Lyndsay Townsend
It’s a misty morning and, to the soundscape of crying crows, young ploughman Ralph (Barry Andrews) is hard at work. As his horse trudges through the thick mud, layers of trampled grass build up on the wheels of the plough, and Ralph’s feet sink further into the earth as he struggles to stride on. After greeting a friend in the opposite field, however, Ralph suddenly spies a crow pecking at something strange in the soil, and a jarring, high-pitched note begins to accompany his walk towards the strange display. Following a shot of Ralph peering in confusion, a close-up of the soil is finally presented: alongside the presence of small stones and blades of dry grass, small clumps of grey fur sway in the wind—provoking confusion. As a texture that we do not expect to see, especially in the rich, fertile soil of Ralph’s freshly ploughed field, its origins are immediately questionable – why is it there and where did it come from? As we soon discover, this discovery of fur is only the beginning, and Ralph’s imminent discovery of a deformed skull will soon unleash a chain of satanic events that plagues his idyllic, country home.
The film, of course, is the folk horror classic The Blood on Satan’s Claw (Piers Haggard, 1971), and while this scene is pivotal in establishing the origins of the narrative’s demonic curse, it also serves as the audience’s first encounter with the grotesque and intriguing substance of fur. Referred to as the “devil’s skin” by characters within the narrative, the presence of fur not only represents the satanic practices which are plaguing the village but also indicates a summoning from the devil: to find a patch of fur on your skin is to have your fate decided, with death or mutilation following soon after. Beginning with an examination of fur in the pastoral landscape, and then on the human body, I will examine the use of fur within Satan’s Claw, elaborating the phenomenological effect of its presence. By exploring texture and affect, I argue that the material elicits both fascination and repulsion, thus fulfilling the unsettling aims of folk horror as a genre and engaging audiences with the strange and disorienting world onscreen.
Before beginning my analysis, it is important to discuss methodology. At its core, folk horror is an unsettling subgenre. Built upon growing suspicion, where idyllic communities are not what they seem and peaceful landscapes house unspeakable evil, it is a form deeply rooted in subverting expectations and defined by careful atmospheric development. Furthermore, when watching a folk horror film, there is often an eeriness that is difficult to describe. As noted by Andy Paciorek, folk horror embodies an “ambience and aesthetic that more often can be felt intuitively rather than defined logically” (11), and Benjamin Meyers also supports that folk horror is “intuitive rather than formally identifiable.” Instead of trying to define a folk horror text using a logical framework, such as Adam Scovell’s “Folk Horror Chain” (17-18), Paciorek and Myers insist, rather, that affect and intuition are central to the allure of the subgenre. Given the penchant for feeling what folk horror is, as opposed to strictly defining it, it seems relevant, then, to explore the subgenre through a phenomenological framework. Aiming to understand the “meaningful relation between cinema and our sensate bodies,” phenomenological theory (or “sensory theory”) is an increasingly useful methodology for understanding cinema, and particularly the ways in which images onscreen can have a corporeal impact on the viewer (Sobchack 54). Applying phenomenological theory to folk horror has great potential, not only showing the sensory effect of the subgenre but also allowing us to unlock the various ways in which feelings of uncertainty and fear are evoked.
Throughout this article, therefore, I will apply a phenomenological framework to Satan’s Claw, specifically examining the presence of fur as a sensory technique employed by the film to bring audiences closer to the world onscreen and to create feelings of discomfort and strangeness—two qualities integral to folk horror.
Fur in the Pastoral Landscape
As I mentioned in my opening, the first time that we witness the presence of fur in Satan’s Claw is when Ralph discovers the skull whilst ploughing his field, but this scene is also crucial in building an unsettling atmosphere from the very beginning. By immediately introducing the audience to Ralph at work with his horse and plough, the film creates the ambience of rural life. Close-ups of Ralph’s feet manoeuvring through the soil and his exhaling reddened cheeks show his exertion; it is not an easy job, and his tough act of labour shows a dedication to the land. Similarly, when Ralph calls and waves to his friend Cathy (Wendy Padbury), who has been collecting wood in the opposite field, a sense of community and responsibility to the landscape is created. It is a scene reminiscent of an idyllic pastoral life, and by preparing the soil for a future harvest, Ralph’s labour takes us back to a simpler time. Devoid of electricity, let alone technology, these images conjure an authenticity and honesty associated with rural life, with hard-working individuals who provide for their families and rely on the land for sustenance.
It comes as a strange shock, then, when Ralph discovers fur within his field. Dark grey in colour and present in clumps across the soil, the fur’s texture is immediately recognisable, soft and light as it billows gently in the wind, and its presence effectively acts as a point of incongruity when placed in an environment of growth and renewal. With connotations of decay, it does not belong in the flourishing, pastoral landscape established within the film’s opening seconds; diffused throughout art and culture for many centuries, pastoralism has created idyllic expectations of the British (particularly English) countryside. With the sound of birdsong and the sight of the rolling green fields that Ralph is ploughing, the film’s opening places us sensorially into a pastoral landscape: we can almost feel the chill in the air, as the morning mist fills the sky, and imagine the freedom of open space as Ralph’s calls echo across the landscape.
Fur in Ralph’s field
From this engrained expectation built around pastoral imagery, therefore, we are instantly aware that the fur in Ralph’s field does not belong: its texture is not compatible with the environment; it is unsettling and strange, and something that we cannot make sense of. It is not lush soil, or soft grass, but an uncommon substance with no origins – we don’t understand where it has come from, or why it is there. As discovered later in the scene, the fur also hides something even more unsettling—a deformed skull, buried within the earth—thus linking the material with feelings of horror and disgust. Acting as the first point in which fur is used to conjure feelings of confusion and incongruity, this scene further shows the ways in which Satan’s Claw subverts expectations of the pastoral landscape by infusing it with textures that do not belong. Adhering to a trope of folk horror—that takes a “cosy” rural landscape and turns it into something uncomfortable—this moment effectively begins the film’s relationship with fur as a technique designed to unsettle; however, from this point, its movement from the natural landscape to the human body will conjure ever greater feelings of disgust and strangeness, affecting our own corporeality and levels of engagement as viewers.
Fur on the Human Body
Arguably, the most unsettling place that fur is found in Satan’s Claw is on the skin of its characters. As viewers who live and breathe inside a human body, we understand our own corporeality and, most importantly, what does and does not belong on its surface. Therefore, when faced with thick patches of fur growing on skin onscreen, a point of strangeness ensues which subverts our comfortable expectations about the human body and also the types of body on which the fur grows. Whilst Cathy and villager Margaret (Michele Dotrice) are not the only characters to be plagued with growths of fur (Ralph later finds a patch growing on his calf), they are the most prominent victims of the strange texture, raising questions of femininity and monstrosity.
As identified by Barbara Creed, all human societies “have a conception of the monstrous-feminine, of what it is about woman that is shocking, terrifying, horrific, abject,” thus highlighting expectations of how women should behave and appear, and thus what makes them “monstrous” (1). Furthermore, whilst a stereotypical ideal of feminine “beauty” is established through the characters of Cathy and Margaret, who are both young women with a slim build and smooth fair skin, it is then effectively subverted through the growth of fur on their bodies. This not only makes their appearance shocking and uncomfortable but also adds a layer of monstrosity through a texture normally reserved for animals and decaying nature.
This notion is effectively epitomised in the film when Cathy is kidnapped by two local boys and dragged into the depths of the forest. Whilst cult leader Angel Blake (Linda Hayden) and her satanic followers start to perform a ritual, a spoken recital from Margaret conjures the spirit of the devil who, through Angel, utters “my skin” whilst staring at Cathy’s lower back. As Cathy clutches her side, wincing in pain, she is pushed violently to the ground and her blouse is ripped open to reveal a thick patch of black fur growing on her skin. Signifying the devil’s presence, Cathy’s fate is instantly sealed, and she is then brutally raped and killed by Angel’s cult. Her body is assaulted by both unwelcome hands and an unwelcome texture, with both conjuring simultaneous feelings of confusion and disgust. Described by Winfried Menninghaus as a “violent repulsion vis-à-vis…a physical presence or some other phenomenon in our presence…which at the same time, in various degrees, can also exert a subconscious attraction or even an open fascination” (6), feelings of disgust are conjured by images which subvert our personal boundaries dictating what is aesthetically and psychologically comfortable. When confronted with the thick, dark patch of fur on Cathy’s lower back, feelings of disgust and “fascination” are conjured. Not only are we aware that thick patches of fur should not grow on human skin, but the fact that they are sparks curiosity. Where did the fur come from, and why is it growing on Cathy?
A patch of fur on Cathy’s back
Not only does the presence of this strange texture act as a marker of difference in this scene (it brands Cathy as an abnormal woman, and signifies the monstrous unknown), but it also proposes an element of wariness and fear, especially in light of what happens to Cathy when it is found on her body. According to Julian Hanich, an object of disgust in a film is an example of “cinematic synaesthesia” (295), which refers to the ways in which a film can engage with more than one sense simultaneously and spark a plethora of sensory feelings in its viewers. Given this notion, I believe that the presence of fur on Cathy’s body not only contributes to a feeling of monstrous femininity but also provides a textural, “cinematic synaesthesia,” particularly in the scene of Cathy’s death. Conjuring a variety of strong, sensory experiences – disgust, fascination, fear – the use of fur in Satan’s Claw is not only effective in providing an unsettling view of the human body but also in creating the atmosphere of strangeness and uncertainty on which the subgenre of folk horror thrives.
