Horror Movie Recs: Geologic Horror
It's been well-argued that horror stories are an expression of cultural anxieties. The monsters of campfire stories and the silver screen have hidden depths of symbol and metaphor, expressing real fears through terrifying fiction. Depending on when and where the story is told, for example, a zombie horde might represent fears surrounding borders and immigration, consumerism, ecological collapse, and more.
So what fear does a story about geology express?
Geology is a science concerned with minerals, rocks, and the many processes that affect Earth and other planets over time (such as erosion, tectonic activity, and more). "Time" here means geologic time, or deep time: spans of time that exist far beyond human experience, from millions to billions of years. There are quite a few horror movies that deal with these ideas, either directly or as a looming backdrop to a human-scale story.
Note that this particular brand of geologic anxiety comes from a primarily European Enlightenment kind of background, where a specific type of methodological reasoning is held up as the only true way to understand the world. Other cultural and spiritual frameworks may see this whole concept very differently.
The Monolith Monsters: From 1957 comes the tale of a meteorite crashing to earth and visiting devastation on Main Street USA. The cosmic traveler doesn't carry any living aliens or radiation. Instead, it spawns more rocks like itself whenever it comes into contact with a very particular substance. The result is a mountain range of horribly ominous onyx-like monoliths erupting from the California desert, only stopped by the power of 1950s pulp science and a plucky hero or two. The story is pretty typical of a movie of this era and genre, but has some absolutely phenomenal camera work and special effects.
In a movie where the main characters are professional geologists, some anxiety about the science could be expected. Still, the way it was handled surprised me. The "invasion" of the monoliths, which aren't sentient or living in a customary sense, doesn't read as a metaphor for humans. Instead, it reads as the sudden intrusion of an ancient and dangerous past into a landscaped reshaped for temporary human needs, as the monoliths threaten California's ephemeral citrus industry and desert reservoirs with human-built dams. Suitable, considering that the late 1950s saw a huge spike in mining of radioactive elements in the US, and the risks those elements posed in nuclear weapons loomed over the planet.
The Descent: The first half of The Descent deals with the horrors of geology in a direct way, as a group of reckless friends climbs into an unmapped, unknown cave. This isn't an environment where humans are at home, as they face cave-ins, pits, and the risk of running out of both air and light.
I highly recommend stopping at the halfway point, because everything after that deteriorates into bog-standard bloody action fare. Up to that point, though, The Descent is a journey through geologic horror. There's separation from society, as even a few feet of rock blocks all light and chance of help from above. There's loss of self, as the explorers find themselves stripped of their self-delusions and forced, in darkness, to confront their deepest fears. And then there's the confrontation with deep time, as they discover cave paintings left behind thousands of years ago. They have to confront the fact that this cave is older than their entire civilization...and it will hold their bones long after that civilization is gone.
The Ritual: A group of extremely foolish English men hike the King's Trail in Sweden as a memorial to a dead friend, and an attempt to confront guilt, grief, and blame for their friend's death. A "shortcut" through a forest turns into a nightmare as a terrible monster stalks them. One of the best creature designs of the century so far is on full view in the final confrontation between man and monster.
Rocks themselves don't feature directly here, but from the very beginning of the hike they're present. One of the characters talks about the myths of how the mountains formed (gods with hammers smashing out the mountains), as the protagonists hike along rocky ridges and the feet of mountains. It sets the scene for a place that's ancient, older than human memory. The creature, while she has elements of trees and animals, also has vocalizations like falling rocks and looks every inch a stone idol during the finale. Here, the geologic fear is simple and straightforward: you're very young and very small in an ancient and vast world, and there are things you don't understand that wish you harm.
Lovely, Dark and Deep: Amid notorious disappearances and missing persons cases in the US National Park system, a ranger heads into the backcountry on a highly personal mission. As bizarre events pile up and mysteries grow around her, our protagonist faces a series of devastating choices that will decide whether she lives or dies--and if the visitors to her park live or die, too.
From the beginning of the movie, the physical geology of the park is given top billing. Audio clips from podcasts and news reports repeatedly reference disappearances happening in "granite boulder fields," rangers hike slowly through those same granites, mountains are given extensive and unsettling screen time. Humans and trees alike are framed as tiny and frail. Toward the end of the movie, one character points out that these are the places "where you can still see the stars." The fear here is a particularly American brand, I think: wondering what's out there on the fringes of the last untouched night of the continent, amid mountains older than we can possibly imagine, on land that doesn't belong to us.
Picnic at Hanging Rock: On a spring day in Australia in 1900, a group of students sets out from a nearby women's college to visit the magnificent Hanging Rock formation. Three students and one teacher climb the rock, and are never seen again. The rest of the movie doesn't deal directly with Hanging Rock, but with the impact of the disappearances on the college and other students.
There has been MUCH criticism of Picnic at Hanging Rock, both the movie and the original book. The story has taken a significant place in Australian literature, and the real rock has become a tourist destination visited by hundreds of people every year. Which is more than a problem, considering the unacknowledged violence done to indigenous people native to the area. The idea of "white vanishing" is something that appears often in Australian literature. I'll point to "Miranda Must Go" as a good point to continue reading on why this is an issue from people more qualified than I. In terms of the movie specifically, there's a particular quality of geologic horror to the way the rock itself is filmed. Looming, huge and vast and mazelike, it's filmed with great care. The rock is six million years old, as the teacher points out early on, an age that none of the characters can consciously comprehend. It's older and stronger and grander than the European-style college building, and it can't be ignored or forgotten, no matter how the characters try.
I'll leave this very long rec post with this exchange from The Monolith Monsters, when two of the characters first see the meteorite, an exchange that I think distills the idea of geologic horror down to its absolute essentials.
"No telling what went on inside of it. It's been gathering the secrets of time and space for billions of years."
"Billions of years. And how long have we got to unlock its most important secrets? Three hours, or three minutes?"
