CFP: VIII Coloquio Internacional de Literatura Gótica

Under the stewardship of Dr Sam George and Dr Bill Hughes, The Open Graves, Open Minds research project at the University of Hertfordshire has proved to be a rich and rewarding enterprise that – during its five-years of investigation – has facilitated a range of scholars to read productively many of the myriad transmutations of the vampire and the werewolf, both historically and in contemporary fictions. Two years after its initial publication, however, there is a surprising lack of critical appreciation of one of the project’s central research outputs so far: the Manchester UP collection Open Graves, Open Minds: Representations of Vampires and the Undead from the Enlightenment to the Present (2013). Certainly, this is an oversight by Gothic studies, and George and Hughes’ collection is an important addition to any scholarly Gothic reading list or, indeed, any module that reads the all-pervasive figure of the vampire. There is much to admire in the essays collected here. To name only a few of its key central concerns, the volume contains important scholarship on Lord Byron and John Polidori, Sheridan Le Fanu’s Irish Gothic, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight series, and the complex identity politics that underpin just why, at least in contemporary fictions, society is shown to absorb vampiric groups into the mainstream. Both early-career and established researchers contribute to the book – there is a closing-piece, too, by YA author Marcus Sedgwick – and the study proves rich and varied in its conceptualisations of perhaps the most ubiquitous of Gothic figures.

Details of some of the more notable readings will follow shortly, but a collection such as this always poses interesting, larger questions relating to its field of study. One central issue that is wrestled with consistently throughout the conceptual work in OGOM is whether scholars of contemporary vampire fictions (literary or visual) are over-burdened by the vampire’s distinctly literary tradition. Certainly, researchers themselves find this question difficult to answer. To compare consistently many of the contemporary films or book series read in OGOM – which are replete with beautiful and essentially un-monstrous monsters – to Polidori’s gentleman vampire or Stoker’s Dracula is to pay too much respect to the notion that the nineteenth-century vampire is an originate that endures in each contemporary vampire story. Of course, commonalities with fictions past are often embedded meaningfully in contemporary texts, but not always, and the less convincing readings here could be said to create links between the old and the new vampire ex nihilo. There is an anxiety that grips, in particular, emerging scholars to not only have an intimate knowledge of the Gothic heritage (wise and necessary) but to put it to work when considering modern transmutations of the vampire, such as those evident in The Vampire Diaries, True Blood, and a number of the other popular fictions read in this collection. In a critical field so used to paying heed to the grip that the past may hold over the present, there could be a Gothic effect itself at work that underpins this handling of the nineteenth-century vampiric heritage. Writing on the Gothic, it seems, may demand a necessary acknowledgment of past classics that comes to dictate at least some of the parameters within which the contemporary text can be read. There are also more focused questions to consider: does Twilight ‘overshadow’ other texts in the vampire genre? And to which conceptual models does Gothic scholarship turn when our bloodsuckers ‘may have lost their bite’ (18)? There are readings here that, certainly, show that there is interesting and rewarding work to be done on the cultural turn that has borne out Twilight. Catherine Spooner’s alignment of the modern ‘sparkling’ vampire with the mainstream assimilation of Goth subculture is certainly convincing. While Sara Wasson and Sarah Artt’s joint venture to complicate the supposed feminine passivity ingrained in Twilight unveils at least some ‘unexpected pleasures’ in Meyer’s staging of ‘both the broken and the shining body’ (189).

As such, the most rewarding work in Open Graves, Open Minds (and there is lots) is to be found in the historicised research: those readings that are deeply invested in the respective cultural timeframes – Romantic, Victorian, late-modern, or postmodern – that have given birth, each in turn, to the myriad vampires covered here. Sam George’s fascinating reading of Count Dracula’s lack of reflection, for example, draws from Stoker’s research notes on the Kodak camera and is neatly linked, via Walter Benjamin, to the evolving modes of mechanical reproduction in the fin de siècle. The chapter’s argument, in consequence, proves an exemplary meeting point of the archival and the theoretical. While the truly enticing work on the contemporary – such as those chapters on Twilight and its comparable fictions mentioned above – pays heed to the vampire tradition but is not entirely suffocated by the weight of its inheritance. Drawing from the Polidori and Byron mythos, Conrad Aquilina, too, deserves significant credit for a well-informed opening reading that dissects the tensions between the humanised and the folkloric vampire in the Romantic period. In a short review, such as this, it is difficult to give a sense of the sheer depth of analysis throughout OGOM, but, as in all valuable scholarly collections, when these essays are taken as a whole they represent an important body of work on the vampire, and the collection proves itself a must-read for scholars working in the field.

Call for Papers: “Asylums, Pathologies and the Themes of Madness: Patrick McGrath and his Gothic Contemporaries”, University of Stirling, Scotland

August 14, 2015August 14, 2015 LAGA Uncategorized

Call for Papers

Asylums, Pathologies and the Themes of Madness: Patrick McGrath and his Gothic Contemporaries

University of Stirling, Scotland

A one-day symposium

Saturday 16^th January 2016

Keynote Event

During the symposium we will be delighted to invite speakers and attendees to view exhibits from the newly acquired Patrick McGrath archive at the University of Stirling’s library.

