Michael Jacob
From Mark Gattiss’s astute observation that folk horror shares a “common obsession with the British landscape, its folklore, and superstitions” (History of Horror) to Adam Scovell’s “folk horror chain” (17-18), central characteristics and analytical frameworks for this horror subgenre have recently been emerging. Despite these illuminating contributions, what is still lacking is an explanation for the psychological and sociological drives that motivate isolated groups in rural settings to use their “skewed belief systems and morality” to wreak chaos (Scovell 18). To begin this discussion, I explore the character development of “the Judge” (Patrick Wymark) in Piers Haggard’s 1971 film The Blood on Satan’s Claw. Specifically, the Judge’s transformation from an impotent intellectual to a heroic agent of action mirrors the personal and social development symbolized by the Apollonian-Dionysian opposition found in Nietzsche’s The Birth of Tragedy (1872). My overall goal is to illuminate how folk horror’s focus on exploring the ideological tensions between modern individuality and rural collectivity is a repackaging of the archetypal tensions of civility and animalism symbolized in the myths of the pagan gods. In other words, the objective of folk horror narrative may be to remind us of the constant ideological battle between Apollonian civility and Dionysian collectivism, and that when societies fail to balance these archetypal energies, they do so at their own peril.
In true folkloric style, the terror driving the plot of Satan’s Claw centers around villagers (mainly children) offering up chunks of their own flesh and (in some instances) whole appendages for the reconstruction of the demon god, Behemoth, whose skeletal remains were unearthed from the fields. While this process of recreation occurs in a straightforward manner through visually grotesque imagery on screen, another reconstruction happens simultaneously—one that is figurative, and thus invisible but still pivotal to the plot. This reconstruction occurs within the psyche of the Judge, pushing him to balance his Apollonian logic and individualism, on the one hand, and the Dionysian desires and collectivism he has long repressed on the other. By eventually accomplishing this psycho-social balance, the Judge becomes a representative of the struggles that both the individual and their society endure when one polarity overpowers the other.
The Apollonian-Dionysian Dialectic
Nietzsche argues that since Apollo is the god of “higher truth” and creator “of all the arts through which life is made possible and worth living” (16), he represents the developmental luxuries of civilization and progress. These characteristics align with the Judge who exemplifies the Enlightenment rationality of his era and its stalwart commitment to the intellect, both of which led to the development of the academic arts and sciences in the Western world. Although the development of one’s intellect and individuality is vital, however, the escape of the self into the mysteries of nature must not be ignored. The alternative to self-restraint comes through submitting to Dionysus, the god of earth and wine, whose intoxicated “stirrings, as they grow in intensity, cause subjectivity to vanish to the point of complete self-forgetting” (Nietzsche 17). This loss of oneself aligns with the collective madness of Behemoth’s cult, where “[e]xcess revealed itself as the truth; contradiction, bliss born of pain, spoke of itself from out of the heart of nature” (Nietzsche 27). In fact, the reconstruction of Behemoth’s body not only echoes the myth of Dionysus, who required the reassembly of his body after being torn apart by the Titans, but also the dismemberment of the Egyptian Osiris, another god of agriculture. We thus discover a striking similarity between the reconstruction motif driving the plot of Blood and archetypal myths relating to rebirth from out of the earth.
Representing Dionysus’s experience, ancient cults dedicated to this god of intoxication often offered dismembered live subjects as a sacrifice in what is termed sparagmos. While sparagmos in its literal sense is disturbing, its symbolic meaning within the psyche is not malevolent. Instead, it represents the pain felt in the symbolic dismemberment of the self by which one may reach what Nietzsche calls “primal unity” wherein “human beings renew their bond with nature; individuals abandon their sense of identity and become one with their neighbors, expressing themselves collectively through music and dance” (Del Caro 58). This loss of self returns one to the source from which all selves derive. Despite these primeval pleasures, the Judge’s staunch opposition to primal unity in the beginning of the film contextualizes its characters and conflict through the lens of his stagnated and extreme Apollonian individualism. While we see the villagers as simple and superstitious, it is, ironically, the Judge, as an isolated outsider with a “skewed belief system and morality” (Scovell 18) in comparison to the villagers, who introduces the crucial imbalance that lays the groundwork in which Behemoth’s cult takes root.
