Thursday, November 1, 2012

One helluva "Nor-easter" (and I don't mean Sandy)... {AHS Review}

This week's installment of American Horror has left me feeling a little, well, icky (perhaps because I also watched the show Oddities just afterword). I know what I am going to talk about here has been debated by others many times before, but last night's episode was a perfect example of my own personal battle with the "gross-out" factor in the horror genre. See, I like my horror a little chaste, like Sister Mary Eunice before she became the devil incarnate. Or Sister Mary Eunice as the devil incarnate? Hmmm.... Yes. Minus the scissors.

Which brings me back to my point (hehehe). Think back to Psycho. Hitchcock manages to portray the greusomeness of the now infamous murder in the shower without pulling out all the stops. He suggests the terribleness of the crime, the vulnerability of the woman. He doesn't show us, in all its gory detail, the knife entering the neck, the full arc of the blood jet.

I wouldn't ever shower again either.
(The Classic Corner: Psycho (1960) — ANOMALOUS MATERIAL)
Last night, AHS put me on sensory overload, gory details galore. Flesh-eating zombies. Amputated legs. Three, count 'em, three Bloody Faces. Aliens slithering around in the background as in Signs. A possible Nazi doctor on the run. Rape. Pillaging. You get the idea. How much can one one-hour episode hold before it explodes into a parody of itself? How many different kinds of monsters (both human and supernatural) can you pack in before things start to get ridiculous?

"Horror Movie Killers" by JacksonBegelhole for ordering info.
For me, AHS this season is trending too far into Saw territory, bedding down with Dr. Harden's pet backyard zombies; not exactly my cup of tea. In my eyes, when you objectify the body and someone's suffering so much that I, as the viewer, start losing touch with the victimized person's humanity, I am at moral risk as your viewer - and I'm not really scared anymore. As my mom always would tell me when I was getting ready to walk out the door during the late '80s, "Honey, sometimes less is more." I like innuendo. Suggestion. Things that go bump in the night as opposed to bloody things with chainsaws, sores, and blood shooting everywhere.

Call me old-fashioned. I don't really care. I'm more of a martini girl than a kamikaze one. You can have your horror straight-up with no chaser. I'd rather have a nice dinner and some chianti with mine;).

That's my two cents. Take them or leave them. ~Alice

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