Keynote Speakers

Professor Lucie Armitt, University of Lincoln – author of Twentieth-Century Gothic (University of Wales Press, 2011)

Professor Sue Zlosnik, Manchester Metropolitan University – author of Patrick McGrath (University of Wales Press, 2011)

Modern and contemporary Gothic is widely recognised as a literature of madness. Many of the mode’s key writers – including Stephen King, Chuck Palahniuk and several notable others – are consistently preoccupied with psychopathology, perversion and the divided self. This first British symposium dedicated to exploring Patrick McGrath’s fiction, writing and life, seeks to capitalise upon a growing recognition that he is one of the leading purveyors of the contemporary tale of psychological terror and horror. An important contribution to English letters as a whole, McGrath’s fiction has been noted as parodic (The Grotesque, 1989), psychologically disturbing (Spider, 1990), and darkly sexual (Asylum, 1996). In her full-length study Patrick McGrath, Sue Zlosnik has suggested that in his fiction an “inclination towards Gothic excess remains in tension with a sceptical and ironic sensibility” (2011, p.5). By disentangling this and many other tensions and intertextual resonances that may be relevant, we seek to both pose and investigate important questions regarding McGrath’s place in the field of contemporary Gothic studies and assess his intricate – yet at times grotesque – stagings of asylums, psychopathology, and trauma.

We invite 20-minute papers from postgraduate, early-career and established scholars on any topic related to McGrath’s life, fiction and his contemporary context. Suggested topics include – but are not limited to – the following:

Pathologies and madness in McGrath or the contemporary Gothic (for instance, in the novels of Stephen King, Chuck Palahniuk, Ramsey Campbell, Clive Barker, Michel Faber, etc.)
The asylum as staged in McGrath’s fiction and non-fiction (e.g. the Broadmoor influence) or in the contemporary Gothic more widely
Theorizing and staging psychopathologies in the Gothic
The continuing import of McGrath’s edited collection The New Gothic (1991)
McGrath’s unreliable narrators and his narrative technique
Gothicized adultery
Trauma theory and the contemporary Gothic
The supposed turn from parody to realism in McGrath’s novels
Gothic metafiction
Archival research that investigates the production of the contemporary Gothic text
Adaptations of McGrath’s work
Notable influences – from Edgar Allan Poe to John Hawkes – upon McGrath’s aesthetic

As part of the day’s programme, we are delighted to invite speakers and attendees to view exhibits from the newly acquired McGrath archive at the University of Stirling’s library. Donated by the author himself, the wealth of materials in this emerging collection include novel drafts, notebooks, automatic writing, film scripts and a complete set of first editions of his work.

Proposals of around 250 words for 20-minute papers – or suggestions for three-person panels – should be submitted to Dr Matt Foley on m.r.foley@stir.ac.uk by Friday 16^th October 2015. Please also include a brief biography.

Haunted Destiny

July 22, 2015July 22, 2015 LAGA Uncategorized

By Wendy Weber Céspedes, July 2015
The haunted home is probably one of the main motifs that have given rise to stories in literature. The idea that the place that should protect us as human beings turns against its inhabitants and provokes tragedy is simply a basic fear we can all identify with. Ray Bradbury depicts a similar tale in his story “The Veldt,” the account of a futuristic house rebelling against its supposed masters. Despite first impressions, the house in Ray Bradbury’s “The Veldt” is, in fact, presented to the reader as a haunted house, although an unorthodox, modern one, due to its uncanny, doubling, and possessive personality.

In “The Veldt,” one of the first affirmed characteristics of the Hadley residence is its uncanny nature, which impregnates the whole place. The nursery room and the house in general present an uncanny sensation about them, as if the house had a personality, as if it was sentient and preyed on its supposed masters. A representative scene of how this happens occurs when George Hadley, the father, walks towards the nursery room, and the sensors make the lights go on and off: “Preoccupied, he let the lights glow softly on ahead of him, extinguish behind him as he padded to the nursery door” (268). This scene can be easily related to ghost stories, in which the lights are uncontrollably turned on and off, without human intervention. In addition, it also shows how the house behaves almost intelligently, deciding how many lights will be turned on in front of George, and deciding when they will be turned off behind him, leaving the hall covered in shadows. This is a way of symbolizing how the house is “ahead” of the family as well, how it controls the light, the spark of life in it, not only controlling the lives of its inhabitants, but also threatening darkness, doom upon them. The uncanny sensations the house provides are so strong that even the Hadley couple notice them, even though it is their house and they should be familiar with it at that point: “What prompted us to buy a nightmare?” (276). The house that once was bought as Happylife Home technology reveals itself as such a terrible force that even the mother, Lydia, expresses the sensation out loud. The irony presented by the name of the house and the lady’s expression highlights how the supposed dream has been twisted into horribleness. The house, instead of being a home, is now a stranger to the couple, emancipating from them, from its original, expected mission. The house is there, but is no longer what it should be. The fact is irrefutable. The feeling is real. Both characters and readers can see it plainly, despite what the domicile is supposed to be. The house, governed so efficiently by the nursery room, is certainly seen in Bradbury’s story as a ghostly house, its nature hidden behind artificial intelligence.

