Note to Readers:
I discuss The Cabin in the Woods in the following review with specificity and detail. If you wish to remain surprised about the film and its storyline -- including the ending -- please read no further.
The Cabin in the Woods(2012) is simultaneously a clever genre outing that presents a “unified theory” of horror films, and a deeply cynical work of art. Writers Joss Whedon and Drew Goddard have fashioned a witty, surprising, and intellectually engaging movie here, but they have also made one that is deeply, irrevocably hopeless about the current state of mankind, and, in addition, the state of art in the (modern) form of the 21st century horror movie.
When I use the term “cynical” here, I don’t wish to be misunderstood.
I’m not asserting that The Cabin in the Woods is a craven cash grab, or somehow dishonest in its desire to achieve audience approval.
Rather, I’m asserting that this movie actually adopts a cynical point of view as its central thematic terrain.
To quote Wikipedia: “Cynicism is a state of mind characterized by general distrust of others’ apparent motives or ambitions, or a general lack of faith or hope in the human race, or in individuals with desires, hopes, opinions or personal tastes that a cynic perceives as unrealistic or inappropriate…”
For our purposes while discussing The Cabin in the Woods, the section of that definition above that remains most pertinent describes cynicism as “a general lack of faith or hope in the human race.”
The same definition goes on to suggest that cynicism is a product of “mass society.” and can manifest itself as a result of “frustration, disillusionment, and distrust.”
This definition fits The Cabin in The Woods perfectly. It is a movie that sees man as a hopelessly corrupt creature, and therefore one who does not deserve continued dominion over the Earth. It views modern horror movies in not an entirely dissimilar way: as a collection of familiar elements or ingredients to be shuffled around, again and again, in the hopes that the re-shuffling and re-arrangement of the familiar will be mistaken as original or fresh.
Hit the jackpot of ingredients, and you get a blockbuster! In some way, this philosophy explains the recent glut of remakes, reboots and re-imaginations.
I should probably pause here to note that I am a long-time admirer of Joss Whedon and his work. I’ve interviewed the man (for my book about musicals, in 2005), and count myself an ardent fan of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Firefly. So by labeling Whedon’s work here as “cynical,” I’m not attempting to diminish him, his artistic vision, and/or his integrity.
The contrary is actually true. In some perverse and even paradoxical way, Joss Whedon and his director, Drew Goddard present their cynical view of the world and the horror film with absolute sincerity and clarity in The Cabin in the Woods. They aren’t being glib or half-assed about their film's social critique.
Still, I must be honest: The cynical perspective of the world transmitted by The Cabin in the Woods -- no matter how well forged -- is not one I can get behind. I can’t fault the filmmakers for first, possessing a powerful vision, and secondly, presenting it with such merciless, jaw-dropping effectiveness, but I can quibble with the philosophy espoused.
The Cabin in the Woods is a well-made, articulate, meaningful horror film that says something important about our times...but it's something that I don't happen to like or agree with.
“There is a greater good, and for that you must be sacrificed. Forgive us…and let us end it quickly.”
Five young adults -- the sensitive Dana (Kristin Connolly), the hunky Curt (Chris Hemsworth), sexy Jules (Anna Hutchison), stoner Marty (Fran Kranz) and scholar Holden (Jesse Williams) -- go on vacation at a remote cabin in the woods.
They are unaware, at least at first, however, that they are pawns in a giant game, a game that could have repercussions for every living human being on Earth. In particular, they are the latest in a long line of youngsters to be sacrificed to the Ancients, malevolent Gods who demand tribute from the human race.
Meanwhile, a group of technicians in a subterranean headquarters, led by Sitterson (Richard Jenkins) and Hadley, (Bradley Whitford) plan the demise of the kids with a work-a-day attitude, certain that all will go as planned.
These workers, however, have not counted on the fact that Marty somehow senses “the puppeteers.”
“We write the game as much as we have to but in the end, if they don’t transgress, they can’t be punished.”
A unified theory is one that explains the fundamental forces in a single system or area, and The Cabin in the Woods very craftily -- and with tongue planted firmly in-cheek -- explains why so many aspects of diverse horror films appear alike, from the crazy old coot who warns youngsters “you are going to die,” to the young, beautiful virgins, to the nature of the monsters themselves.
