Poltergeist (1982)

 

Poltergeist (1982)

 

There’s some controversy over who really directed this film, which I’ll get to later but, however you stand on the controversy, no one is denying that this is more Producer Steven Spielberg’s film than Director Toby Hooper’s. It shares with most of Spielberg’s early films recurrent themes of the essential shelter of the nuclear (or near-nuclear) family and a view of the affluent American suburb that is almost utopian. Moreover, Spielberg wrote the screenplay, which he admits the influence of Nigel Kneale ("The Stone Tape" (1972)). Another obvious influence was Rod Serling’s "Twilight Zone" (TV anthology series (originally aired 1959) specifically Richard Matheson’s script, "Little Girl Lost" (based on Matheson’s 1953 short story of the same name and first aired in 1962).

 

Early in his career both Serling and Matheson had a very direct influence of Spielberg’s development. Spielberg’s very first directing job was the pilot for Serling’s "Night Gallery" (another TV anthology series, first aired 1970) where the novice ably directed Joan Crawford in her very last filmed performance. Then Spielberg’s first full-length film was "Duel" (1971) based on a Matheson script.

 

Perhaps the greatest gift Spielberg brought to his 1980s films was a non-saccharin sentimentality. Though a certain too-bland-to-even-qualify-as-cliché sameness had long descended onto characters set in a suburban venue, Spielberg was observant enough that in his films they had a regionalist specificity, a recognition that just as there are southern character, or an inner-city character, there is a character to tract houses, and one that could be communicated even in films that not wholly cynical about the "little boxes... all made of ticky- tack" (from “Little Boxes” a song by Malvina Reynolds (1962)). Each individual in his films is sketched with great honesty, especially in terms to their role within the family. And the talented cast isn’t overburdened as they usually are in SF,F&H films by being forced to find realism in ridiculous behavior. Their actions and motives seem natural and organic in the context of increasingly strange circumstances.

 

Re-watching it, the film is like a time capsule, almost cinema as archeology, with delights for me, with details like Sony TVs and the fact that the station’s ceasing to broadcast at a certain time each night. More importantly, both consciously and unconsciously, it reflected the end of certain American cultural ideals, and the emergence of others. When this film was released, the USA’s radical Suburban Expansion was already a generation-and-a-half-old, but still accelerating. This in turn accelerated the decline of the older urban centers and the slide away from a version of the social contract that had evolved between the Roosevelt and Johnson administrations. There are no Depression babies in this film, no grandparents, that era’s suburbanites were like upscale immigrants not in a new country, but having no local roots. Their world was ethnically and economically homogeneous, and all was newly minted. It’s a plot point that the film’s suburban community is expanding at a break-neck pace, and its over-arching moral concerns the dangers of denial of history, it’s an ironic story of a house that somehow got haunted even though it wasn’t old enough to have a past.

 

Ronald Regan had just been elected President, thanks in no small part to people like Steve and Diane Freeling (Craig T. Nelson and Jo Beth Williams), nearing-middle-aged former hippies who shed their 60s liberalism when they embraced a commitment to increasing their upper-middle class prosperity. They’re not true conservatives, at least not yet, and remain reluctant to discipline their children, but careful to hide their occasional pot-smoking behind closed doors. And I doubt it would be many more years when an audience would no longer believe certain character reactions, like the parents laughing-off workmen ogling their teenage daughter (Dominque Donne–sidebar here: this actress would soon suffer a horrific fate in the Real-World, a victim of Domestic Violence, that can in-part be attributed to an "I’m okay, you’re okay" lack of preemptive-ness by those who could see she was in a dire situation). Not for nothing, Douglas Brode compared "Poltergeist’s" family values to the Bush/Quale 1992 reelection campaign (and we all know how well THAT worked out).

 

As with most Suburbanites, they are surrounded by the safety of objects but seem unconscious of their affluence. Some of those objects are quite telling, and though some of it is obviously cynical product-placement, but giving this particular venue, the telling-detail and product-placement are often one in the same. Like when middle child, and only boy, Robbie (Oliver Robins), who doesn’t want to admit he’s scared, pulls his overstuffed "Star Wars" comforter around him.

 

Much of the above is front-loaded, the film loads its many "Chekhov’s guns" in the most relaxed prosaicness. James O’Ehley, speaking of how the intervening years would mutate both the setting and style of story-telling, observed, "If the movie were to be made today it’d probably be set in one of those gated security communities and be a full half an hour shorter."

