelic creature that brings with it a mysterious plague.

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