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'The Comic Gothic'
Lynne Woodcock
I will be looking at the purpose of comedy
within gothic texts. Analysing how comedy is utilised to celebrate gothic
extremes from over the top emotional outbursts, to the absurd plots and
to themes like transgression and madness. Following a brief look at how
gothic criticism is satirised I shall turn to an analysis of how Beetlejuice
depicts social anxieties of possession and changing domestic arrangements.
I aim to show the diversity of the comic turn within the gothic and how
comedy revitalises the gothic by reimagining its stylings and tropes for
a postmodern audience.
Horner and Zlosnik stated that ‘extremes of feeling and experience
inevitably invites the ludicrous excess of further layers of fakery in
the form of parody.’1 This excess
of emotion is a constant within the gothic with Edmund Burke defining
the sublime to be ‘productive of the strongest emotion which the
mind is capable of feeling.’2Gothic
heroes and heroines, however, were obviously too close to the action to
be able to cope with the emotion their experiences provoked. For example,
Frankenstein runs to his bed ill once his creature awakens and many characters
in The Monk become bedridden from their supernatural encounters. This
emotional suffering can reveal the true horror and fear the characters
are experiencing. A contemporary example is in The Blair Witch Project
when Heather films a monologue to camera crying and visibly shaking she
says ‘we’re hungry, cold and hunted.’ To watch this
scene, which clearly expresses the extremes of feeling mentioned above,
in isolation from the overall narrative the excesses of emotion shown
seems over the top. This emotional outburst is thus the inspiration for
parody, included in the first of the Scary Movie franchise and there are
countless caricatures on youtube including The Bear Wit Project by The
Muppets. What these parodies achieve is to undermine the original scene,
by making it seem unbelievable.
Jean Paul Richter saw comedy as ‘the inverse sublime’,3
as it invites an ironic detachment from the world. In the case of such
ludicrously overblown parody, this has a certain degree of truth. However,
I perceive that many gothic texts achieve a sense of irony whilst remaining
disturbing and, even, sublime. I am not thinking here of the aforementioned
parodies, but of a more subtle form of comedy in the gothic. The 1990’s
American T.V series Twin Peaks achieved this subtle mix of comedy and
gothic along with its many other hybrid identities such as soap opera,
thriller and advert. The comic here, however, occasionally increases the
sense of fear and suspense because in Twin Peaks the blurring of boundaries
is so frequent that nothing is as it seems. The security from evil that
comedy provides will be quickly undermined. Fred Botting writes that the
‘hybrid mixing of forms and narratives has an uncanny effects, effects
which make narrative play and ambivalence another figure of the horror’.
This is how Twin Peaks functions by playing with its audience to unsettle
and make almost every scene seem uncanny.
Having discussed the more subtle forms of gothic humour, we must consider
its brash, excessive opposite: the overblown gothic parody. This extreme
exaggeration of gothic conventions can be demonstrated in all its ludicrous
glory by The Rocky Horror Picture Show. The starting point for the gothic
parody of Rocky Horror is the low-budget sci-fi and horror films of the
1950s. Kamilla Elliott wrote that it ‘flagrantly out[s] the sexual
subtexts that Gothic critics work so hard to unveil.’4
What Rocky Horror achieves with its corseted transvestites, catchy songs
and ludicrous plot is an embrace of weirdness, transgression and sexual
taboo. It became a cult hit through its slogan ‘Don’t dream
it, be it’, an inclusive notion that the young and misunderstood
could take to heart. It’s a musical played for laughs, rather than
screams; a notion encapsulated by Dr Frank-N-Furter’s creation being
a toned, blonde Adonis, rather than the mish- mash of dead bodies that
constitute Frankenstein’s creation.
The writer of Rocky Horror, Richard O’ Brien, said that ‘once
you get repression, you get all kinds of madness seething underneath.’
With the Gothic’s preoccupation with repression, madness has become
a common part of Gothic tales. The madman in Poe’s ‘The Tell-Tale
Heart’ who hides the body of the man he has killed under the floorboards
is ‘funny’ in both senses of the word. His naive narrative
voice, as he defends his insane actions, states; ‘You fancy me mad.
Madmen know nothing. But you should have seen me. You should have seen
how wisely I proceeded.’5 The way
that he begs the reader to view him sane, his obvious misconception of
himself and our superior knowledge all seal his downfall as tragically
comic.