 

An important element of this film, and eighties genre film in general, was the growing influence on the narrative exerted by its female characters. I’ve noticed that only a few years prior, the rise of Feminism and the Sexual Revolution, the roles assigned to women in genre cinema were increasingly degraded; just when one would’ve expected more, stronger, women, there was instead an unleashing of tsunami eminently murder-able bimbos marching indifferently through somnambulistic and exploitative T&A only to be punished by ever more explicit violence. Though the 80s would see this trend exaggerated by soul-less Slasher films, most other genre films of the period started taking but the role of women more seriously. Women in cinema seemed to fare better even as in the Real-World Feminism started getting bruised from back-lash and still unrecognized AIDS epidemic was about to end the Sexual Revolution. Maybe ironically, in the ‘80s, the stronger and smarter women were most frequently in the context of traditional sex-roles.

 

Though Steven is entirely likable and even heroic dad, Diane’s stay-at-home-mom is the anchor of the family, and the real hero of the film’s two climaxes. In a small part, Dr. Martha Lesh (Beatrice Straight), evokes the greatest professional confidence of the team of parapsychologists who respond to the house (meanwhile, it’s one her guys who chickens out and abandons the family). And when Straight realizes she’s in over her head, she turns to yet another woman, Tangina Barrons (Zelda Rubenstein), in a star-making role. Tangina/Rubenstein gets two of the film’s three most famous bits of dialogue:

 

"There is no death. It is only a transition to a different sphere of consciousness," which is the closest thing to a theology I saw in this supernatural film, and it carefully side-stepped all religious reference. I think it nicely summed up the era’s emerging new age cosmology: America’s only true religion is faith. (Though this film’s new agey-ness was low-key, in the next film in the franchise, Tangina/Rubenstien is backed up by a Native American Shaman, and the villain is revealed to be the ghost of the leader of an apocalyptic Christian cult.)

 

And, of course, there’s Rubenstien’s potent delivery of, "This house is clean." (And we all remember how well THAT worked out.)

 

The number one most famous line, which is still part of our culture some forty years later, came from, again, a female character. The almost impossibly sweet and beautiful seven- year-old Carol Anne (Heather O’Rourke), who innocently touches the hissing snow on a television set tuned to a dead channel and says, "They’re here."

 

Little Carole Anne proves to be the key to the door of the other world. After innocently establishing contact, the Poltergeists start playing friendly pranks. A lot of them are built around the most fundamental of family spaces, the kitchen. When Diane’s back is turned for but a moment, kitchen chairs assemble themselves into a pyramid. After that, it becomes a game for Carol Anne in a football helmet to shoot across the linoleum floor along an inexplicable ‘slider’ channel.

 

Though all this is good fun, this is a Horror film, and things will get darker. The first really memorable scare scene featured Robbie, terrified in his bed, counting the seconds between thunder and lightning and realizing the storm is getting closer. When nature reaches its crescendo, the weird, craggy, tree outside bursts through his window and grabs him (I guess his overstuffed "Star Wars" comforter offered no protection). In 2012 a friend posting about how scary hurricane Sandy was, referenced that very scene.

 

This is an FX heavy film, but it leans on its writing as much as its spectacle. This was demonstrated in both its strengths and weaknesses, because Spielberg’s imagination reached far beyond the era’s technological capacity, and his obsessive story-boarding and generous budget didn’t always make up the difference. The above tree-scene worked well because of the setup and dialogue, but let’s face it, the tree looked fake. Another scene, where one of the Parapsychologists (Martin Casella), has a nightmare where he can’t stop himself from peeling the flesh and muscle off his own skull; it’s almost comical in its primitive execution, but worked well in 1982 just because of its sheer audacity.

 

This was the same year as "ET," leading to the declaration of a "Spielberg Summer." Spielberg clearly wanted to Direct both films, but he was contractually restrained from helming a second project until "ET" was wholly completed. Providing script, story-boards, making decisions regarding who got what job, being a frequent presence of the set, continually conferring with Hooper, and taking complete charge of the post-production, there was never any doubt this was his baby. As this was 1982, with auteur theory was all but dead in the USA, Spielberg’s large role caused professional problems for actual Director Hooper.

 

Spielberg, one of the last great auteurs, was fast recasting himself as a creature of an earlier era still, where the Producer, not the Director, was the primary creative force. He created a stable of directors around himself including John Landis, Joe Dante, Richard Donner, and Robert Zemeckis, and their work of this era established a "Spielberg style" almost as instantly recognizable as the "Val Lewton style" of the 1940s. Hooper was already a director of some reputation (already under his belt were "Texas Chainsaw Massacre" (1974) and "Salem’s Lot" (1979)), but this was his first big-budget film.

 

Problem was, Spielberg had to shoot his mouth off:

 

"Tobe isn't... a take-charge sort of guy. If a question was asked and an answer wasn't immediately forthcoming, I'd jump in and say what we could do. Tobe would nod agreement, and that become the process of collaboration."

 

Given that the hard-to-define interplay of creatively, labor, and collaboration have serious consequences on Hollywood contracts, such words can ruin a man’s career just as the ghosts wrecked the house in this film. The Directors Guild of America "opened an investigation into the question of whether or not Hooper's official credit was being denigrated by statements Spielberg has made, apparently claiming authorship." I assume that Hopper was the complainant, but I am not certain.