The basis for Cabin in the Wood’s unified theory is, simply, that reality is not as we know it. Man doesn’t call the shots on Earth, the Ancients do. And the human sacrifice rituals of ages past have now -- in the 21st century -- morphed into the very conventions we all know and recognize from decades of horror movies.
These conventions include familiar locations like the iconic cabin of The Evil Dead (1983) or the one featured in Cabin Fever (2002), and the “last stop”/ “dead end” gas station we remember from such films as The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1973), The Hill Have Eyes(1977), and Wrong Turn (2003), among others.
In terms of the central cabin locale, it is a realm of isolation, where help is not available. It is an unexplored place, and often in horror films a representative of a minority culture (mountain folk...) or of a previous time period (an age passed, for example.)
In exploring the cabin as a setting, Whedon and Goddard make direct visual and thematic comparisons to The Evil Dead, Sam Raimi's first motion picture. In The Evil Dead, five kids (again) go to a cabin in the woods. In both films, that cabin is a small, one-story affair. In both films, the door to the basement seems to magically blast open at an unexpected moment, and in both films, the most sensitive female character is depicted as an artist with a sketchbook. The transgression or act which unlooses the evil in both The Cabin in the Woods and The Evil Dead is the speaking aloud of words in another language. \Where the two films diverge, however, is in the precise role of the "Evil" in the very similar scenario.
In The Evil Dead, the demons do all the hard work and attack the living victims themselves (with a little help from an "Angry Molesting Tree," as The Cabin in the Woods describes it).
Oppositely, in The Cabin in the Woods, man has become the middle-man, the agent who greases the wheels for horrible deaths to occur while the demons are reduced to being mere audience members below, in Hell.
In other words, The Cabin in the Woods suggests that man has created a factory or industry out of committing atrocities. Either horror films are that atrocity, themselves (the post-modern reading of the film's perspective) or our very culture -- replete with war, poverty, and reality TV shows -- is.
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The cabin in The Evil Dead (1983)
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The cabin in The Cabin in the Woods (2012)
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The door to the Underneath unloosed: The Evil Dead.
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The door to the Underneath unloosed: The Cabin in the Woods
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The Sensitive One's Sketchbook: The Evil Dead
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| The Sensitive One's Sketchbook: The Cabin in the Woods. |
Another important setting that appears in The Cabin in the Woods is the Dead End/Last Chance Gas Station, the last place of civilization and safety before the danger, chaos, and wildness of the frontier beyond. This setting has a well-established presence in horror films of the last fifty years. We recognize it as the place where the worlds begin to overlap, for The Last Chance Gas Station stands at the borderland between civilization and savagery.
Again demonstrating a canny understanding of the horror lexicon and its imagery, The Cabin in the Woods recognizes an important quality of this location. It's the last place where the protagonists (and future victims) can step back, contextualize their experience, and decided to reverse course and return home.
Invariably, the protagonists do not take that step.
Instead, they blunder forward and pay the consequences for their bravado. In the film, the last stop at the Dead End/Last Chance Gas Station is contextualized as a "choice," and the screenplay brings up the idea that free choice must be involved in the ritual sacrifices to the Ancients, at least to some degree. In other words, the characters have been warned, and yet they still go forward into danger.  |
The Dead End/Last Chance Gas Station: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1973)
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The Dead End/Last Chance Gas Station: The Hills Have Eyes (1977)
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| The Dead End/Last Chance Gas Station: Friday the 13th (1980) |
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The Dead End/Last Chance Gas Station: Wrong Turn (2003)
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| The Dead End/Last Chance Gas Station: The Cabin in the Woods (2012) |
This borderland or crossroads in horror films is almost universally populated or presided over by another horror convention or element from the lexicon: The Threshold Guardian or Herald of Death.
This character, seen in Friday the 13th (1980) as Crazy Ralph and in many other examples of the genre, is the clear human symbol of danger. The Herald knows something important or vital, and he physically embodies a quality of derangement or menace. And yet he's often a despicable person, possessing racist views or even allied with evil.