Despite all feelings of uncertainty the house might provoke, another of its traits depicts more evidently the ghostly nature it has: doubling. The house mercilessly takes over the roles of the people within the house, doubling the role of mother and father, of caregiver, even of life itself. Lydia, once again, expresses this to George: “‘You’re beginning to feel unnecessary too’” (267). The parents realize the house, which was supposed to be a home, has become a prison, controlling every aspect of their lives, not only making them crippled and dependant, but most of all redundant. They begin to fear the house that was supposed to protect them, and it has now turned into a very discreet threat. They become helpless, superfluous victims of the house, because they, in fact, need it to live. Their relationship with the house is shown in their attempts to get rid of their dependence, which fail blatantly. Being an automat, the house can easily dispose of them, in the same way as it was supposed to take care of them. The house manages to be essential in their lives, and when fear finally instills upon the Hadleys’ hearts, they also fear it is already too late. However, the house’s doubling acts are explored even further in Bradbury’s story: “‘You’ve let this room and this house replace you and your wife in your children’s affections. This room is their mother and father, far more important in their lives than real parents’” (274). The issue of doubling is also clearly stated in the voice of the psychiatrist. The monster the house has changed into traps and organizes, seizing the children –supposedly the most vulnerable ones– and changing them too in the process to be a part of the house, like an accessory. If the house needed at least some kind of human touch to continue existing, the house has made sure it is only under its command that such humans subsist. Thus the house substitutes the parents in order to embody itself in the children. In the end, the house, with all its cunning, slowly replaces everything in the family’s life and provides a substitute for their life, accomplishing what it was intended to do in the first place, but in an unexpectedly catastrophic way for its inhabitants.

A final aspect that is highlighted in Bradbury’s “The Veldt” is how creepily the house lurks upon its occupants, like a devilish vigilante, symbiotically absorbing what it needs and simply eliminating what it does not. This possessive trait can also be related to stories of traditionally haunted houses. It attracts, takes, and absorbs. The children reflect this quite plainly, too: “I don’t want to do anything but look and listen and smell; what else is there to do?” (272). Peter comments on how the house provides everything they consider necessary to live, also stating, at the same time, that the house is life now, for it gives all that life is supposed to give. This demonstrates that the house has changed not only their former life- styles, but their human nature as well. As was mentioned before, in projecting its needs upon the children, the house has made them a part of itself. This is what, in the end, leads the story to conclude just as it does: “Don’t let them switch off the nursery and the house,’ he was saying” (276). Ultimately, the children request the house to save them from their real parents. The house has taken the children and made them part of itself, surely, but it is only to use them in order to save itself, like useful appliances that lie within to serve the house, inverting the roles of master and tool. The house becomes a powerful force, indeed, by making sure everything within itself belongs to it. Place and children end up helping each other survive whatever threats their symbiosis, a condition the house itself has propitiated. Its appropriation is complete. It has isolated and eliminated what was unnecessary, keeping just what it needed to guarantee its survival. In the end, the supposedly nourishing traits the house displayed become absorbent and lethal for those “people,” now only objects, that dwelled in it, as often occurs in classical haunted houses.

Ray Bradbury’s “The Veldt” is, certainly, a great piece of short fiction. The house the story depicts is a strong, yet abstract character. Despite its natural condition as an object, the house’s supposedly inertness is ghoulishly subverted in the artificial intelligence it possesses, giving it a primitive, clever, even beastly instinct of survival, which ultimately scares and finishes the other living forms that inhabited it, either by elimination or appropriation. Bradbury indeed manages to take a modern house in the future, and using its very uncanny, possessive, doubling nature, turns it into a haunted, ghostly house, full of forces no one can control, all hidden behind the mirror of normality.

Wendy Weber Céspedes pursues a Master’s degree in English Literature at the University of Costa Rica, dutifully enjoys fiction in almost any of its manifestations, and loves to write about it from a comfy spot with plenty of chocolate cake and her cat’s company.

ABOUT CO-HOSTING WITH THE GOTHIC IMAGINATION

In the spirit of international Gothic collaboration, LAGA is proud to be co-hosting a series of blogs over the summer with The Gothic Imagination; their work in the site is part of the MLitt in the Gothic Imagination which they run at the University of Stirling (Dale Townshend and Matt Foley are lecturers in that program).

Twitter handle: @GothImagination

Web site: The Gothic Imagination (University of Stirling)