Contemporary writers continue this tradition of the Gothic mad. Twin Peaks,
for example, introduced the world to The Log Lady; a woman who carried
a log around like a baby. The comedy springs not just from shock at this
bizarre behaviour, but from the community of Twin Peak’s complete
lack of shock. As if oblivious to the idea that such behaviour is surreal
and ‘other’. When asked about her by the outsider Agent Cooper
the reply he gets is simple: ‘we call her the Log Lady’.6
In addition to both the subtle and brash modes of gothic humour, the genre
also invites even more complex and insidious forms of humour. House of
Leaves, for instance, is a gothic patchwork of satire and genuinely disturbing
moments. The satirical undertone is aimed at academic analysis of texts.
The absurd footnotes and obtuse Latin references seek to destabilise the
commonplace discourses of gothic criticism, particularly psychoanalysis.
With long sections dedicated to how the House represents the inhabitant’s
inner lives and past traumas, Danielewski anticipates the critiques of
the House and undermines their attempts by addressing every possible approach
within the text itself. The house may be a labyrinth, but the text itself
is a labyrinth to be looked at from a bird’s eye view; for the critic,
there is no way inside. This irreverent approach to the inevitable literary
criticism is an extremely understated form of gothic humour in itself.
Often when asked to define the gothic critics answer that it is characterised
by the blurring of boundaries. Danielewski blurs boundaries between critic
and author reflecting other conflicts in the text between truth and fiction,
house and home.
Having examined the different ways in
which the gothic genre utilizes humour generally, I will now discuss the
film Beetlejuice: a parody of gothic convention, the film uses comedy
and the macabre to outline social anxieties surrounding changing domestic
and family arrangements. Many of the comic aspects of the film are based
on the point of view it presents, that of the ghosts. The haunting, and
the ghosts themselves, which in gothic texts are often portrayed in a
manner that creates mystery and otherness, are instead rendered commonplace
and thus become a source of comedy rather than fear. The film considers
what it might be like to be a ghost and, as becomes apparent, such an
unanswerable question has some pretty surreal answers.
Avril Horner and Sue Zlosnik suggest it is ‘Gothic’s preoccupation
with ‘surface’ that enables it so easily to embrace a comic
as well as tragic perspective.’(p. 9) This central concern
with surface, theatricality and excess is often how the gothic ‘sends
itself up’ whilst remaining uncanny. Burton takes classic gothic
hallmarks and deliberately undermines them. As Lydia climbs the staircase
towards the ghosts in the attic, for example, she is surrounded by mist.
As becomes apparent, however, this is not an unearthly visitation, but
simply steam emanating from decorators removing wallpaper. As such, Burton
reduces Gothic conventions to the level of the commonplace, a source of
comedic misunderstanding, rather than fear.
The villain of the piece, Beetlejuice, is as theatrical and surface obsessed
as Dr Frank- N- Furter. He talks almost impossibly quickly as he advertises
his services, throwing in deliberate nonsense at every possible turn,
such as the offer of a ‘Free Demon Possession with every exorcism’.
Disney’s evil characters have also been created with a love of gothic
theatricality in mind. This is clearly evident in Maleficent, the wicked
witch of Sleeping Beauty, who declares herself to be ‘the mistress
of all evil’. This immodest claim would also surely be an ambition
for other evil Disney creations.
The dissertation I am currently working on considers how conflicts of
possession give rise to gothic events. This is certainly the case in Beetlejuice
as the new and old owners of the house clash. The old cannot stand by
and watch as what they still see as their home, despite being dead, is
changed. The ghosts think that they have possession of the house, but
the new owners, disagree and also feel they possess the ghosts who in
turn haunt and in that way possess the house. Horner and Zlosnik state
that ‘The comic turn in the Gothic […] often indicates ambivalence
in the face of the new.’(p. 17) This statement can be seen
to in some ways represent the conflict in Beetlejuice between the old
owners of the house and the new. The recently deceased Barbara and Adam
are traditional country house owners; their mantra is ‘there’s
no place like home’. The decoration of their home, old fashioned
chintz wallpaper, symbolises this idea. The new owners could not be more
different, being loud city dwellers, rich from property developing and,
in the case of the wife, Delia, making strange abstract sculpture. After
Delia has transformed the house, much to the dismay of the old owners,
the place looks nothing like its former self, but rather like a television
set (and a surreal one at that), clearly displaying an influence of the
German Expressionist film, The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. The house now
emphasises its own existence as a film set, making the things that happen
there less frightening by being framed in an obviously fictional setting.
