The Serpent and the Rainbow

Although we have known of the "problematic" horror film, The Serpent and the Rainbow, for several years, it was only this year that we sat down and watched it. It's actually a bit more sophisticated and intriguing than we initially thought. Indeed, director Wes Craven actually shot some scenes in Haiti, too. Judging from the architecture of the houses in what is supposed to be Port-au-Prince, we suspect shooting was done in Cap-Haitien. In fact, one scene even takes place at Sans Souci, the palace of Henri Christophe! So, this mediocre horror flick actually shows viewers some of Haiti's rich patrimony. Strangely, the story is set in Port-au-Prince despite the use of Cap-Haitien and Haiti's distinctive Nord. Nonetheless, the writer and director clearly went at least somewhat beyond the eponymous study which inspired this film for sources. This surprising mix of evidence of depth with the typical horror shlock is what makes this movie distinct.

Let's briefly discuss the bad things about this film so we can better appreciate its strengths. First, the Haitian characters. Most, if not all, are played by African American and other non-Haitian actors. You know what that means...horrible, inconsistent Haitian accents! One actor, who plays Mozart in the film, sometimes drops his ersatz "Haitian" accent in the middle of his lines. The film likewise exploits the usual stereotypes of Haiti and the "Other" as barbarian and violent, although this is mainly associated with the Macoutes and/or forces of Duvalierism rather than Haitian Vodou. To its credit, Craven's movie tries to highlight that dichotomy, so that beautiful, pious, celebratory and devout rites, rituals and practices drawn from Haiti's syncretic mix of Catholicism and African traditions can be seen in all its beauty. One is also a little confused by the Amazonian shaman and the experience of Alan in South America, although we suppose it helps establish for the audience that our protagonist is no ordinary US anthropologist. Indeed, he's willing to "go native" and try unknown concoctions and experience alternate states of consciousness. To the film's credit, this Amazonian adventure, in which the protagonist manages to make it back to "civilization" on his own (well, with the aid of a jaguar-spirit guide) is only a small part of the film's overall narrative. But this leads to the film's other inconsistencies. 

Part of our protagonist's reasons for traveling to the Amazon and Haiti was on behalf of pharmaceutical interests in the US hoping to develop drugs and medical treatments from unknown plants and healing practices of indigenous peoples. Thus, Alan is actually acting on behalf of the extractive forces which seek to exploit the knowledge and resources of indigenous and Global South populations. Perhaps this was written intentionally to highlight the similarly colonialist position of the academic anthropologist in non-Western societies. Yet this also contradicts the film's subtle anti-colonial critique of US imperialism and its morally inconsistent desire to portray the protagonist as a hero for defeating the Tonton Macoute chief, Peytraud. The white American protagonist is more loyal to Haiti than to the profits of the medical industry, represented in part by his boredom and discomfort after returning from Haiti, but it is hard to see him as exactly heroic when it is the Haitian people themselves who are responsible for bringing to an end the Duvalier regime and storming the structure in which the Macoute captain uses for macabre rituals, torture, and, most importantly, the film's final part. Last, but certainly not least, the first torture scene, in which Alan is suffering at the hands of Peytraud, the latter rejects the idea of disfiguring the "pretty white face" of the former, highlighting a racialized dimension of power and status that does not seem to match Peytraud's defiant attitude against the US, inferred from his reference to Grenada and the haste with which the US rushes to assert its control of the Caribbean in the name of "stability." 

Despite our misgivings about the aforementioned features, we found it actually thrilling to see the film match the fall of the Duvalier regimes with the likewise defeat of Captain Peytraud and the Macoutes (associated with zombification and sorcery). The shadow of Duvalier lingers everywhere in the film's Haitian scenes, with posters of Papa Doc and Baby Doc frequently appearing. The Tonton Macoutes are likewise omnipresent, spying on Alan's movements and participating in the disappearance of others or the torture and killings against dissidents and free thinkers. Indeed, the zombie whose story instigates Alan's travels to Haiti, Christophe (almost certainly a name inspired by Henri Christophe), was formerly a schoolteacher who spoke his minds and paid the consequences via zombification by Peytraud (whose name evokes Petro, perhaps matching his violent and aggressive tendencies). The Serpent and the Rainbow actually does a decent job capturing this element of repression, fear, and exploitation of Duvalierist Haiti, even when the plot makes no sense and the Vodou ceremony scenes are illogical. 