A View to the film Byzantium

July 3, 2015July 3, 2015 LAGA Uncategorized

By Victoria Castro Chavarría, July 2015

Although Byzantium, a luridly brilliant film adaptation written by the playwright Moira Buffini and directed by the internationally acclaimed Neil Jordan (known for his Interview With the Vampire), was not purportedly screened under the label of “gothic”, it avails itself of the use of literary devices, including symbolism and setting, and the vampire/undead motifs and archetypes to eulogize and revamp —no pun intended — the influence of the gothic genre in the film industry. In the main, Byzantium owes its quaint charm to Jordan’s profound understanding of the vampire lore, which has a tendency to fall on the category of misrepresentation, especially in recent times. The airs of ambivalence that permeate this gem of a film engender a scent of discomfort and trepidation on the viewer, who is forced to cope with the film’s conflicting time frame of action. The disquieting deviations, which are comprised of 19^th century flashbacks, reinforce the Victorian theme of history repeating itself. As with many a piece of writing from the gothic genre, the central characters in the film are bound to reproduce past occurrences, which automatically brings about the issue of powerlessness in the face of fate. In reality, the past and what I like to call “the misfortune of absolute impotence” appear to be the major topics of conversation in the film, even in the more modern milieus. The fact that Eleanor Webb (played by the incredibly talented Saoirse Ronan) has recorded the pitfalls of immortality for over two centuries evinces a peculiar pattern concerning her rather complex kindred: her blood relatives must concede defeat to the burden of memory. As Eleanor herself admits in due course, “I walk and the past walks with me.” Palpably, the tragedy of the inescapable being, which comes along with the impossibility of self-change, saturates Byzantium with melancholy. Cursed with immortality, the inharmonious duo of sucreants/vampires, Eleanor and Clara (Eleanor’s maternal figure, played by the compelling Gemma Arterton), must “fit” their fluctuating surroundings and endeavor to “look forward, never back,” as Clara says. The duo is obliged to embrace a tortuous existence and contend with the subject of nonexistence as well. The relatively slow-paced development of the film was probably intended to echo the tediousness of eternal life, in view of the film’s use of timing. In an effort to instil a sense of melancholic weariness and disorientation upon the spectator, Jordan embedded Beethoven’s Sonata in C Major, Opus. 2, No. 3- Adagio (sublimely played by Ronan) ad infinitum throughout the film. With respect to the use setting, the bloodcurdling yet barren island and the grim seaside township merge with the aesthetically flamboyant brothel and the picturesque amusement park, producing an almost mesmeric contrast. Beyond the tantalizing and every so often conflicting visual layers that embellish Byzantium, the film’s settings (place and time) act as antagonists. As exemplified throughout the entire film, the passage of time shows indifference towards the woe of the two escaping female sucreants. Several parenthetical explanations are necessary to delve further into the issue of setting as an opposing force. At the outset, Clara is discovered by Captain Ruthven (Johnny Lee Miller) and Lieutenant Darvell (Sam Riley) in a coastal village— a scenario which reappears later in the story as a cruel reminder of the past—and shortly indoctrinated into prostitution by Ruthven. It is during the Napoleonic Wars (1799-1815) that Clara gets pregnant from rape and later gives birth to Eleanor, whom she cannot put to death for “love confounded her.” In order to save her child from the claws of sex work, Clara ascertains that her Eleanor can be raised in an orphanage, a place that undoubtedly contributes to ingrain sentiments of alienation and loneliness in Eleanor. Continuing with Clara’s story, she falls ill with tuberculosis and manages to steal a map intended for Ruthven which leads to a place of pilgrimage where the secret of immortal life resides. After killing the man who forced her into whoring, Clara heads to a barren island, held in reserve by a misogynic brotherhood, and attains eternal life. In view of the fact that Eleanor gets syphilis from rape (anew because of Ruthven), Clara decides to make her immortal, which in turn infuriates the members of brotherhood, who engage in a two-hundred year persecution against the only female sucreants . In light of this, setting functions as an antagonist, for it forces the characters to “exist outside time”, reproduce past events, dwell on secrecy, and break away from the male sucreants for eternity. In regards to Jordan’s rendition of the legendary vampire tale, it deviates from the classic portrayal to a certain degree, which allows for a novel take into vampirism. In truth, the beauty of Byzantium lies in its atmospheric nature, which elegantly combines the fundamentals of the gothic tradition with a number of innovative contributions from the British dramatist Moira Buffini. With respect to the archetypal forms of vampiric characterization, Jordan abstains from delving into the psyche of the demon lover, an archetypal figure recurrently associated to vampirism. On the contrary, Jordan explores a more interesting aspect to vampirism: monstrosity. The sucreants are, in essence, undead bloodsuckers who rely on others’ vital energy to satisfy their innate cravings. In the case of Byzantium, Buffini manages to introduce both the archetype of the “angelic” vampire and a multilayered mother figure that possesses many a trait from the archetypal femme fatale. On the one hand, Eleanor epitomizes the “angelic” vampire, for feeds only on the consenting elderly, almost on the verge of fatalness. Unlike the archetypal demon lover, who sadistically feeds on unsuspected victims, Eleanor puts others to death out of mercy. Clara, on the other hand, is capable of luring, emasculating, and murdering abusive males, while being a motherly figure, which raises the topic of female emancipation through sexuality. This particular inversion of roles infuses the film with endearing feminist overtones. Furthermore, the most important relationship in the film is that Eleanor and her mother, in spite of the vampire-human romance between Eleanor and Frank (Caleb Landry Jones), a leukemic boy with whom Eleanor bonds and, thus, shares her and her mother’s secret. Although Jordan restrains from employing the demon-lover archetype, he makes reference to the beloved cult film Dracula: Prince of Darkness (1966), which features the horrific archetype. With respect to the vampire myth itself, Jordan strays away from its erotic nature to offer a refreshing perspective on vampirism. The result is a gory gothic film wherein the image of consumption, the use of the color red, the symbolic nature of blood and the exploration of dark paganism prevail. As for the sucreants’ abilities, they do not posses any supernatural skill. Sucreants do not even possess fangs. Instead, they use a talon grown from their thumb to pierce the skin of their “victims.” Interestingly enough, sucreants cannot turn human beings into vampires, unless they rely on a secret shrine located in a sterile black land mass where humans die and reborn as immortals. It is on this place of pilgrimage where the “Nameless Saint”, an entity which takes the form of the person entering the cave, kills and turns those coveting immortality into vampires. After this eerie rite of passage, a flock of blackbirds emerges from the cave and blood streams down the island’s waterfall. To be brief, Jordan’s rendition of the vampire folklore elevates the nightmarish nuances of the gothic tradition and provides a fresh angle to vampirism.