Because the character's important message -- Go Back or Die! -- comes from an old, crazy, and/or disfigured person, however, it is often ignored. The Threshold Guardian/Herald of Death isn't recognized for what he is, and is instead demeaned and insulted, or his cause is invalidated.
It is easy for young, beautiful, carefree people to disparage and dismiss the guardian as a country/backwoods hick and idiot. But the truth is, they should listen. They should see below the surface and recognize that the Herald of Death's message is crucial to their survival.
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| The Herald of Death in The Hills Have Eyes (1977) |
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| The Herald of Death in Friday the 13th (1980) |
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| The Herald of Death in Wrong Turn (2003) |
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| The Herald of Death in The Cabin in the Woods (2012) |
Even in terms of its specific evil, The Cabin in the Woods boasts a very recognizable and common movie archetype: the demon who brings pain and pleasure to the living as these victims wade into terror and select their own fate. In the Hellraiser films, that evil force is represented by Pinhead, a Hellish "scientist" who combines sensuality and agony.
During the climax of The Cabin in the Woods, we see a figure very much like the famous Cenobite, though he boasts circular saws perforating his skull instead of nails. But both creatures hold puzzle-boxes, wear leather, and seem to live by the motto: "hands don't call us, desire does."
In other words, those who hold the puzzle -- whether cube or sphere -- determine the nature and shape of their own demises. This aspect of the "monster" ties in with the Last Chance/Dead-End Gas Station, and the film's notation regarding free will. The human characters must choose their own fates, through their actions, inaction, and choices. Their behavior summons the evil.
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You call him when you put together the puzzle. (Hellraiser [1987]})
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| You call him when you put together the puzzle (The Cabin in the Woods) |
Another important character-type in the film is "The Stoner" or "Fool," as represented by the character of Marty. He is truly the film's wild card. At first we mistake Marty for the same goofy character we have seen in so many slasher films; the guy who takes a hit off the bong and is so spaced out that
-- vice preceding slice and dice -- he gets killed early in the action.
But in
The Cabin in the Woods, Marty breaks out of his assigned "role" in the ritual, and begins to unravel everything. He is thus, actually, something of a villain in the scheme of things. He is the Loki character, the mischief maker, not actually the Fool.
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The Stoners (Friday the 13th Part III)
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| The Stoner becomes the Wild Card. |
Clearly then, The Cabin in the Woods assembles many elements, conventions, and archetypes, and then re-purposes all of the disparate ideas for the purpose of its unified theory. And that unified theory, interestingly, serves the same purpose as...a myth.As you know very well, a myth is a brand of story that reveals how mankind came to exist in his present form, and furthermore explains some mysterious aspect of nature (like thunder, lightning, or natural disasters).
The Cabin in the Woods qualifies as a kind of modern myth because it assiduously explains why horror films across the decades hold these important conventions in common. Underneath the surface of “reality,” malevolent creatures await tribute and appeasement, and our very entertainment suggests the shape of that tribute, subtly preparing us for the "truth" underneath the surface.
There's a term for this kind of surreptitious preparation in conspiracy circles: predictive programming. It's the effort of the "mass society" -- remember, the stated cause of cynicism in our definition above -- to ready its populace for catastrophic changes in not quite above-board, not-quite-direct fashion.
The Cabin in the Wood's unified theory of horror -- this myth that explains the “whys” of modern horror movie and connects them all together into a meaningful “story” about our human nature -- represents more than enough brilliance to rate the film a thumbs-up movie-going experience. The familiar story of teenagers/victims at a cabin in the woods fighting monsters is blown-up, re-assembled, and re-invented to seem fresh in an age where the tale is no longer fresh at all.
In a sense, this is very much what Scream (1996) accomplished in the Clinton Decade for slasher films. That film made us think differently about slasher film conventions, and after The Cabin in the Woods, you can't quite look at The Evil Dead in the same way as before.
As impressive as the unified theory of horror movies remains, The Cabin in the Woodsoffers a commentary on that theory that is --again like Scream -- postmodern. Much of the film involves the duo of Sitterson and Hadley, two aging middle-management functionaries who, basically, “engineer” creative deaths for human beings so as to please and appease a monstrous audience (the Ancients) that, if angered, could rise up and destroy human kind.