Similarly great, it would seem that Craven and his team actually did some research about Haiti. For example, one scene in which revelers and penitents travel to a site and pray to the Virgin Mary/Erzulie was probably inspired by Saut d'Eau. Another area in which the writers seemed to do some homework was the character of Marielle Duchamp, a Haitian doctor whose father was a houngan. Duchamp is a devotee of Erzulie, and based on her sensual, loving, and romantic interest for Alan, she lives up to that lwa. She's also one of the few "mulatto" Haitian characters, perhaps another sign that the film's writers were aware of one of the popular forms in which she can be depicted. In fact, one almost wonders if Rachel Beauvoir-Dominique was the inspiration for Duchamp's character, particularly since the book which inspired the film featured Max Beauvoir and his daughter. Finally, the character of Lucien Celine, a houngan and ally to Alan and Marielle, seems to run a hotel based on the famous Oloffson. These nice touches and little things make the film somewhat more respectful of Haiti than the typical US horror movie.

Eltonsbrody

Edgar Mittelholzer's Eltonsbrody is a strange novel. It's not quite as enjoyable or moving as his earlier work in the horror genre, but it does feature Barbados rather brilliantly. Each aspect of Barbadian geography, climate, and topography is vividly depicted, often with human-like attributes. Besides the actual Eltonsbrody home of Mrs. Scaife, where most of the story takes place, the various characters in the novel also highlight the nuances and contradictions of late colonial Barbados. Mrs. Scaife, a product of the Redlegs or white poor of the island, married a black doctor who worked his way up to a position of respectability in the colonial order. She cannot stand her Portuguese step-daughter, and despises her son, who cozies up to those in authority and status. Read in this light, the novel would suggest the madness of colonial society, but one cannot help thinking Mittelholzer was speaking more broadly. All the elemental facets of personality, inter-personal relations, social hierarchy, gender roles, or even family are thrown into question. Each causes disdain, horror, confusion, miscommunication or hilarity. By the conclusion of the novel, one does not know if Mrs. Scaife was just a prankster who wanted to go out with a bang or a truly insane person. Mr. Woodsley himself is not certain. 

Pet Sematary

Of the three Stephen King novels I have read so far, Pet Sematary is the least successful. Although set in small town Maine, this heart-breaking story of loss and grief should work. However, it takes far too long to reach the horror elements, although the ancient Micmac burial ground and a revived cat appear by the middle of the story (in addition to a horrifying dream-like sequence involving the burial ground and ominous omens). However, Rachel, Louis Creed's wife, was too subservient, almost like Wendy in The Shining film. Jud Crandall, who becomes a father figure to Louis, whose father passed away when he was young, adds an interesting dimension to the tale since his own experience with the Wendigo or whatever has enchanted the soil near the Pet Sematary initiates the downfall of the Creed family. 

The Creeds, needless to say, are without a creed although the lapsed Jewish and Methodist backgrounds of Rachel and Louis inform to a certain extent their approach to death, funerals, and family structures. Nevertheless, it was difficult to understand what exactly the message of this book might be. There are obviously allusions to the Micmac Indians and land litigation in the region, with Jud Crandall arguing that the land should ultimately return to the Micmacs. There is a corrupting presence of the modern road and its endless traffic of trucks, suggesting perhaps an implicit critique of the forces of modernity on a beautiful New England town. Jud and Norma, who have lived in the region their entire lifes, have witnessed this transformation over the decades. Yet, this element of the novel doesn't seem as prominent as the death of small towns in Salem's Lot. 

One could say the novel's ultimate horror lies in the prehistoric presence that seems to prey on our curiosity, desire to know, and, eventually, transcend our mortal limitations. The wendigo of Native American folklore emerges as the main demonic or evil force here, exerting an influence in Ludlow and, seemingly, beyond to ensure it gets its way. By the novel's conclusion, the terrifying results of Louis's attempts to bring back Church and Gage have not deterred him from continuing his downward spiral. Perhaps one could read a critique of the bourgeois family is implied in terms of the bourgeois family's attempts to reproduce itself by any means possible? 