The only chance for the restoration of balance in the village is for the Judge’s current self to be symbolically ripped apart in Dionysiac sparagmos and for him to then be integrated as both Apollonian individual and Dionysian member of the community. Nietzsche asserts that this dialectical process enacts progress, arguing that these “different drives (Triebe) exist side by side, mostly in open conflict, stimulating and provoking (reizen) one another to give birth to ever-new, more vigorous offspring in whom they perpetuate the conflict inherent in the opposition between them” (14). And thus, the folk horror film genre, with its conflict predicated upon the battle between the ontological search for rationality and the submission to nature’s mysteries, presents itself as an ideal vehicle for the exploration of these human universals that dialectically shape human societies. This conflict is in stark contrast to what drives other kinds of horror movies with individual monsters like Dracula, Frankenstein, Freddy Krueger, Jason Voorhees, etc. The audience recognizes that these monsters are motivated by personal vendettas and know it is best to escape their murderous clutches. In Satan’s Claw, on the other hand, we find a monster who offers purpose to the downtrodden through membership in a cult that channels supernatural powers that defy the logic of the rational world. This communion with nature is exactly what the Dionysian elements of our psyche naturally crave. We therefore discover that folk horror forces us to consider our role in contributing to the communal consciousness and individualized rationality within our community.
Re-building the Judge
By following the Judge, we see how Satan’s Claw reveals our potential as either hero or monster in the shaping of our society. The Judge’s responsibility for the satanic cult taking hold over the village begins with the uncovering of the “fiend” by the lowly plowman, Ralph Gower (Barry Andrews). Though Ralph is young and strong, his deferral to the old and urbane visitor not only illustrates the Judge’s de facto authority over the village but also depicts the villagers as impressionable and aware of their own lowly status. The Judge arrogantly uses Ralph’s pleas that the skull “weren’t human” to dismiss the entire tale as proof that “the old superstitions die hard.” However, once Mistress Banham (Avice Landone), whom we later discover is the object of the Judge’s affection, grows frightened, the arrogant old man relents. Instead of dismissing Mistress Banham’s superstition in the same patronizing way he dismissed Ralph’s (as logic would dictate), the Judge concedes to the frightened woman’s request that he “ascertain the truth of [Ralph’s] story,” demonstrating that he has let his carnal desires overpower his reason. It is here that the Judge begins his sparagmos, as he is figuratively torn between his desire for rationality and his desire for Mistress Banham.
Mistress Banham and the Judge delight in the teasing of Rosalind
Later that night, the Judge strays farther from his Apollonian logic, indulging in wine and tobacco with the Mistress, her nephew Peter (Simon Williams), and his fiancée Rosalind (Tamara Ustinov). After discovering Rosalind’s lower class as a farmer’s daughter, the Judge and Mistress Banham work in concert to brazenly disavow the engagement. Their criticisms express a gleeful tone, suggesting the intoxication experienced in the abuse of power. Though these chaperones are evidently too old to create new life together, they most certainly demonstrate pleasure in preventing it in others. As their mistreatment reaches its peak, Rosalind is driven to tears and escapes to the attic where she has been relegated to sleep.
The Drunken Judge
Once all the women are in bed, Peter stays up late with the Judge, observing him fully succumb to his Dionysian spirit, drunkenly admitting to the young man, “a long time ago, I was your aunt’s admirer.” In a comically inebriated state, he toasts the exiled Catholic King, James III, and violently smashes the wine glass on the floor into pieces, symbolizing his own sparagmos. It is no coincidence that immediately after this drunken revelation of his sexual frustration and political/religious dissidence, Behemoth takes Rosalind as his first victim. And thus, it is when the Judge is overwhelmed by emotion and lamenting his disconnection from the object of his affection, his king, and his religion, that he surrenders to his Dionysian urge to be a part of something bigger than himself. In twisted fashion, he gets exactly this by being placed on a path that will force him to lose his individuality in order to be remade into the hero of the village.
The next day, while tending to Peter who chopped off his hand during a dream-state battle with Behemoth, the Judge faces a further breakdown of his Apollonian reality. When the doctor (Howard Goorney) abandons science for the “wisdom” of an ancient tome on witchcraft, the Judge reprimands him, shouting “Witchcraft is dead and discredited! Are you bent on reviving forgotten horrors?” The Judge’s sudden loss of composure reveals how his mental anguish has led to a deluded belief that he can shout away the madness growing around him. In this confused and aggressive state, a role-reversal takes place, with the doctor now embodying logical authority and calmly asking the Judge, “How do we know, sir, what is dead? You come from the city. You cannot know the ways of the country.” Although the Judge could have continued to berate the doctor, he instead considers this view, no longer deeming the man to be a superstitious fool masquerading as a doctor. As a man of logic, the Judge begins to suspect that the only logical answer is that which may be illogical. This willingness to entertain the existence of the supernatural allows the Judge to take his first step in rebuilding himself into a person capable of balancing Apollonian and Dionysian polarities.
The Judge considers the merits of the Doctor’s book on witchcraft
With a new attitude on reality, the Judge not only agrees that the demonic figure in the book resembles the “countenance” described by Ralph but also requests “the loan of this book…[for] further study.” The Judge begins to see the book as a reflection of himself, realizing that if he were living in the time of its publication, he (an educated elite) most likely would have been one of the “sages” of its creation. With this realization comes the wisdom that the battle between human logic and nature’s chaos has long existed, and it falls to those who have integrated the two polarities within themselves to assist in such an integration in others. Despite acquiring these vital pieces of his new self, however, the Judge leaves the village just before it will need him most.
