The Thing: Enduring Monstrosity
By Graham Bertoni
The horror genre thrives on limitations. Limitations may be economical, as in the Universal Studios’ monster movies of the 1930s or the micro-budget slashers of the 70s, but they can also be thematic. Horror movies are explicitly meant to elicit one ultra-specific response from their audiences: fear. Many horror films mix fear with other emotions, spinning tales towards drama or romance—while these films can be highly effective, they dilute the essence of the genre by more evenly dividing the audience’s emotional landscape. John Carpenter never saw any limitations in fear, however, and his horror films remain faithful to the core emotion of the genre. In one interview, he said that fear’s power lies in its universality: “Humor isn’t always universal. Fear is. That’s why horror is so incredible” (Portner). That indescribable but nonetheless powerful feeling that Carpenter is fascinated by is what, time and time again, always brought me back to horror movies. Each horror film I watch is a futile chase back to my childhood, where wide-eyed and under the covers, I was afraid to move a muscle lest Pennywise, Jason Voorhees, or Michael Meyers would come get me. I may not have the artistic prowess of Carpenter, but like any horror fan, I understand the fear in his movies because they speak to the part of me that is still that scared little kid.
It goes without saying, then, that my favorite Carpenter film is his scariest, and no film has scared me like The Thing (Carpenter 1982). The original film The Thing from Another World (Nyby 1951) was a big favorite of Carpenter, producer/director Howard Hawks being one of his greatest artistic inspirations. The 50s film, though great, was largely unfaithful to the spirit and the content of Who Goes There? by John W. Campbell, the novella upon which it is based. The monster of the film was essentially a giant man-shaped vegetable with super strength and near impenetrable skin. Hawks and Nyby crafted a thrilling film, but by making it a simpler monster movie, they lost all of what made Who Goes There? special. Maybe this was due to the visual limitations of the era, when Campell’s wild transformations simply couldn’t translate to the screen. On the other hand, a lack of imagination could just have easily been a contributing factor, evidenced by the stripped-back mystery and intrigue that was so rich in the novella.
Luckily, imagination is something John Carpenter has never lacked. His version of the novella Who Goes There? would be radically different from the 1951 film, which meant that he’d have to stretch the limits of the silver screen further than audiences had ever seen before. The Thing came on the heels of a number of great successes from Carpenter (Halloween, The Fog, Escape from New York), but it was his largest production to date and his first collaboration with a major studio. Universal Studios doled out $15 million to Carpenter, expecting major returns for their major investment. Yet, despite the talent behind the production, the film was a critical and commercial flop. Vincent Canby for the New York Times called it “instant junk” (Canby). Critic Roger Ebert said Carpenter focused too much on special effects, thereby making the decision “to allow the story and the people to become secondary” (Ebert). The consensus, from the most to the least pretentious moviegoers, was that The Thing was a shallow gore-fest.
In the decades after its release, as The Thing slowly grew and grew (and grew) on audiences and critics, people began to wonder why it wasn’t a success in the first place. It’s worth noting that the film debuted the same week as E.T. (Lucas 1982), which opened to massive critical acclaim and packed theaters. Some have suggested that Reagan’s America was more apt to accept a film with the bubbly atmosphere of E.T. rather than Carpenter’s bleak vision of humanity. Carpenter himself, when asked whether it was the gore or the bleakness that caused its failure, said “I think the second. I think that was it. It was all so dark. It was about the end of everything. It was such a hopeless situation: these poor guys out there” (Haanen). In my view, The Thing was dismissed as trash by critics not because of the bleakness, but because of its effects. Canby halfheartedly said in his review, “There may be a metaphor in all this, but I doubt it.” His response reflects the lack of attention that critics paid to this film in 1982. Films this deep were never this disgusting, and films this disgusting were never this deep. Despite Canby’s doubts, there is a metaphor in The Thing; a metaphor and so much more.
Carpenter introduces the audience to the world of The Thing by immediately immersing them in its world of conflict. Powered by the chilling bassline of Ennio Morricone’s world-class score, the opening of The Thing sets the tone about as dark and bleak as it can. Norwegian pilots madly shoot at a dog running through the open snow of Antarctica. The dog arrives at an American camp and the Norwegians die (and the truth with them). We are left in the dark as to the nature of the shooting, the dog, and the Norwegians (or are they Swedes?). Answers start to come quickly, though. What the animal carries with it immediately tumbles the story into a mess of mistrust and misdeed. In essence, the inciting incident already happened long before the film began. Instead of exposition, what we get is the broken shrapnel of what happened before, a monumental tale that feels simultaneously like the prequel and the sequel to the traditional narratives we’re used to seeing.
The men in the American camp are few—a stark change from both the novella and the original film. With only 12 people in a small frozen base, just a few books and games to keep their minds occupied, the tension is already apparent. You can see it in the tired, jaded faces of the characters - especially Kurt Russell’s MacReady, who we spend most of the movie with. His blue eyes sparkle with a keen knowledge, and his long shaggy brown hair and thick beard give him a hard-won, weathered look that only grows as he sinks deeper into despair. We don’t get much information about these people: a few games that they like, songs they like to hear, or general grumbly attitudes (looking at you, Blair). We instead come to know these characters through their fear: how they express it, and how we relate to it. Though we don’t really know the men on that base, we understand them on an emotional level, which is more than most films accomplish with any amount of exposition. In fact, our connection with the characters is stronger than the original film, which had a 30-minute dialogue dump at the beginning. Carpenter throws the audience and the characters into the action from the beginning, forcing both to get their bearings alongside each other in tandem.