The Bloody Culmination of the Pagan Ritual

Poster for the film Byzantium

Victoria Castro Chavarría, University of Costa Rica Poster for the film Byzantium

Santo vs. los (muchos) monstruos

May 19, 2015May 21, 2015 LAGA Uncategorized

Por Gabriel Eljaiek-Rodríguez, mayo 2015

No hay nadie que con el pueda (Llego El Santo)

Sea gringo o sea fresa (Llego El Santo)

Sea rudo o sea fiera (Llego El Santo)

El Santo. King Changó

En una de las escenas más memorables del gótico latinoamericano, el Santo (y el público que asiste a su pelea) descubre perplejo que el luchador enmascarado con el que ha estado batiéndose no es el esperado Black Mask (contrincante habitual del héroe) sino un hombre lobo, quien al sentirse acorralado por el héroe y la policía se transforma en un vampiro y desaparece volando del cuadrilátero. Parecerían explicarse entonces las dificultades por las que ha pasado el Santo para vencer a este contrincante sobrenatural y los movimientos ilegales de karate que el hombre lobo realizó durante toda la pelea.

Escena de Santo vs. las Mujeres Vampiro (1962) de Alfonso Corona Blake, este corto fragmento in-forma la manera como ésta y muchas otras películas protagonizadas por el héroe enmascarado se aproximan al gótico y sus tradiciones, poniendo fuera de lugar temas, atmósferas y personajes, para luego reubicarlos en tierras lejanas, en donde siguen representando sus papeles monstruosos a la vez que funcionan como críticas al contexto socio-cultural que los recibe, en este caso el mexicano. En el caso de la ya mentada Santo contra las mujeres vampiro, así como en Santo en el tesoro del conde Drácula (1968), Santo y Blue Demon contra los monstruos (1969), Santo en la venganza de las mujeres vampiro (1970) Santo y Blue Demon contra Drácula y el hombre lobo (1973), entre otras, el peligro está encarnado por monstruos reconocibles de la tradición gótica – vampiros, licántropos y engendros científicos – y reconocidos – nombres propios como Drácula, el Hombre lobo y el monstruo de Frankenstein. En la narrativa de estas películas dichos monstruos se las arreglan para llegar o revivir en México – normalmente sus descendientes o sirvientes han trasladado sus restos allí – y pretenden desencadenar su venganza, ya sea contra la población mexicana en general o contra un determinado grupo o familia.

La puesta en escena y maquillaje del licántropo enmascarado es muy similar a la del hombre lobo del filme The Wolf Man (1941) de George Waggner, clásico del cine de monstruos y espejo de las posteriores representaciones del personaje. No obstante el parecido, el lobo que se enfrenta al Santo ha pasado por un proceso de desfamiliarización tal que es capaz de pelear en un cuadrilátero de lucha libre, usando técnicas de lucha mexicana así como movimientos de karate. Se revela entonces como más efectivo que el monstruo tradicional por su capacidad de metamorfosearse a voluntad (aún más que lo normal) y por su habilidad de camuflarse y adaptarse a las situaciones a las que se ve enfrentado. Nunca en la historia del cine de horror gótico habíase visto un hombre lobo tan efectivo y polifacético, y mucho menos enmascarado.

En filme de 1973 Santo y Blue Demon contra Drácula y el Hombre Lobo, dirigido por Miguel Delgado, los modelos de los cuales se parte son claros y remiten tanto a una tradición literaria como a una cinematográfica, convirtiendo a la película en un pastiche de referencias. La primera y más obvia fusión consiste en ubicar a dos de los monstruos clásicos más importantes en un solo filme, Drácula y el Hombre lobo trabajando juntos para vencer a los descendientes de un poderoso mago que, en tiempos lejanos logró detener su unión en pro de la conquista del mundo. La presencia de los dos personajes en la misma película es la realización de un proyecto nunca llevado a cabo por Universal Pictures, pendiente desde los tiempos dorados de los filmes de monstruos: la película The Wolf Man vs Dracula, proyectada para mediados de los años cuarenta (que entre otras cosas debía reunir a Lon Chaney Jr. en el papel de Hombre lobo y a Bela Lugosi en el papel de Drácula). El proyecto nunca realizado dio pie para múltiples enfrentamientos y colaboraciones entre Drácula y el Hombre lobo, desde su presencia en programas de dibujos animados como Scooby Doo hasta series de filmes como Underworld (2003, 2006, 2009) y Twilight (2008, 2009, 2010).

