Cronenberg: The Body is Philosophy
David Cronenberg’s name often goes hand-in-hand with the body-horror genre. He had a long run of science-fiction horror movies in the 70’s and 80’s, of which each film was obsessed with fantastical body mutations and metamorphoses. Even in his drama and action films, there is a strong focus on the human body.
One of his quotes from an interview struck me: “For me, the first fact of human existence is the human body. I'm not an atheist, but for me to turn away from any aspect of the human body to me is a philosophical betrayal. And there's a lot of art and religion whose whole purpose is to turn away from the human body. I feel in my art that my mandate is to not do that.”
In other words, Cronenberg sees the human body as a philosophical aspect of human existence. It is not separate from our brains and the ways we think, our mental illnesses, our virtues, and our flaws. This interview made me think back on his films, and I realized his primary use of body horror is as a representation of the transformation of the mind.
For instance, in Videodrome (1983), the main character, Max, becomes obsessed with a series of pornographic and ultraviolent snuff films. As he watches more of these broadcasts and investigates their origin, his body begins to transform. Max develops a yonic slit across his abdomen, and a gun is morphed into his hand. These two symbols, representing sexual content and violence, are now inseparable from Max’s corrupted mind and body. The transformation of his mind is represented in the transformation of his body. Similarly, when he begins watching more broadcasts, the slit in his stomach starts to function as a VHS player. As he finds more tapes, he puts them into himself, representing the unnatural consumption of this style of pornography (or, arguably, of pornography in general).
Similarly, in The Fly, a man’s obsession with achieving scientific brilliance leads him to destroy his own body by accident. The protagonist is Seth Brundle, a man trying to build a teleporter. After many unsuccessful trials, he finally manages to teleport a baboon from one machine to the other. Drunkenly, Brundle steps into his teleportation machine, unaware that a fly has also found its way inside. His experiment begins and he is morphed together with the insect. The changes are unnoticeable at first — relegated simply to changes in behavior, strength, and appetite. In a way, it seems like Brundle is on his way to become a superhero. This part signifies the positive changes that scientific achievement can beget, such as improvements in medicine or pharmaceuticals. However, as the movie progresses, so does his transformation. He begins to shed his skin, lose his teeth, and gains the ability to crawl on walls and roofs. This represents the reliance on technological advances, how they can become destructive — like weaponry, fossil fuels, radiation, and pharmaceuticals (opioids, benzodiazepines, or amphetamines). In the climax of the film, Brundle is tricked into the teleporter again, and due to a malfunction, he fuses with the machine itself. This tells us that Brundle is not just a monstrosity, it’s his creation that is a monstrosity as well. The machine, when coupled with Brundle’s hubris and inability to handle it responsibly, is also an abomination. Additionally, this signifies that Brundle’s achievement has turned him machine-like. He crawls toward his girlfriend — part man, part fly, part machine — and he asks to be killed. The final transformation Brundle’s body goes through is the explosion of his head from a shotgun blast. This “transformation” is the final message of the film. Brundle’s hubris catches up with him, and his mind is ultimately destroyed by his search for scientific greatness.
In A History of Violence, Cronenberg shifts his focus a little. It is no longer a corrupted mind that is represented, but a corrupted past. The body horror in this movie is toned down, and it is not inflicted on the main character, but on the people he hurts. The movie deals with a family man, Tom, trying to move on from his life as a psychopathic mobster. He has a new life in a different city and lives in a house with a white picket fence and his wife and two kids. He even runs his own coffee shop. One day, two muggers threaten his employees. As such, Tom is forced to fight the muggers off and kill them in self-defense. He is hailed as a hero and put on the front page of a local newspaper, which brings his old mob to the new town in search of him. In an attempt to protect his family, he kills the mobsters in horrific ways. He sees himself forced to commit gruesome acts of violence, to return to his past self, in order to protect his new life. He shoots people in the head, pushes a man’s nose into his skull, steps on another man’s throat, and breaks someone’s neck. Eventually, his son, Jack, is forced to shoot one of the mobsters with a shotgun, not only killing him, but destroying his chest, and splattering blood all over his father. Tom’s “history of violence” is carrying over to his son. Tom is also hurt on two occasions, once when he gets stabbed in the foot fighting off muggers at the coffee shop, and once when he gets shot and has to be rescued by Jack. Tom’s own body is hurt by his past. He decides he has to end this once and for all. He goes back home and tries to negotiate peace, but it’s no use, they want him dead. So, he fights his way out, killing everyone there. He returns to his home, and sits with his family at the dinner table, where his daughter brings him a plate of food and a fork and knife. Tom and his wife stare at one another from across the table, crying.
These transformations are secondary to the messaging in each of Cronenberg’s films. Videodrome, The Fly, and A History of Violence all have different philosophical and political preoccupations, but the technique is the same. It is through the use of body horror that Cronenberg tries to convince us that our minds and our spirits are changing for the worse.
Cover Photo by Jean-Louis Atlan.