The removal of fur from the human body is also an integral element of the film’s unsettling phenomenological affect. After later being thrown into a lake and accused of witchcraft, Margaret is rescued by Ralph and Ellen Vespers (Charlotte Mitchell) and taken back to a cottage for food and warmth. Whilst tending to Margaret’s injured body, Mrs. Vespers pulls up her dress to reveal a thick patch of black fur engrained into her upper thigh. Through this close-up, we can also see detail and texture; soft tufts gather around the outside of the patch, whilst smaller coarse bumps fill the centre and indicate an abnormal growth on the skin. Aware of our own skin and musculature, we know that this is not a pleasant sight, and the droplets of moisture around the patch further contribute to disgust. After a visit from the local doctor (Howard Goorney) who inspects the fur, it is decided that the fur-ridden patch of skin will be removed, and from the line “If she wakes, hold her fast,” we are aware that no anaesthetic will be used.
A patch of fur on Margaret’s thigh
After dabbing the skin with a damp cloth, the doctor takes a small knife and presses it down into the surface of Margaret’s skin (as we know, an exceedingly delicate part of the human body). While Margaret screams, the fur-covered skin continues to be sliced and tugged, before the doctor holds up the severed patch. This image alone conjures disgust, as we know that skin belongs on the body and not away from it. However, this scene is also effective in strengthening a phenomenological engagement between the fur-covered skin and viewers watching offscreen. Defined by Xavier Aldana Reyes, “sensation mimicry” is a type of affectual mimicry which rests on “lived body experiences [and/or] the capacity to extrapolate our carnal knowledge onto situations that have not been personally experienced” (173). In essence, viewers can use their lived-in body experiences to understand Margaret’s pain onscreen as the blade presses into her flesh, even if they have not personally experienced skin being removed from their body. We can empathise with the body onscreen. Furthermore, while we may wince in pain when the knife slices through Margaret’s skin, or shudder when the doctor tugs the piece of flesh away from the body, this corporeal response highlights the ways in which the presence of fur (or removal of fur, in this example) brings audiences phenomenologically closer to the body onscreen and conjures strongly empathetic feelings of discomfort and disgust.
Upon the initial discovery of fur by Ralph in the film’s opening, a line spoken by the town’s Judge (Patrick Wymark) effectively summarises the significance of the material. When Ralph describes his strange discovery, the Judge retorts “Fur? Then it was an animal’s remains…” revealing an engrained expectation between certain textures and where they belong. Through its onscreen presence in both the pastoral landscape and on the human body, the presence of fur effectively subverts our own cultural and phenomenological expectations of where it should belong as a texture; in decaying environments and on animals, opposed to flourishing fields and on human skin. Through this unsettling juxtaposition, the presence of fur also fulfils the aims of folk horror—to take familiar elements, whether that be a welcoming rural landscape or a relatable protagonist, and make them strange. Contributing to a larger folk horror feeling of eeriness and suspicion, moreover, the unsettling image of fur in The Blood on Satan’s Claw sparks both fascination and repulsion, creating a phenomenologically rich viewing experience and important addition to the folk horror canon.
Works Cited:
Creed, Barbara. The Monstrous-Feminine: Film, Feminism, Psychoanalysis. Routledge, 1993.
Hanich, Julian. “Dis/liking Disgust: The Revulsion Experience at the Movies.” New Review of Film and Television Studies, vol. 7, no. 3 (2009): 293-309.
Menninghaus, Winfried. Disgust: The Theory and History of a Strong Sensation. State University of New York Press, 2003.
Meyers, Benjamin. “Folk Horror, a History: from The Wicker Man to The League of Gentlemen.” New Statesman, 26 July 2017.
Paciorek, Andy. “Folk Horror: From the Forests, Fields and Furrows. An Introduction.” Folk Horror Revival: Field Studies. Wyrd Harvest Press, 2015, pp. 8-15.
Reyes, Xavier Aldana. Horror Film and Affect: Towards a Corporeal Mode of Viewership. Routledge, 2016.
Scovell, Adam. Folk Horror: Hours Dreadful and Things Strange. Auteur, 2017.
Sobchack, Vivian. Carnal Thoughts: Embodiment and Moving Image Culture. University of California Press, 2004.