Delgado revive dos íconos de la literatura gótica, ampliamente conocidos por el público, y a dos de sus encarnaciones cinematográficas más importantes y recordadas (un híbrido del Drácula de Universal y el de Hammer en la persona de Aldo Monti, y un hombre lobo calcado de la película de los años cuarenta), ligando su película a los clásicos del cine de horror y facilitando el reconocimiento de los monstruos por parte del público. En cierta forma, lo que se enfatiza con el vestuario y el maquillaje, así como con la caracterización de los villanos, es su fidelidad y continuidad con respecto a los modelos creados en los años treinta, cuarenta y cincuenta: así, los monstruos con los cuales se van a enfrentar El Santo y Blue Demon son los verdaderos y únicos Drácula y el Hombre lobo.

El hecho de poner fuera de lugar a los personajes, que México sea el espacio en el que se realice su retorno a la vida no obstante éste país no entra dentro de los mapas góticos tradicionales, rompe de entrada con la organización europeo-centrista del género y desfamiliariza a los seres que son familiares en entornos góticos tradicionales. Estos monstruos provienen de un espacio colonizador que se presenta como invasivo – y literalmente invade – la modernidad mexicana en la cual se ubican muchas de las películas protagonizadas por luchadores enmascarados. Tanto el Santo como Blue Demon se yerguen entonces como representantes de una modernidad/actualidad mexicana que fusiona elementos populares y tradicionales (una versión particular de la modernización sin modernidad enunciada por García Canclini), como la lucha libre, con formas modernas de transmisión y comunicación, como la arena en donde se desarrollan las peleas o el radio-reloj inventado y usado por El Santo.

La modernidad mexicana se enfrenta con elementos arcaicos que pueden provenir del pasado del país (representado en otras películas de la franquicia con momias indígenas, brujos o brujas) o del exterior (de otros países u otros planetas). Por esta razón, dos luchadores pertenecientes a una tradición particular, pueden convertirse en héroes cazadores de monstruos que manejan un convertible descapotable con las máscaras puestas. En las películas del Santo, y algunas de Blue Demon el horror gótico está atravesado e hibridizado, no solo por la representación y adaptación de los monstruos góticos, sino también por la presencia de los dos íconos de la lucha libre, quienes transforman el papel de los luchadores, los héroes y los cazadores de monstruos tradicionales.

El transporte de monstruos europeos a tierras mexicanas, con su respectivo bagaje representacional, su adaptación al país – hasta el punto de poder hablar español de manera fluida – y el posicionamiento de luchadores/héroes mexicanos en su contra, muestra la capacidad de los directores de reciclar, adaptar y transformar temas y formas de representación de personajes del gótico, mezclándolos con formas de cultura popular mexicana como la lucha libre. El resultado fueron filmes de horror gótico mexicanos que homenajean y parodian el género, al tiempo que refuerzan la imagen del héroe nacional, que con su fuerza y los elementos que tiene disponibles puede detener a cualquiera y en el proceso producir nuevas y enriquecidas versiones.

Bibliografía

García Canclini, Néstor. Culturas híbridas. Estrategias para entrar y salir de la modernidad. México: Grijalbo, 1990.

Santo vs las Mujeres Vampiro. Dir. Alfonso Corona Blake. Act. Santo, Lorena Velázquez, Jaime Fernández, Augusto Benedico, María Duval, Javier Loya, Ofelia Montesco. Azteca Films, 1962.

Santo y Blue Demon contra Drácula y el Hombre Lobo. Dir. Miguel Delgado. Act. Santo, Blue Demon, Aldo Monti, Agustín Martínez Solares, Nubia Martí, María Eugenia San Martín, Jorge Mondragón, Wally Barrón. Cinematográfica Calderón S.A., 1973.

Gabriel Eljaiek se especializa en cine y literatura gótica latinoamericana, cine de horror latinoamericano y estudios sobre museos. Está particularmente interesado en los desarrollos del gótico en América Latina, así como en la manera en que el género es transportado e hibridado por escritores y directores de cine del continente. En este momento explora las relaciones y conexiones entre el cine de horror latinoamericano y asiático (principalmente japonés y coreano), así como el resurgimiento de las series televisivas de horror estadounidenses.