As the going starts to get rough and the plot thickens, the pace quickens. Carpenter’s film never lets up for a second—how could it? These men can’t possibly think of anything but their predicament, and neither can we. So, the mystery dog is put in the kennels with the other dogs, and we discover the truth: it is not, in fact, man’s best friend, but his worst enemy. The Thing from the Norwegian base can absorb other life forms it comes into contact with, appearing exactly as normal as the life form would if it were really what it seemed. This is the central concept of the film, the element that separates it so much from the original film. This is so much more than a monster movie—it’s a human morality tale of mistrust and misplaced masculinity in the coldest, farthest reaches of the globe.
The men on the Antarctic base, as they begin to grasp their situation, quickly grow to mistrust their compatriots. As group members break off, return, and break off again, the seeds of doubt are sown deep and well in all of their heads. Anyone, truly anyone, could be The Thing – and they might not even know it themselves. As the lack of trust grows, so too does the hatred and pent-up aggression from months in the cold, dark base. The camp effectively operates as a microcosm of toxic masculinity—the men constantly shun and otherize each other, extolling the individual and constantly vying for the next source of power. Blair (Wilford Brimley) goes mad instantly, single handedly destroying all means of communication and transport, trusting only his own unsound mind and body to make it through the winter. Childs (Keith David) is embittered by MacReady’s de-facto leadership, acting foolishly and selfishly purely to satisfy his desire for power. MacReady is as toxic as the others, but he has the level head and the firepower to take control of the situation and set the rest of the crew straight. The Thing’s portrait of masculine culture is certainly not in the explicit argument of the film, but the implicit characterization is strong enough for the threads to be pulled by any attentive viewer.
For all the criticisms The Thing received in 1982, there was one thing everyone agreed on: the special effects were fantastic. Forty years on, they still stand as some of the best ever put to film. Somehow, every time I watch this movie, I manage to forget every amazing and disgusting thing Rob Bottin does in it. I am always shocked, scared, and ultimately amazed by what he accomplishes. John Carpenter was interviewed by David Letterman just before the film’s release, and in the interview, he emphasized that the effects would be critical to the film’s success. He notes that, “In this kind of film you’re dealing with something that the whole audience knows isn’t real at all.” His main challenge, he claims, is that “I want the audience to believe it,” he wants them to say, “‘Oh my lord, look at that, that’s real’” (Letterman). I have no interest in learning how these effects were done, because even on my fourth watch, I find myself lost in the pure “realness” of them. The Thing looks wet—it glistens and shimmers under Dean Cundy’s brilliant lighting. You don’t see the true form of the monster too much in the film, but when you do, Carpenter doesn’t hold back: we are given every disgusting tendril and drop of blood, every spider leg and deformed eye. It’s horrifying in its directness, which is another reason why it may not have quite worked for audiences in 1982. It was too shocking for audiences unfamiliar with this level of gore.
This brings me to the monster itself, which could be the subject of an entire separate essay. In brief, I’ll say that the power of the monster is in its complexity. In Frankenstein and Dracula, the monster is simple. Audiences can immediately point to the scary-looking Karloff or Lugosi they remember from the poster and say, “there, that’s what’s supposed to be scary.” In The Thing, you don’t know what’s going to scare you until it’s right in front of you. In fact, you could be looking right at the monster and not know it yet. The dog sure looks like a normal dog, but what’s with that knowing look in its eyes? MacReady is our hero, surely, but then why were the tattered remains of his jumpsuit found in his shack? Carpenter calls everything into doubt, pulling our stomachs and brains into knots just thinking of the possibilities. By the end of the film, we get some kind of release, but it’s far from definitive. The conclusion is born of exhaustion—MacReady and Childs simply cannot bring themselves to care anymore. The monster could be out there in the slowly dying flames, it could be halfway to South America, or it could still be right there, inside one or both of the characters we’re left with. Though the film concludes, the horror never does. As the credits roll, we’re left with a frozen sea of questions, questions that live with us long after we’ve seen the film again and again.
Why are we still writing and thinking about The Thing nearly forty years after its release? The film’s history would seem to indicate that its acclaim is well-founded. Any great movie this reviled upon its release has a special extra credit to its modern status. It’s not just the excitement of the moment, a massive release with bells and whistles and everything in-between—The Thing’s success operated much like its monster, slowly infecting new viewers with its power to immerse, excite, and terrify.
Works Cited
Canby, V. (1982). [Review of the film The Thing directed by John Carpenter]. The New York Times, 14. https://www.nytimes.com/1982/06/25/movies/the-thing-horror-and-science-fiction.html
Ebert, R. (1982). [Review of the film The Thing directed by John Carpenter]. Rogerebert.com.https://www.rogerebert.com/reviews/the-thing-1982.
Haanen, R. (2014, April). Fuck ‘em! I Don’t Care. The Flashback Files. https://www.flashbackfiles.com/john-carpenter-interview.
Letterman, D. (1982, June 9). John Carpenter Talks “Halloween,” “The Thing” and More. The Late Show With David Letterman. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZJRksSu_y_4&t=0s
Portner, D. (2015, February 2). Don’t Call John Carpenter A Horror Movie Director, Says John Carpenter. Interview Magazine. https://www.interviewmagazine.com/film/john-carpenter-halloween-horror