I sit here and I
can't believe that it happened. And yet I have to believe it. Dreams or
nightmares? Madness or sanity? I don't know which is which.
--Jessica, “Let’s Scare Jessica to Death”
“Quiet horror” is an extremely useful tool in exploring
our perceptions of reality and the borders of what we rather loudly trumpet as
sanity or insanity. When quiet horror is successfully combined with the
hallucinatory effect of cinema, the effect on the viewer is often
disconcerting. This experience, unsettling as it is, can also be revelatory,
leading one to question their assumptions about the nature of reality and how
we define it individually and as a species. Circumstance and context also play
a part, of course. Ask a person about the difference between watching a movie
alone and watching it with a group of friends. From the same raw material very
different experiences can, and often do, happen. In this piece I will be using
the 1971 American independent horror film Let’s
Scare Jessica to Death, and my experience with it at two different stages
of my life, to explore some of these ideas.
Before discussing the film, we need to assign a
definition to the term “quiet horror.” I’ve
seen this term used in many different contexts; broadly, we can start by saying
what it is not: visceral, gory, explicit and/or focused on the violation,
alteration or decaying of the physical form. It focuses instead on
psychological concerns, suspense, and modes of perception. In general, it is a
more personal experience of horror. You may not see that someone is struggling
to hold on to their sanity; provided you have two eyes that function you can’t
help but notice if their throat has been torn out. For the purposes of this
piece, let’s define it as an unsettling feeling deriving from experiences that
may or may not be paranormal in nature which leads to a questioning of sanity both
by the protagonist and those around him/her. We will, time and again, circle
around to the nature of perception.
Jessica is recovering from a nervous breakdown that led
to her being institutionalized for a period of time. Her husband Duncan has
purchased a house out in the country on a farm/apple orchard. Accompanied by
their friend Woody, they move out to the house only to discover a drifter named
Emily already living there. She offers to move on but Jessica invites her to
stay for dinner. After seeing how attracted Woody is to Emily, Jessica invites
her to stay indefinitely. At the same time, she begins hearing voices and has a
disquieting experience where someone grabs her leg from underwater while she is
swimming. A mysterious blonde girl stares at her—a blonde girl no one else
sees. She keeps these experiences to herself, afraid that Duncan will think she
is losing her mind again.
Is she? The film plays the question brilliantly, the
experiences low-key, until a couple of stumbles at the end that muddy the
proceedings a touch (which were the fault of the distributor forcing elements
into the film, something that was all too common on the indie circuit in this
era.) We empathize with Jessica, who is played by Zohra Lampert in a
tour-de-force performance that is all the more frightening for its restraint. As
the film progresses, with stranger events occurring and a backstory developing about
a drowning woman who may or may not have lived at the house, our eyes never
leave her. Her physical movements occur with a forced grace, entirely
appropriate for one recovering from a breakdown. Duncan, Woody and Emily are
malevolent characters, but the movie refuses to reveal whether that is solely
because Jessica perceives them that way or whether they do, indeed, intend her
harm. Either way, Jessica’s conception of reality is challenged at every step
of the way. The film is suffused with an emotional and sexual tension that
simmers beneath every ambiguous word and look.
I first encountered this film around the age of 6 or 7 on
afternoon TV (the lack of graphic violence made Jessica an afternoon TV staple in the late seventies.) Too young to
understand any of the subtext and most of the complexity, I was instead very
frightened by the idea that one could lose their mind—or, worse, that the world
around them was something other than it appeared to be. Around the same time I
recall watching footage of the Jonestown massacre, which I consider my first
experience with “evil” as a concept. Both experiences affected me deeply, and
along with viewings of Night Gallery, In
Search Of… and the film Burnt
Offerings, likely put me on the path towards the horror/weird genre in
literature and cinema that has been a staple of my life (creatively and as a
fan) since. Jessica was the first
time I became aware of identity as a concept. The naturalistic tone of Jessica, with its soft diffused lighting
and frequent scenes in daylight (unlike most “horror” movies, this one rarely
takes place in the dark) make the fragility of Jessica and the crumbling of her
mental state more real than cinema normally allows. It got under my skin and
scared me in a way I could barely understand, yet fascinated me as well. It’s
fair to say that from day one I saw horror as more than a place to explore
extremes and transgressions; I saw it as a fundamental tool for exploring the
concept of self and how reality is perceived and defined.
Of course I had no understanding of the term “quiet
horror” at that age, but I did when I watched the movie for a second time as an
adult a couple of years ago. In the intervening years my interest in the horror
and exploitation cinema of 70s/80s grew into a lifelong fascination, if not
almost obsession at times. All the differing branches of horror, itself a very
fluid term, hold varying degrees of fascination but as far as cinema goes,
quiet horror is the deepest well for me. (I find it more problematic as a term
in literature, though there are many quiet horror stories and novels I’d
recommend unreservedly.) It’s always chancy to revisit a film that made such an
impression at a young age, but not only was Jessica
no less disquieting for all my adult understanding of what it was trying to do,
the question of identity seemed even more prevalent. I experienced a breakdown
as a teenager, and there is also a strain of mental instability in my family
history. Jessica’s concerns have
never been far from home.
There is more to Jessica
than the concerns of reality, identity and sanity. For instance, the movie
captures the post-Manson mood of a destabilized America where the old were
afraid of the young and the young were afraid of each other. In the post-9/11
world, where American fear and paranoia is constantly directed outward at The
Other, Jessica provides a snapshot of
a time where that same paranoia was directed inward at each other (it could be
argued that it still is, to some degree, since America currently sees boogeymen
everywhere, from under the bed to overseas, perhaps an inevitable consequence
of globalism—but in the early 70s the scope was arguably much narrower.) This era
led to perhaps the only period of reflection and inward-searching America has experienced
as a society—this is more common in European society, for example. The
saber-rattling began once again in the Reagan era and has essentially continued
nonstop since, the media spin the only real difference. But that is a whole ‘nother
conversation and not relevant to this piece. Essentially what I’m saying is
that, as a window into a particular era, Jessica
captures a societal mood that is so very different to what we live in today as
to seem downright alien. One gets a nostalgic, even wistful, feeling viewing
the film now. We no longer have time to have a breakdown and move to the
country to sort it out—the noise will still be there, 24/7. And if you don’t
like your current identity, discard it and put on another. The fake is real and
the real is fake.
Quiet horror has a harder time of it in such a noisy,
fragmented world. Yet I think well-drawn character studies will always have
their place as a valid arena for exploring personal, intimate concerns. And
there is nothing more intimate than perception: it is how we steer our everyday
lives. (Dreams are a different matter.) Being able to confront the questions
and limits of perception, while disquieting and often scary, can be a
transformative experience. Jessica’s
refusal to tie everything up in neat bows gives it a staying power that allows
it to still function as a vehicle to explore these concerns, all of these years
later. Not bad for a low-budget indie film.
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