CFP for Studies in Gothic Fiction

May 15, 2015May 15, 2015 LAGA Uncategorized

Article submissions for the next issue of Studies in Gothic Fiction
Deadline: 20 July 2015
Issue 4.2 will be published in late November 2015

Details:
http://studiesingothicfiction.weebly.com/call-for-papers.html

Locura bajo la luna: el doble gótico en Moonspell

April 30, 2015May 21, 2015 LAGA Uncategorized

Por Jonatan A. González, abril 2015

Sin duda, en el trascurrir de los años la literatura gótica ha evolucionado de diferentes maneras; basta con mirar las múltiples formas en que se ha retomado el horror a través de paso del tiempo. Durante su época clásica, siglo XVIII, este tipo de literatura retomó como figuras transgresoras a seres que venían un pasado lejano para irrumpir y amenazar en el orden de un mundo moderno y civilizado. Pero con el transcurrir de las épocas, a inicios del siglo XX, esos seres que rompían el equilibrio, ya no eran entes que venían de un pasado lejano, sino incluso de otras dimensiones y de otros universos. Una nueva manera de narrar, retomando a este tipo de intruso gótico, aparece en 1970. Este nuevo vehículo del horror, nace de la mano del género musical llamado Metal. En ese año, la agrupación británica Black Sabbath lanza su primer álbum, estrenándolo con un sencillo homónimo. Esta canción no sólo causó impacto por su estridente música (para esos años) sino por la letra de ésta, que bajo el murmullo de una voz chillante y el sonido de la lluvia, pronunciaba “What is this that stands before me?/Figure in black which points at me/Turn ’roundquick, and start to run/Find out I’m the chosen one Oh no!”[1] (¿Qué es esto que está delante de mí? Figura de negro que me señala. Me doy la vuelta rápidamente y comienzo a correr. Descubro que soy el elegido, ¡oh no!) En estas líneas está presente el legado gótico. Se alude a un encuentro con un ser que amenaza las convenciones de un mundo civilizado; esa figura de negro representa la ruptura de razón, la transgresión del orden establecido, y se manifiesta como ese horror por lo desconocido: “La ficción gótica es ambivalente en sus objetivos y efectos. No sólo pretende romper el orden imperante; los terrores activan un sentido desconocido y con un poder incontrolable que amenaza tanto con la destrucción del honor, la propiedad, la posición social o la vida como con el orden que sostiene la realidad”[2]. El Metal nació retomando en sus letras una temática influida del horror sobrenatural como agente de dicha devastación. Desde ese momento los motivos góticos acompañaron a algunas bandas dentro de sus letras; por ejemplo: Venom, Marcyful fate, Hellhamer, Slayer, esto sólo por citar a algunos de los referentes más conocidos. Otras agrupaciones más subterráneas también han retomando motivos de esta literatura para darle vida a sus canciones. En el caso especifico de este texto, me concentraré en la banda Moonspell.

Moonspell se caracteriza por personificar la otredad en la figura del licántropo: “las sociedades occidentales cristianas se han servido durante siglos de símbolos como el demonio, las brujas o los seres monstruosos para imaginar o expulsar a cualquier miembro considerado indeseable […] llámese brujo, diablo, todos aquellos son seres monstruosos que equivalen que representa una amenaza para la integridad, de un sistema o de un individuo, un elemento que se opone a las estructuras de la vida”.[3] La otredad, expuesta bajo la piel del lobo, se torna en un monstruo que atenta contra el ser y que al mismo tiempo es un deseo oscuro, encarnado en el doble, uno de los recursos más utilizado dentro de la literatura gótica. Sobre este punto Antonio Alcalá explica que “La tradición gótica nos presenta narrativas de encuentros con la otredad que irrumpe tomando forma de lo desconocido siempre oscuro y misterioso. En el territorio de lo gótico lo sobrenatural y monstruoso trasciende los límites de la razón y la ciencia para acercarnos a espacios donde domina lo irracional, lo incontrolable y lo incompresible”[4]. El grupo lusitano en cuestión retoma este elemento, no exponiéndolo en una narrativa tradicional, pero sí dejando huella de esa tradición gótica, al informar sobre aquel doble que es una figura sobrenatural y monstruosa, que representa el misterio contendido dentro de la verdadera naturaleza del ser. Esto se puede ver con mayor claridad en los siguientes versos:

Somos memórias de lobos que rasgam a pele,
lobos que foram homens
e o tornarão a ser.
They awake for flesh,
choose pain as a path,
refuse a light
to blind you and me.
Full moon madness,
we are as one and congregate.
Full moon madness,
we rise again to procreate.[5]

Somos memorias de lobos que desgarran la piel,

lobos que fueron hombres

y que lo volverán a ser.

Se levantan por la carne,

eligen el dolor como un camino,

se niegan a la luz

para cegarnos a ti y a mí.

Locura de la luna llena,

somos como uno mismo y nos unimos.

Locura de la luna llena,

nos levantamos otra vez para procrear.

Esas memorias que desgarran la piel son ese deseo reprimido que se materializa como el “otro”; en este caso, es el licántropo que busca salir, pues “Cuando las sombras reprimidas del ser regresan de la represión para manifestarse ante nosotros, éstas toman la forma de dobles que dividen al ser en facetas múltiples que representan algún aspecto ignorado silenciado o negado del original que ha sido copiado”[6]. Este doble en forma de lobo es un desdoblamiento del ser, una pulsión reprimida que siempre ha estado latente amanzanado la razón. Es “el regreso de lo misterioso que nos confronta con lo que no queremos saber de nosotros”[7]. Esas memorias que rasgan la piel son aquel deseo profundo que se manifiesta desde el rincón más sombrío que el ser no quiere confrontar. Al mencionar que son lobos, pero que fueron hombres se deja al descubierto esa fragmentación del ser en facetas. Este tipo de doble representa el aspecto llamado por Freud Unheimlich: “Se refiere a todo aquello que es misterioso, pero a la vez secretamente familiar para el individuo. Se trata de algo que había pasado por el filtro de la represión para después regresar de ésta”[8]. Como ya señalé, ese misterio es lo que el ser no quiere admitir de sí mismo, pero está latente en él. La materialización de este doble expuesto en la figura del hombre lobo representa la locura y el estado más salvaje del ser que ha sido sofocado por la sociedad. Sin embargo, después de ser contenido por la razón, este “otro” ahora ha emergido desde los umbrales más profundos y lúgubres de la psique. Se ha hecho presente para transgredir el mundo y a sus convenciones. Lo anterior se puede observar cuando la voz de la canción explota en un gruñido animal, dejando expuesto lo abyecto de ese “otro”; al hacerlo, revela una ferocidad y un rechazo a la razón, pues se levanta por la carne y se niega a luz.