The Shining

Stephen King's The Shining is my second King novel. Although I have long considered myself a fan of the film, Kubrick's brilliant adaptation which took many liberties with the source material, I now find the novel more enjoyable and, ultimately, more disturbing. Given the constraints of the film medium, the disturbing additional contextual and character background information in the novel add more layers to the complex events at the Overlook. Moreover, I think I prefer the book ending, particularly Hallorann's character succeeding in saving Danny and Wendy. In addition, the Overlook itself as a character is far more terrifying in the novel, with its moving topiary, deceased woman in Room 217, and inescapable weight of history. King's novel is better able to explore the gender dynamics of the American family unit of the 1970s, the dangers of obsession, racism and America's violent past of lynching, and cyclical violence or trauma from familial or social histories. Also, Wendy emerges as a fully-formed character who isn't so servile and obedient to Jack. Wendy appears to be trapped somewhere between trapped housewife and liberated woman, whereas the film's Wendy is servile and grins foolishly while enduring the abuse of Jack. 

Salem's Lot

Finally reading a Stephen King is an enlightening experience. Salem's Lot appears to encapsulate much of what is great in King's work as well as horror fiction, a genre I have not dabbled much with besides Poe and Lovecraft in the distant past. Thus, playing catch up with a classic King tale of vampires in a small New England town was a useful learning activity. King's prose is direct, life-like, and builds its setting through nearly flawless exposition. The masterful use of suspense juxtaposed to seemingly excessive description of Salem's Lot and its residents works excellently to persuade readers to invest themselves emotionally into the characters of Ben, Mark, and others. Nonetheless, as a fan of Castle Rock, this novel excels in its depiction of small town life and its intersecting personalities, families, conflicts, and relationships. There is much more to the narrative than vampires taking over a declining Maine town. Themes of loyalty, sacrifice, courage, corruption, as well as war occupy a central role, as numerous references to Vietnam and other contemporaneous events make clear. 

My Bones and My Flute

Mittelholzer's My Bone and My Flute is a well-written horror story that successfully transfers the reader back to Guyana in the 1930s. The narrator, Milton, bears an uncanny resemblance to Mittelholzer himself, and despite the dark themes and frightening suspense, there are moments when one cannot help but giggle because of the self-deprecating or absurd and self-referential references either made by Milton himself or some of the other characters. As for the horror genre within Caribbean literature, Mittelholzer is the main one who comes to mind for me, although Mayra Montero and a certain novel by the Marcelin brothers from Haiti also employ similar motifs and culturally or historically specific reference points for their mysteries. Mittelholzer did a better job with the genre than the Haitian brothers because his story is solidly within the confines of horror and does not take itself too seriously while The Beast of the Haitian Hills was all over the place. Both stories, to their credit, contain much of social import and reflect upon the rural-urban divides within both Guyana and Haiti (not to mention class and color) with some suggested morals for the reader. Much like Haiti, the slave revolutions of the past, really history in general, is never forgotten. 

White Zombie (1932)

Watch White Zombie, a film from 1932 during US Occupation of Haiti (check here for a version with superior sound). Although it is a horror film, it is not frightening in the least. It seems to draw from Seabrook's book and the presence of Haiti in the US cultural imagination during the military Occupation, whcih means it's full of condescending, racist, and inaccurate observations. For obvious reasons, the main characters are all white, the "natives" and "Voodoo" are insultingly portrayed, and last, but certainly not least, the film chooses to omit the presence of US Marines in Haiti. 

This film reminds me of tales my Haitian grandmother shared about white people from the US or elsewhere coming to Haiti long ago. In those stories told to me as a child, white people come to Haiti as missionaries or seeking "occult" knowledge, and ended up seeing supernatural things, usually along the lines of this film. My grandmother told me those stories with a sense of humor, which, perhaps, might be necessary when viewing this film. Nonetheless, it bears the distinction of being the first zombie film in a genre that would follow the same rubic for decades to come, even if Haiti and "Voodoo" were eventually forgotten in most zombie films.