Dig beneath the surface of that scenario just a little bit and you see that Sitterson and Hadley represent the “underneath” of horror films.
Not a psychological or subconscious underneath in this case, but literally the creative underneath of the genre.
The two men sit at a giant control panel with monitors (the equivalent of a writer’s laptop) and help to select from a series of elements which scenario the human sacrifices should face.
The Merman, or Angry Molesting Tree?
The redneck Zombies, or the Japanese Water Girls?
The evil clown, or the ballerina with a face of teeth?
Since the setting (the cabin in the woods) and the character archetypes are already established, all these writers can do, according to the film's commentary, is vary the monster and the manner of killing the protagonists.
This is a new expression of a very old argument about horror films that goes something like this: Each Friday the 13th or Halloween movie or Saw movie is merely a recycled plot, but one featuring new and inventive ways to kill people.
To put it another way, this film suggests that the modern horror film has become a mindless regurgitation of old elements, with the only new element a different murder weapon or particular victim.
I don't agree with this critique (anymore than I agree with the film's cynical outlook on human nature), because horror -- right now -- is as healthy as it has been in decades. If this film's argument had been made circa 1987 - 1989 (after eight Friday the 13ths, Five Halloweens and Five Elm Streets), that would be different. But today, the horror genre is back at the top of its game, courtesy of independent films, foreign films, and the infusion of life brought about by the found footage sub-genre.
Still, even if I disagree with the premise (and I do), I can appreciate how The Cabin in the Woods forges its arguments.
In a beautiful example of form mirroring content, we follow the film’s survivors into a subterranean underground where every kind of nightmare monster is trapped in a transparent cage, a gigantic rubik’s cube of “choices.”
This gorgeous image represents the puzzle dynamic of modern screenwriting (let’s fit this monster or element in here…) and also suggests the modern writer’s paucity of imagination. He can choose from what already exists (ghosts, goblins, aliens, demons, slashers, zombies), but he can’t, it seems, pick something that hasn’t already been selected at least once before.
In other words, no originality exists, just that constant shifting or re-shuffling of the established deck (or puzzle box).
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| How can I shuffle the elements so the audience think it is watching something new? |
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| Let's check the dailies and see how things are progressing... |
The leader of the film's underground Monster Initiative, not coincidentally is called “The Director” (Sigourney Weaver) and this is the individual “upstairs” who makes sure the writers get everything right so the product is met with appreciation from the Ancient audience. In other words, we're talking about the movie director here, not just the project director.
In the film's overriding postmodern metaphor, those Ancients might represent us, the very people watching horror movies in the real world. When the Ancients rise at the end of the film -- disappointed by the unexpected finale -- the comment seems to be one about viewer expectations.
Horror movies actually condition predictability, the movie says, and anything unpredictable will be met with audience outrage and anger. We are victims of our own viewing habits, going back to see the same thing, again and again and again, and drawing life not from fresh meat...but from old leftovers warmed-up.
Again, this commentary all works absolutely splendidly in the context of what The Cabin in the Woods means on an intellectual level. The film is multi-layered, and wants to tell us something important about ourselves. In particular, if the screenplay’s “unified theory” explains why horror movies look the same, the film also explains why audiences want the same thing over and over again. It has something to do with the inherent contradiction of seeking a scary cinematic experience, but one whose boundaries we already understand, going in. We want fear, but not too much fear. We want terror. But we want it to be acceptable terror, within established (and familiar) parameters.
My grave concern with the film -- and the thing that makes The Cabin in the Woods a cynical film -- involves the characters in the drama; the characters existing in the story who don’t possess the perspective we do as audience members, and who therefore can’t see or interpret the events as, essentially, post-modern.
For instance, early in the film, the stoner, Marty, opines that “society needs to crumble. We’re just too chicken shit to let it happen.”
At the end of the film, he is given the opportunity to either save the world, or let it be destroyed by the Ancients. Remembering his comment from early in the film, it’s not a stretch to guess which path he chooses. He's got free will...and he uses it.
