Shark Week in July seems to have become a staple of our seasonal calendar, so now’s a good time to think about sharks in horror film. I’d like to propose two broad categories of shark horror. One falls under the rubric of what critic Michael Fuchs has aptly called “naturalistic horror,”[i] which puts us firmly in the terrain of the shark, in a world relatively indifferent to humans (except as food), in which the good guys don’t necessarily come out on top (or even alive), and death is random. (Check back later this week for the second kind!)
Directed by Steven Spielberg, Jaws was released on June 20, 1975, and the story of its immense critical and popular success doesn’t need to be rehearsed here. Suffice it to say that not since Alfred Hitchcock’s 1960 film Psycho had a film so terrified audiences.
On every count, Jaws is a masterpiece. This summer marks its 40th anniversary—and it’s still as powerful as it was in 1975. Not least, for much of the film only minimally visible and identified by the unforgettably ominous theme music composed by John Williams, the shark itself is still utterly chilling. And the acting is brilliant—notably Roy Scheider as Chief Martin Brody, Richard Dreyfuss as oceanographer Matt Hopper, and the truly incomparable Robert Shaw as Quint. Read more
Today is a symbiotic day for me to write this piece. I spent the day traveling to Virginia and, as I drove further and further south, I had flashbacks to scenes from Wrong Turn (2003) and Jeepers Creepers (2001). At one point I was certain that I drove past the exact point where Darry (Justin Long) climbed down that creepy pipe in the monster’s yard and I was momentarily convinced there were bodies down there. Unlike those in every horror film made, I was smart enough not to go back and investigate. That being said, I pondered something that I heard in a the documentary Why Horror (2014) where someone makes this beautifully obvious yet understated point that horror is really the only genre that leaves a lasting emotional imprint on a person. It becomes a reference point for so many things in our lives. Its images are the darkness beyond the trees, the monster beneath the bed, and the reason we know to never say “I’ll be right back.” Every time I drive south, I immediately picture these scenes from wrong turns down dusty roads. And every time anyone, I mean anyone, goes in the water they certainly conjure up images of…Jaws (1975).
Although Shark Week gets all the good press, this post is about shark’s horror film sibling, the equally disturbing crocodile. In fact, crocodiles may be even more disturbing than the shark: reptiles not fish, they can terrorize on land as well as sea (and river and lake!). Australia has demonstrated that it rules the domain of crocodile horror, with two exceptional films released in 2007: Black Water, directed by David Nerlich and Andrew Traucki (the latter of whom has since also directed the shark horror film, The Reef [2010]), and Rogue, directed by Greg McLean (who also directed Wolf Creek [2005]).
Last week we took a look at how the Legion of Decency’s strict moral code caused horror filmmakers to get creative in their depictions of queerness. This week we are looking at how coding in a film works. Dracula’s Daughter (1936) traces the struggle of Hungarian Countess Marya Zaleska who, upon learning of the death of her father Count Dracula, believes the curse of her being a vampire will be lifted. When her hope is not fulfilled, she enlists the assistance of psychiatrist Dr. Jeffrey Garth whom she believes has the power to cure her. When his help too proves ineffectual, Marya flees to Transylvania intent on turning Garth into a vampire and her everlasting companion. As noted by film historians, Dracula’s Daughter contains a number of scenes in which a lesbian subtext is evident.