 

Spielberg would try to undo the damage in an open letter to Hooper he published in the "Hollywood Reporter":

 

"Regrettably, some of the press has misunderstood the rather unique, creative relationship which you and I shared throughout the making of Poltergeist. I enjoyed your openness in allowing me... a wide berth for creative involvement, just as I know you were happy with the freedom you had to direct Poltergeist so wonderfully. Through the screenplay you accepted a vision of this very intense movie from the start, and as the director, you delivered the goods. You performed responsibly and professionally throughout, and I wish you great success on your next project."

 

Still, this never really went away, coming up as recently as 2007, when Rubinstein claimed during her part of shooting, "Steven directed all six days...Tobe set up the shots and Steven made the adjustments..." and most scandalously claimed that Hooper "allowed some unacceptable chemical agents into his work...Tobe was only partially there."

 

Not helping the situation was happened next with Hooper. “Poltergiest” led to a three-picture-deal with Cannon which turn toxic. The resulting films were, consecutively: over-budget, saw the promised budget slashed, and was given minuscule budget. Hooper complained of studio interference and butchering in the editing room, while the studio complained Hooper had driven them into bankruptcy. Most notable of the three was the first, the mega-budgeted and broadly panned "Lifeforce" (1985) which like "Poltergeist" displayed marked Nigel Kneale influence (in this case the TV mini-series “Quatermass and the Pit” (first aired 1958-1959)), but unlike "Poltergeist" it was so aggressive and goofy in its misogyny that few remember anything except that the film, set in contemporary London, with an entourage cast, but had only one significant female character, who was the embodiment of all evil, very little dialogue, ran around completely naked for almost the entire length of the film.

 

But Hooper has he defenders. Other members of the cast and crew verify is Directorship. Also, Hooper and Spielberg have distinctive camera styles, Spielberg influenced by Alfred Hitchcock, while Hopper was fond of an ersatz-cinema-verte. Spielberg is all flawless craftsmanship and demonstrated control, while Hooper has a gift for the illusion of chaos and the very deliberate, imperfect, detail. According to Critic Mark R. Hasan both men’s camera work is evident. Hooper was more apt than Spielberg to employ wide, high angled camera movements, staggered close-ups, and shock cuts (Hooper claimed he did half the story-boards, though co-producer Frank Marshall contradicts that). There’s a particular scene that Hasan claims is clearly displays Hooper’s engagement:

 

"...when Diane Freeling enters the bathroom to colour her hair and take a bath in a prelude to the violent finale, Hooper holds on a wide shot with Diane moving about in the distance, while a Kleenex box resting in the lower-left foreground teases the audience into fearing some tremble or sudden shake is about to occur, signaling the expulsion of the ghosts wasn’t full-proof after all...nothing happens to the tissue box, and Diane’s soothing bath isn’t interrupted...It’s all a cheat, but a good one that pinches the tension so the audience is ready for real shocks when Diane’s attacked in the bedroom, and Robbie’s evil clown doll – a thing no sane child would ever want to own – goes on the attack."

 

That’s all part of the secondary climax, which is out-and-out apocalyptic, with the graves giving up their dead. In nice symmetry, the first coffin explodes up from the kitchen floor. Moments later, Diane, clad in only underwear, falls into the filthy water of the half-dug swimming pool to find herself surrounded by bobbing, rotting corpses (the production used real skeletons, which Actress Williams was less than completely thrilled about).

 

In that scene, we get the revelation of why this brand-new house was haunted; I took special pleasure in how it all came down to a shady Real Estate deal. Ann Rice once wrote the ghost stories "have nothing to do with ghosts finally; they have to do with the menace of memory." Here we learn it’s about the menace of forgetfulness, which plays into the shallowness of the safety of objects that had been demonstrated throughout the film. In the end, the family survives, mostly because of the strength of their love, but all the other things that made up their Suburban/Utopian standard-of-living are literally sucked down the Cosmic Drain.

 

This all too often sappy theme is handled with rare intelligence and conviction. A story of Good vs. Evil, where evil is presented as an abstract mystical force, but love isn’t. Love is relationship and responsibility, demonstrated in choices that are sometimes self-sacrificing, but more often pragmatic. Unlike many (and generally bad) SF,F&H films, the Heroes don’t hold up an amulet and make all the bad things go away, they just take care of their own, no matter what.

 

Richard Kuipers wrote that this was "The last genuinely scary haunted house film to come out of Hollywood." That was a fair enough observation until 1999, but less defensible when the statement actually saw print in 2000.

 

Trailer:

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5ytjaMfoF2M

 

I know the face peeling scene is embarrassingly primitive, but I still have a soft spot for it:

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AHvWoDB-PYo&feature=related