Although the Director begs Marty to sacrifice himself so that everyone else on Earth may live, he refuses to play. He believes it is better to blow it all up than to save the (corrupt) human race. He sees society as worthless because the secret overlords have moved in the shadows to shape his destiny without his knowledge. Disillusioned, he responds...cynically.
And the Ancients rise.
It’s a dick move on Marty’s part, and a deliberate comment on what a hopeless piece of work is man. Earlier in the film, however, Marty mentions his Mom, fearing she would consider him a “burn out.” So…he doesn’t even want to save the world for his Mom?
Are we to believe there is not one person in Marty’s life – one person in the world – that he deems worth saving the planet for?
I would like to claim that this is just the movie's commentary on Marty. He’s a selfish, indulged prick.
But sweet, kind Dana gets the opportunity to kill Marty and save the world in the process, and she doesn’t act, either.
Again, this would be a fairly easy decision for any one of us, I suspect. Do you have loved ones? Children? Parents? Siblings? Friends? Among that circle, is there at least one person you love, who is worth saving the world for?
I would think so, in Dana’s case, if not Marty’s.
So, in a sense, this ending doesn’t ring true on an individual, human level, even if it rings true on a philosophical level, on the level of cynicism as governing individual philosophy.
The judgment of The Cabin in the Woods is that man deserves to die, apparently, for turning matters of life and death – human sacrifice – into a work-a-day job where people get drunk, wager cash on outcomes, and crack cruel, thoughtless jokes.
The image projected is of a callous race that cares nothing for his fellow man. Mary and Dana’s decision not to spare the world, at the end of the film, however, reinforces this notion. They are both just as rotten as Sitterson and Hadley. They are so selfish and narcissistic they can't even think of sacrificing themselves for the "greater good."
So cynical, in fact, is the film about man, that it even audaciously if sincerely suggests blood-loving, “Giant Evil Gods” will do a better job with the Earth than we have. Dana says words along the lines of “Humanity…it’s time to give someone else a chance,” and, well, simply, I call bullshit on that line.
I don’t believe that Dana would ever think it, let alone speak it. It doesn't feel true to her character.
And it gets the dynamic wrong. This isn’t a battle between “humanity” and “someone else” in a kind of hopeful sense, like choosing between candidates for high office. It’s a choice between humanity...and Giant Evil Gods who, as the story reveals, have been using as human sacrifices since the dawn of time.
The ones who, from the very beginning, rigged the system are going to do a better job than we are?
Listen, I understand why people are cynical and disillusioned.
We've had a terrible recession, witnessed gridlock in Washington, and watched the greedy one percent take more and more from America, while the 99 percent holds the bag.
In a sense, believing in the American dream today is like kissing that stuffed, mounted wolf on the wall (above), and hoping it won't bite us when we tongue it.
We've heard a lot of folks say "the system is rigged," and -- let's face it -- what Dana and Marty learn in The Cabin in the Woods is that the system is indeed rigged. They aren't in control of their lives, and they have been manipulated in terrible ways.
I'm with the film on all this material. Amen.
But The Cabin in the Woods doesn't take the necessary step of deciding what the right response to a rigged system is.
Things don't get improved by blowing-up everything, by destroying the human race. As soon we stop believing that we can each make a difference, we’re in real trouble. The great thing about the human race is that we keep renewing the well of hope, and we keep re-asserting the belief, generation after generation, that the best days remain ahead. We might get depressed or discouraged, but we have a responsibility -- to our children, at the very least -- to pull ourselves out of that funk and keep moving forward.
Cynicism accomplishes nothing. Never has and never will.
I realize this is my personal issue with the film, but I have a very difficult time enjoying The Cabin in the Woods emotionally, even if I can appreciate it and admire its craft on an intellectual basis. I simply can’t buy into a world view which says it is better to destroy everything now than to keep trying to make the world better.. The system is rigged...okay. But our response still matters. It has to matter, or we can all just stop working, stop having children, and stop trying.
Do you think that would make this world a better place, or a worse one? For all its intelligence and wit, The Cabin in the Woods answers that vital, final question with a lack of vision.
Unlike Marty in The Cabin in the Woods, Buffy Summers or Malcolm Reynolds would have saved the world for everyone else...
I'm with those guys.
