George A. Romero’s 1978 film Martin stands as a brilliant early example of the metafictional film. The rise of the metafictional film is perhaps the most notable innovation within postmodern film, acknowledging itself as a film, accepting that it is a work of fiction, and making this an aspect of the plot. This can be brought about in a myriad of ways: characters addressing the camera and speaking to the audience, characters acknowledging cliches of the genre, as well as the insertion of the film process itself into the film.
The most popular metafictional films are often reactionary in nature, parodying a modern trend of filmmaking and exploring its shortcomings and repetitive structures. This is why so many metafictional films come out either when a genre is at its height, as in the case of Deadpool (2016) or Wayne’s World (1992), the former parodying the modern world-building superhero epic and the latter parodying the shoehorning of sketch comedy characters into a feature length cinematic world. Others, like Scream, come at a time when a genre or subgenre has reached something of a low point, as was happening in 1996 when the only slashers were either franchise sequels of diminishing quality and direct-to-video shlock. These metafictional films act almost like a friend sitting next to you in the theater, questioning the logic of what’s onscreen and saying things like, “haven’t we seen all this before?”
The temptation with meta-horror films is to assign a starting point- which was the first? Scream is commonly given the credit for starting the trend in mainstream cinema, while films like There’s Nothing Out There (1991) and Wes Craven’s New Nightmare (1994) are often cited as predecessors to Scream’s particular brand of metafiction. Additionally, one can point to 1980s classics like Friday The 13th Part 6: Jason Lives (1986) and Fright Night (1985) as paving the way for Scream by embracing and subverting horror tropes. One pivotal film that is often left out of the conversation, however, is George Romero’s classic 1978 vampire film Martin.
Here’s the original theatrical trailer for Martin:
Perhaps one reason for Martin‘s exclusion from the conversation about meta-horror is because of the way Romero uses metafiction: as opposed to the entries above, the film isn’t interested in parody, nor does it simply use self-aware moments as window dressing for a traditional slasher film, as Jason Lives and Scream arguably do. Romero embeds the metafictional aspects deep within the film, taking them as a thematic concern throughout. The film concerns a young man, Martin (John Amplas), who believes he is a vampire nearing a hundred years of age. The film starts with him getting off a train, as he has to spend several months living with his cousin Cuda (Lincoln Maazel). From there on the film deals with Martin’s struggles as a modern vampire, particularly in adjusting to a modern urban environment, as well as dealing with the scrutiny of his religious cousin who believes him to be a demon.
In his cousin Cuda, Martin is confronted with the primary theme that the film explores: old culture versus new culture. Cuda’s Lithuanian Catholic background is traditional in the strictest sense of the world, praising old world rituals and traditions that alienate his granddaughter, Christina (Christine Forrest), and Martin in the modern day. The old world that Cuda speaks of is often shown via black and white flashbacks that Martin has- although whether they are actually flashbacks and not fantasies is left up to the viewer. It is here that Romero displays the metafictional aspects that drive the film: the flashbacks are filled with foggy nights, traditional clothing, yelling priests, Catholic imagery, and Victorian architecture. In short, they look like they’re straight out of a Universal Horror film, with some fog borrowed from a Hammer Horror gothic film. Cuda seems like he walked out of one of these films too, always wearing three piece suits with a pocket watch and cane, as well as adorning the house with garlic, crosses, and mirrors, all the better to drive the vampire out of Martin with. An early scene, in fact, has Cuda disappointed when the surprise reveal of a hidden mirror still shows Martin’s reflection, indicating that he is not like the vampires of these horror films.
The architecture of Martin’s gothic fantasies, contrasted with the urban environment the film takes place in
The opening scene best embodies the clash of horror film tradition and the urban setting that Martin finds himself in. As Martin boards a late night train to go to Pittsburgh, he sees a woman boarding alone and chooses her to be his next victim. As he picks the lock to get into her room, he imagines, in black and white, opening the door and seeing her, adorned in garb similar to the Brides of Dracula from the 1931 film, beckoning him towards her. Exciting himself on the idea, he bursts in to find she isn’t on the bed at all, but instead showering in the bathroom. The expectation created by Martin’s horror film fantasy is thus subverted in a genius way, causing both a wonderfully humorous moment and an increase of suspense, as the initial release that opening the door would have provided is taken from the audience. The attack that follows when she does leave the bathroom and sees Martin is vicious and realistic, negating any notions of romanticism that the black and white fantasy implied.
The woman who Martin attacks (left) presented in his fantasy sequence, versus the Brides as they appear in the 1931 Dracula
Romero’s central thesis in the film seems to be that the romance of the old European vampire is a negative thing: Martin, who certainly has a mental illness, is told over and over that he is a cursed monster. Was he born unstable or did a lifetime of scrutiny lead him to believe the myths he was told? Cuda’s granddaughter, Christina, is often presented as a contrast, saying that Martin needs the help of a doctor, not the help of a priest. She attempts to adjust Martin to a more traditional lifestyle, getting him a phone in hopes that he can make friends. The phone, inevitably, leads Martin to call a late-night radio show and vent about his vampire escapades. Whenever he calls the radio show, the DJ pesters him, calling him “The Count” and asking if sunlight will hurt him or if he has to sleep in coffins like in the movies, to which Martin replies, “that’s not like in the movies either… All those movies are crazy!” Romero himself appears as a priest who scoffs at Cuda’s questions about demons before telling him about another priest, “a great old guy,” who is well-versed in these old rituals. Romero’s priest also mentions The Exorcist in direct reference to these rituals, almost to imply that the world of the film is fiction, as is the old world where Cuda’s beliefs come from—and the danger of allowing this fiction into the modern world is great and destructive.
Another key instance of direct metafictional filmmaking comes in the form of a later sequence in the film. Cuda is walking home on a foggy night. Excessively foggy, in fact. As he walks through a park, he begins to suspect someone is trailing him. Eventually, he is proved right, as Martin appears, wearing a vampire cape, suddenly with fangs and pale face as well.
John Amplas as Martin
As Cuda tries to fend off this garish vampire with a cross, Martin spits out the teeth and wipes some of the pale face makeup off, saying, “it’s just a costume. It’s only a costume.” Cuda’s foolishness is clear in this moment: he falls for these hoary clichés of vampire films past, believing that Martin has suddenly become something he is not. But it’s always just been a costume: all the culture and traditions and superstitions are all a front for something more insidious: the same sort of paranoia that killed innocent women in the Salem Witch Trials, and the same prejudice that continued to be passed onto the youth by Cuda’s generation in the 1970s.
The film ends on a tragic note, with the body count rising rapidly in the final fifteen minutes as tradition, and the lore of the vampire film, catch up to Martin. Ultimately, George Romero’s Martin is a powerful piece of self-referential filmmaking, using the tropes and clichés of the vampire film to explore the dangers of being stuck in old ways.
Tim Costa is a writer and the frontman for Massachusetts band Vaguely Vogue. He watches The Twilight Zone obsessively and thinks John Carpenter is the bee’s knees.
For more on George Romero’s films, we have articles on Night of the Living Dead (1968), Night of the Living Dead and Hitchcock’s The Birds and the 1990 remake
Martin is available on DVD:
