Understanding a Gruesome and Controversial Cinema

Saw's Jigsaw (Tobin Bell)

In an essay by author Rick Altman titled A Semantic/Syntactic Approach to Film Genre, he distinguishes the semantic and syntactic approaches to defining genres while stressing the importance of their cooperation. Otherwise known as the contextual and visual elements in a film, the analysis and interpretation of each and/or both help to, among other things, distinguish one genre from another. Regarding contemporary horror cinema, the subgenre “Torture Porn” has become rather controversial in terms of its content and tone, however the real controversy should surround the title of the subgenre itself. Presumably dubbed “Torture Porn” because of its visual and contextual consistencies, it is important to challenge this popular label and investigate the legality of it. Also, and with no lesser importance, it is necessary to defend the subgenre’s artistic merit so that it can stand reasonably amongst its horror brethren.

Is the term “Torture Porn” valid? It was coined by critic David Edelstein of New York Magazine in 2006 when describing Eli Roth’s film Hostel: Part II. After movies like Saw and Hostel had earned respectable box office success in the United States alone ($102 million combined), the horror subgenre took off with entries like the continuing Saw sequels, Turistas, Wolf Creek, and Captivity. The “Torture Porn” label itself has since been widely adopted by critics, but has yet to be embraced by filmmakers of the subgenre. Director Eli Roth is such an example, who has claimed that the use of the term “Torture Porn” by critics, “genuinely says more about the critic’s limited understanding of what horror movies can do than about the film itself” (Ain’t It Cool News). Such a claim is debatable, but valid. The term is based off of the aesthetic variables found in such movies, being that they supposedly often mix nudity and graphic violence (see Saw III, Hostel: Parts I and II), however nudity itself is not found as often as critics would have the public think. Sexual images such as those of nude women are more often found in “slasher flicks” like Rob Zombie’s Halloween and Halloween II, My Bloody Valentine 3D, and the remake of Friday the 13th, just to name a few. The main argument surrounding the term “Torture Porn” is, as Eli Roth suggested, its inaccuracy. The word “torture” is in fact an inarguably apt description of the type of violence found in the type of films in question, but the word “porn” raises a lot of questions about its usage (the term “gorno” (gore+porno) has also been used).

Pornography is formally defined by Webster’s dictionary as, “Creative activity (writing, pictures, films, etc.) of no literary or artistic value other than to stimulate sexual desire.” Because of the supposed absence of artistic value, and inclusion of sexual material, porn is almost always considered socially obscene (sometimes proudly so, depending on who you talk to). Obscenity itself is regulated by congressional law, which will be discussed later in detail, but the label of pornography more or less falls under social jurisdictions which exist for purposes of upholding prudence and propriety. So then, labeling something as pornography, and thusly “Torture Porn,” is based on impermanent social criterion that is not (and has never been) wholly adopted by American society and is therefore a subjective act. This presents a problem for the field of cinema studies, as the objective for professional analysis and examination of film is to withhold and sustain objectivity (granted, reviewers such as Edelstein are paid to have a “voice” but they are also obligated to defend that voice with objective reasoning). The legitimacy of the term “Torture Porn” thus becomes another illustration of the tug of war between objectivity and subjectivity in the realm of cinema criticism. Examination of this debate will require the consideration of the objective realities of cinema, defining the obscene, and subjective theories of the image. Regarding the latter two, viewer reception means everything.

To help legitimize this investigation of the “Torture Porn” subgenre’s valid or invalid standing in modern cinema, a new name must first be given to it. For purposes of accuracy, the word “porn” will henceforth be omitted from the original term, leaving us with the simple descriptive label, “torture film.” Going by Webster’s definition the word “pornography” is basically used to define a work, be it film, literature, etc., that is intended to produce scopophilia, or sexual arousal/stimulation through the act of viewing/reading. With this in mind, it will become evident that this term does not qualify as an accurate label for many, if any, torture films. In the meantime, let us examine obscenity.

Coincidentally, or not, the controversies surrounding Stanley Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange are very similar to the ones surrounding torture films, with the two biggest points of controversy being those concerning violence and obscenity. Cinema scholar Janet Staiger examines these issues concerning A Clockwork Orange in her book Perverse Spectators. At the time of Kubrick’s film, classifying a legal definition of obscenity was very much still in progress. It was not until 1973, two years after the release of the film, that the U.S. Supreme Court established a new set of criteria that if entirely met would classify something as “obscene”: this was called the Miller Test (from the name of the case Miller v. California). The test is made up of three sequential conditions that must be completely passed to allow for an officially legal obscenity label. Those three conditions are:

• The average person, applying contemporary community standards, would find that the work, taken as a whole, appeals to prurient interest
• The work depicts/describes, in a patently offensive way, sexual conduct or excretory functions specifically defined by state law
• The work, taken as a whole, lacks serious literary, artistic, political, or scientific value

An argument brought into the fold by feminists at the time, says Staiger, is that not just explicitly sexual material should be considered for the Miller Test but also material that contains any representations of dominance by one person over another. This could be in direct reference to scenes in A Clockwork Orange where the main character Alex and his fellow goons rape one woman, and then kill another by way of a phallic sculpture. However, this grievance is also (perhaps ironically) relevant to the contemporary controversy over torture films. After all, the disposition of torture is the explicit domination of one person over another. This feminist perspective was not given much consideration, though, ostensibly due to it being too broad of an objection.

A Clockwork Orange and torture films have thus far escaped being legally labeled obscene, the reason for which is no doubt because the Miller Test described above was constructed in the way that it was so that passing it would not be easy (passing being the meeting of all three conditions). Proving that a work lacks any literary, artistic, political or scientific value is nearly impossible. However, despite the legality of the Miller Test, it has not stopped social excommunication from occurring, which is exactly what those who are opposed to torture films are attempting to accomplish through media influences (particularly film reviews). One way of doing this is labeling a work as exploitative (which was done for A Clockwork Orange at the time of its release, but has since become an “American classic”). This is a term that denounces artistic merit and accuses a work of being in poor taste due to “excessive” violence, sexual graphicness, or both, and is purely commercially driven (PS, p.99-100). One of the best ways to defend a film against the exploitation label is to argue that it has an aesthetically motivated thesis. “If a critic examined the images of violence [and/or sexuality] in the film and could discern formal and stylistic patterns, then they were a sure sign the film was ‘art’ and not exploitation” (PS, p.101). Providing examples of stylistic patterns, while certainly possible, is too laborious an endeavor to include here, as each torture film incorporates a different pattern catered to its own individual messages. However, naming the dominant formal pattern most pertinent to this discussion is much easier because it can be found by looking at torture films, as well as most branches of the horror genre, collectively. That dominant pattern is grounded in both contemporary and historical American culture.

It is theorized by some that the torture film subgenre was at least partially born through contemporary social fears (much like many other horror subgenres), and surely the directors of these films would agree. Zachary Wigon, who wrote an article on the topic of “Torture Porn” in 2008′s Tisch Film Review of New York University, argues (referring specifically to the Hostel franchise) that these films identify an “American guilt that registers on an unconscious level for many politically alert citizens. The flagrant violations of the Geneva Conventions at Guantanamo Bay, the torture of detainees at Abu Ghraib, and the following storm of debates in the media all suggest that Americans are uncomfortable with the behavior being enacted on their behalf.” He also points out that in Hostel it is in fact foreigners who are torturing Americans, which works, he argues, in a possibly cathartic way that allows its audience members to psychologically flagellate themselves. How does a form of guilt qualify as fear? The guilt acts as a catalyst for the material on the theater screen, and the acknowledged fear is that of suffering redemption by those we feel we have wronged. This concept is most readily applicable to Hostel, Hostel: Part II, Wolf Creek, and Turistas because of their locations abroad, but it is also relevant to torture films that take place in the U.S., such as the Saw series and Captivity, because the message is still the same.

“Horror is about the vulnerability of the body.” – Wes Craven

While continuing to examine overall themes, it is clear that torture films prey on a social anxiety that horror movies have been taking advantage of since their dawn (consider The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari). What it is that they take advantage of is our fear of vulnerability, both physically and psychologically. Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956) is a good example of such a film because it delighted in creating paranoia caused by vulnerability, which was due to us not preserving the ability to tell the difference between aliens and humans. That these aliens became indistinguishable from humans by way of occupying their host’s physical identity added a physical aspect to the feeling of vulnerability, making the film’s effects two-fold; both psychological and physical. Another film that accomplished this was Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho, a film that is arguably the mother of the eventual “slasher” subgenre (and even contemporary horror in general). Regarding vulnerability, it was specifically the famed shower scene that dealt with this anxiety. A woman, presumably safe while nude in the confines of her motel shower, is brutally stabbed to death by an unknown and unprovoked killer. Conjuring a scenario that better emphasizes the vulnerability of a person is a feat still being attempted. John Carpenter’s Halloween came close by stripping suburban communities of their illusory sense of invulnerability to serious crime. This was due of course to the ostensibly random stalking and killing of normal teenagers by a masked psychotic on a then innocent holiday. Home-invasion films had long since been invented, but it was Halloween that had the biggest societal impact at that point (1978). Not only were audiences scared because of the location of the killer’s hunting grounds, but also the lack of motive for the crimes. Torture films also take part in exploiting feelings of vulnerability. In other types of horror films, a protagonist is at least given a chance, albeit often a feeble one, to defend themselves, allowing audiences to transplant themselves into the characters’ situations and think of what they themselves might do. This transplantation, one might say, adds to a horror film’s entertainment value. But when tortured, one is tied up or restrained in some way and forced to endure pain with no avenue for escape by way of his/her own powers or efforts. This makes audience transplantation an especially unattractive concept, because personal choice is taken away and any efforts to endure are rendered worthless. Torture films have typically required that their victims be placed into strange, unique situations or far off locations (a la gothic horror), and so their psychological attacks on an audience’s vulnerability anxieties are forced to deal with reaching said audience indirectly – that is, audiences must first accept the fantastical terms of a torture film for the attacks to land, whereas the psychological attacks of more realistic and nearer horror films are more readily received (e.g. Psycho). However, by contrast torture films address physical vulnerability quite unambiguously, and by methods which filmmakers continually try to creatively invent (metal racks that twist limbs, being dangled upside down and nude, willingly piercing one’s hands to avoid a swinging ax, etc.). It is this address which these films tend to primarily focus on because of its straightforwardness.

Now that the question of “what” is halfway answered, let us take a moment to answer “why.” What is the purpose of making such films that remind their audiences of their bodily fragility? Do we really need such reminders? The makers of these films might argue that we do. One theory that explains these films’ social function is that American society has become overly digitized and thus exceedingly anonymous. With the ubiquitous usage of technological communications (cell phone calls, text and instant messages, e-mails, video chat, etc.) one criticism inside torture films could be that we as an American society have regained our illusion of invulnerability, which is caused by our ever-increasing detachment from one another (this anonymity is often characterized by the villains of torture films themselves, particularly Hostel and Saw where not until the end of these films are we made aware of the killer’s real identity). Getting fired from a job does not even always happen in-person. Through this new anonymity is a sense of invulnerability and/or false courage. And it is undeniably possible that torture films, in depicting scenes incorporating unambiguous physical vulnerability, are meant to partially serve as reminders to their viewers that they are indeed not unassailable, and work to disintegrate that sense of false courage. Such a theory has no hard evidence on which to stand as indisputable, but the very possibility of such a function is enough substantiation to help thwart claims of obscenity or social insignificance.

With the obscene nature of torture films now sufficiently refuted, let us return to the topic of pornography. Some critics, such as Edelstein, might argue that pornography is more flexible in its definition than what Webster might suggest, and thus can be used to describe, albeit possibly hyperbolically, extremely graphic violence. If this can indeed be done, then what kind of change happens to the substituted definition’s motivation? If the original definition of pornography says it is meant to stimulate sexual arousal, does that mean Edelstein’s version of the term is meant to do the same? Does he really believe that graphic violence in torture films is meant to induce sexual excitement or pleasure? To make such a radical assumption is irresponsible and arrogantly presumptuous. So, we will imagine that what Edelstein’s violently substituted definition of pornography’s motivation is to be digested as mere entertainment. This presents a problem, however, because if a word or term’s definition and/or motivation is reliant on any one or multiple assumptions then it lends itself open to ambiguity, thus making it subjective. The trouble with this then becomes defending something as “Torture Porn” instead of the other way around. No critic, or for that matter person, can competently defend an argument using subjective reasoning. Attempting to do so is arguing based on opinion, not objective evidence. The rationale behind making the Miller Test so difficult to pass is to defend works against such clumsy argumentation.

To help further explain the function of certain elements of torture films, it is essential to examine the reception perspectives to which the subgenre is geared. According to Dennis Giles’ article Conditions of Pleasure in Horror Cinema, “Cinema is never the raw vision of desire; meaning does not lie in the film but is a result of a [dialogue] between the filmmakers and viewers.” And in regards to this, he continues by saying, “What counts is as much the representation as the represented.” In other words, it is not just what is shown that is important, but also how it is shown. For purposes of pursuing the utmost clarity, we shall examine possibly the most vile of all torture scenes found in contemporary torture films – the “bloodbath scene” in Eli Roth’s Hostel: Part II.

The scene is as follows: a teenaged virgin girl is hung on a rope upside down by her feet with her hands tied behind her back and cut several times with a scythe by a nude woman lying directly below, who allows the dripping blood to bathe her entire body. This scene could be in reference to the legend of the “Blood Countess” Erzebet Báthory of Hungary, who is rumored to have bathed in the blood of over 600 virgin girls in order to retain her youth and beauty (McNally). This scene, possibly more so than any other like it, is one that is fetishized (not sexually, but given excessive attention and/or reverence) for purposes of protection for the audience (particularly males, but not exclusively). Giles states, “The fetishistic look in cinema [by the viewer] cannot, according to Laura Mulvey, take pleasure in looking at a woman as an erotic object but must transform her into a spectacle satisfying in itself. The Freudian notion of fetishism involves a substitution of signifiers: the fetish both re-presents and hides what the viewer wants to see but it is also the symptom of the fear of looking. The fetishistic act is the means by which the subject protects himself/herself from a horrible spectacle; it is a defensive vision, but one that is enjoyed by the spectator precisely because it lurks on the threshold” (Planks, p.43-45). So, to tolerate the spectacle that is the scene in question, viewers are supposed to utilize a fetishistic look that detaches them from the material in order to protect them from being too strongly influenced by the content, while also being inescapably aware that the characters on screen are female and unclothed. This is the most apt interpretation of how a typical audience member might view a film such as this (typical meaning they would be one of the willing few to see the film). Initially one might recognize a contradiction – that the fetishizing for purposes of detachment conflicts with the genre’s thesis to remind its audience of their physical vulnerability – but these ideas do not in fact clash. One can detach themselves from a film emotionally while also being able to interpret text. Giles finishes by saying that, “To look horror in the face for very long robs it of its power.” The tortures/graphic violence of these films are morbidly fascinating to those who support them, even casually, in part due to their exoticness. Exoticness leads to artificiality, which leads to detachment and/or desensitization, which leads to entertainment. So, a viewer’s desensitization combined with a disconnection caused by overexposure to horrific imagery promotes for the prospect of entertainment, and merely allows the possibility of sexual arousal. In other words, a viewer seeking to enjoy a prurient reading is going to do so, but the films themselves are neither selling nor advocating a sexualized reception.

One can easily claim that the horror genre, and torture films in particular, serves as post-modern fodder for those who praise counterculture and bemoan bourgeois taste. Tania Modleski argues, in her article The Terror of Pleasure, that “pleasure remains the enemy of the post-modernist thinker because it is judged to be the means by which the consumer is reconciled to the prevailing cultural policy, or the ‘dominant ideology’” (FTC, p.767). Those who claim to support torture films should not be thought of as having “bad” taste, but simply opposing taste. And although many are maybe indifferent regarding the semantics of genre titles, those who are obligated to adhere to proper definitions of those semantic classifications (i.e. critics, cinema scholars) should abide by the aforementioned arguments concerning torture films. Thus, “Torture Porn” should no longer be encouraged or even tolerated as a genre title.

Works Cited

McNally, Raymond T. Dracula Was a Woman: In Search of the Blood Countess

of Transylvania. 1983.

Staiger, Janet. Perverse Spectators. 2000. p.93-108

Giles, Dennis. Conditions of Pleasure in Horror Cinema. Planks of Reason. 2004. p.36-

49. Ed. by Barry Keith Grant and Christopher Sharrett

Altman, Rick. A Semantic/Syntactic Approach to Film Genre. Film Theory and

Criticism. 2004. p.680-690

Modleski, Tania. The Terror of Pleasure: The Contemporary Horror Film and

Postmodern Theory. Film Theory and Criticism. 2004. p.764-773.

Mass Media Law. Ed. by Don. R. Pember and Clay Calvert. 2007. p.525-545

Wigon, Zachary. The Age of Guilt. Tisch Film Review. 2008. p.30-35.

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