This seems to be a hallmark of Tim Burton’s style in film, one that
can also be seen in Sweeney Todd, in which he used obvious sets rather
than the real London and the excessive use of make- up and gore to lessen
the horrifying aspects of the film and leave the audience laughing. This
emphasis on the theatrical, superficial and fraudulent is a gothic trope.
Jerrold Hogle stated that ‘From its beginnings in the eighteenth
century, in the ‘Gothic revival’ in architecture or the ‘Gothic
Story’ […] the modern ‘Gothic’ as we know it has
been grounded in fakery.’7
The beginnings of this gothic forgery can be seen in the revival in medieval
architecture, such as Horace Walpole’s Strawberry Hill house, buildings
which faked their antiquated look from source drawings.
By the end of the film, harmony is restored in the house, most obviously
through the return of the traditional appearance of its interior. The
tone of the end has a feeling of a peaceful hybridity between old and
new. The old owners are in the living room dancing with Lydia. The new
owners are happy with their new home too. The wife has even found inspiration
for her art in her new surroundings, from Beetlejuice’s haunting,
so she has appropriated the situation without turning her home into a
marketable haunted house.
The film can be seen to represent anxieties surrounding changing family
and domestic relationships. Horner and Zlosnik state that the comic gothic
makes ‘an estranged world more bearable.’ The anxiety explored
in the film surrounds Lydia’s relationship with her father and step
mother. There are several incidents at the beginning of the film showing
her to be ignored by her parents. What Lydia finds in the ghosts are friends
who have also been sidelined, with Barbara and Adam feeling rejected from
their own home. The finale shows a relatively peaceful extended family,
an inclusive, ‘everyone’s welcome’ notion, with biological
parents, step parents, ghost parents and other ghostly friends completing
the family unit.
What is slightly disappointing about the end, however, is Lydia’s
appearance. She seems to be reformed and extremely conventionally happy
as she cycles home after school. The Goth of the start has vanished and,
far more significant than her style, her sense of irony and quick wittedness
has also been lost. The comic element and happy ending have removed the
Goth from the gothic, which seems contradictory to Burton’s over
the top aesthetic. Television series like The Munsters and The Addams
Family are good examples of the depiction of happy, funny families that
are still dark, macabre and theatrical.
The gothic is a term of debate among critics, difficult to pin down and
in this way akin to the term postmodernism. What seems clear is when the
gothic and postmodernism collide the result often includes the comic.
Simon Malpas wrote that the postmodern ‘evokes ideas of irony, disruption,
playfulness, parody and simulation’frequently originating from a
‘mixing of styles’, ‘voices contradicting and undermining
each other’ and plots where ‘nothing is as it seems’.8
This definition encompasses the idea of the comic gothic, the notion of
playing with the conventions of a narrative style that has been established
and continually exaggerated and revived for two centuries.
References
1Horner,
A. and Zlosnik, S. Gothic and the Comic Turn (London: Palgrave
Macmillan, 2004 ), p. 11.
2Burke, E.
‘Philosophical Enquiry into the Origins of our Ideas of the Sublime
and the Beautiful’, in The Gothic Reader: A Critical Anthology,
Ed. Martin Myrone (London: Tate, 2006) p. 124.
3 Quoted
in Horner, A. and Zlosnik, S. Gothic and the Comic Turn, p. 13.
4 Elliott,
K. ‘Gothic - Film – Parody’ in The Routledge Companion
to Gothic ed. Catherine Spooner and Emma McEvoy (London: Routledge,
2007) p. 227.
5 Poe, E.A.
‘The Tell-Tale Heart’ (1843) in Selected Tales (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 2008) p. 193.
6 Twin
Peaks. Pilot. Dir. David Lynch, Lynch-Frost Productions, 1990.
7 Jerrold
E. Hogle, ‘The Gothic Ghost of the Counterfeit and the Progress
of Abjection’ in A Companion to the Gothic, ed. David Punter
(Oxford: Blackwell, 2000) p. 293.
8 Malpas,
S., The Postmodern (New York: Routledge, 2005), pp. 6, 23.
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