Nearly thirty minutes of the film elapse before the Judge reappears on screen, during which Mark (Robin Davies) and Cathy Vespers (Wendy Padbury) are brutally murdered by minions of Behemoth’s cult. Having rushed off to London, Peter beseeches the Judge for help. The Judge’s assurance to Peter in saying, “I have not forgotten you. Your village has been much in my thoughts,” demonstrates he has used this time away to rebuild himself accordingly. Though he provides the panicked Peter with wine, he does not drink any himself, exemplifying newly developed mastery over his Dionysian urges. This wisdom is further exemplified in the Judge’s reaction to Peter who fears “witchcraft has returned.” Though the Judge agrees with this assessment, he adds that “it is much more than witchcraft,” thereby rectifying the Doctor’s earlier criticism that he did not know the ways of the country. He then takes from his wall the final piece of his new figurative body, the holy sword, which he will use to cut Behemoth away from the village in similar fashion to the demon cutting pieces from the villagers to rebuild himself.
The Judge with the holy sword mounted on his wall
The Return of the Judge
The Judge’s return to the village marks the balance of his Dionysian and Apollonian qualities. While his respect for the pagan roots interconnecting the villagers as a rural community demonstrates his Dionysian values, his enlightenment by the book and readiness to use the holy sword to defend the community signifies his “most sublime expression of imperturbable trust in the [Apollonian] principle” (Nietzsche 17). Thus, he is now both a member of the collective and a unique individual with a particular role to play in the preservation of the group. Having admitted his sexual and socio-political repressions earlier, he Judge transcends these urges by replacing them with the needs of others. He no longer delights in belittling the villagers but seeks only to use his leadership to rid them of the intoxicated madness destroying their community, therein finding the fulfillment he had long sought within the very community he previously demeaned. The culminating scene in which the Judge impales Behemoth and tosses him on the fire shows the man at his heroic peak. In this final shot of the Judge’s face glowing within the fire as it consumes Behemoth, he becomes Apollo, the god of light, whose “eyes must be ‘sunlike’ even when its gaze is angry and shows displeasure” (Nietzsche 16). While the Judge was previously seen as a solitary figure, always turning inward, he now achieves primal unity and thinks outwardly for the good of the community and his unique role in supporting the Dionysian elements maintaining its cohesion.
The Judge’s face in the fire after defeating Behemoth
The heroic nature that the Judge attains by the end of the film reflects the great potential for positive social change when the harsh extremes of Apollonian and Dionysian energies are honestly and openly faced by one’s society. From out of the soil of the community, the Judge is reborn as an individual imbued with the power to save others. This Dionysian absorption into the matters of the village is the factor that assists him in transcending his own concerns in order to become an Apollonian representative of the village. We see this balance of opposites illustrated in his individual defeat of Behemoth while being simultaneously propelled by a surrounding congregation of brave villagers who have elected him their advocate. The Judge’s final state in the film, therefore, reflects the intimate connection between his individual and group identity wherein he has replaced Behemoth with himself as the focal point of the village—a personal triumph achieved through the assistance of the community.
By observing the Judge recreate himself in a new form that combines intellectual rationality and organic mystery, the villagers may now use him as a model for the balancing of Apollonian-Dionysian opposition in themselves. This, in turn, demonstrates that “[g]reat tragedy can be a central part of a culture…if the members of that culture are psychically vital and robust enough to tolerate engagement with the truth which tragedy transmits” (Guess xxi). In this way, the folk horror illustrated in Blood on Satan’s Claw is not simply a battle of rational good vanquishing irrational evil, but a marriage between the two that gives birth to a new village where these two extremes can coexist in healthy ways—that is, until something demonic appears in the ground again.
Works Cited
The Blood on Satan’s Claw. Directed by Piers Haggard, Tigon British Film Productions, 1971.
Del Caro, Adrian. “The Birth of Tragedy.” A Companion to Friedrich Nietzsche: Life and Works, edited by Paul Bishop. Camden House, 2012, pp. 54-79.
Geuss, Raymond. Introduction. Nietzsche: The Birth of Tragedy and Other Writings, edited by Raymond Geuss and Ronald Speirs. Cambridge University Press, 1999, pp. vii-xxx.
A History of Horror with Mark Gatiss, ep. 2, “Home Counties Horror.” Directed by John Das, BBC, 18 October 2010.
Nietzsche, Friedrich. Nietzsche: The Birth of Tragedy and Other Writings, edited by Raymond Geuss and Ronald Speirs. Cambridge University Press, 1999.
Scovell, Adam. Folk Horror: Hours Dreadful and Things Strange. Auteur, 2017.