Los elementos heredados de la narrativa gótica hacen que esta música alcance un mayor de nivel de profundidad al amalgamarse perfectamente con el sonido del Metal. Para profundizar más en cómo la tradición gótica está perneada, y da vida esta pieza musical, cito otro fragmento:

Somos memórias de lobos que rasgam a pele.
Lobos que foram homens e o tornarão a ser
ou talvez memórias de homens
que insistem em não rasgar a pele.
Homens que procuram ser lobos
mas que jamais o tornarão a ser.[9]

Somos memorias de lobos que desgarran la piel.

Lobos que fueron hombres y lo volverán a ser

o tal vez memorias de hombres

que persisten en no desgarrar la piel.

Hombres que buscan ser lobos,

pero que jamás lo volverán a ser.

De nueva cuenta, está presente el doble personificado como un licántropo. Este paralelismo sirve para reiterar la atención del espectador, tal como ocurre en la tradición gótica: “La novela gótica se caracteriza por su capacidad para captar la atención e inducir la concentración de lector, por penetrar en su cerebro y mostrarles su propios fantasmas y deseos”[10]. [11]. Al indicar que tal vez sean memorias de hombres que buscan ser lobos, pero que jamás volverán ser, se deja al descubierto que ese ser no se puede definir. Se trata de ese “otro” que dice no ser, pero es parte del original. Por lo anterior, al no tener certeza, no se puede dejar en claro si ese “otro” es o no el verdadero ser. En este caso, no existe la posibilidad de definir la identidad y al no poderlo hacer, se produce un estado de insania mental, aspecto que fluye en toda la canción como aquí se muestra:

Irreverence was cast out from the sky
And eternity lost its sex forever.
And under the same heaven they voted to emptiness
We still celebrate under a Full Moon Madness.[12]

La irreverencia fue echada del cielo

y la eternidad perdió su sexo para siempre.

Y bajo el mismo cielo que mandaron al vacío,

todavía celebramos bajo una luna llena de locura.

En este punto de la de la pieza se puede apreciar una completa demencia causada por ese doble que ha creado una crisis al imposibilitar la identificación de unidad alguna en el ser. El “otro” emerge desde lo más profundo de la pisque y toma un lugar real en el mundo. Este doble representa lo reprimido que estaba escondido dentro. La herencia gótica que corre por esta canción, se puede percibir claramente ya que como explica Sánchez-verdejo “Esta narrativa establece fronteras y demarcaciones para transgredirlas. Las mentes se ven amenazadas con la locura; lo gótico apunta a la criatura que llevamos dentro”[13]. Desde este punto, puedo decir que existe la intención de transgredir las fronteras de mundo. La pisque se ve totalmente amenazada por la presencia del intruso gótico dentro del ser que lleva a este último a la locura. En el fragmento final, se ve como la demencia se posesiona completamente del individuo; éste se entrega completamente y celebra esa insania mental. En este punto, el original ha sucumbido a convertirse en otro, ya que “Él quiere transformarse en un doble que deje atrás aquello que no quiere conservar de sí mismo”[14]. Ese deseo oculto manifestado como un licántropo ha resultado un aspecto más seductor, pues se puede inferir, que ese estado de locura le permite realizar todo aquello que jamás hubiera podido ejecutar como el original; la demencia le permite deslindarse de los convencionalismos impuestos por el mundo.

El motivo gótico del doble es el eje central en las letras de esta canción. Con el avanzar de los versos, la presencia de ese “otro” que fragmenta al ser se puede percibir de una manera clara. La sensación del intruso sobrenatural se propaga en el fluir de la música. Retomando la herencia gótica, Moonspell presenta de una manera contundente a aquel doble que hace reflexionar sobre concepción del mundo y la propia identidad. En está canción al igual que en que en las grandes obras del género gótico como El extraño caso del Doctor Jekill y Mr. Hyde, se exhibe a ese monstro que vive dentro del hombre y que es parte de lo que le define. Aunque niegue su existencia, ese “otro”, en este caso especifico el licántropo, representa lo más desagradable y oscuro del ser. Se trata de todo aquello que el yo no acepta de sí mismo, pero que siempre esta presente y amenaza con surgir al mundo. El animal enfurecido se libera de las cadenas de la razón, fragmenta la identidad del ser y rompe los límites establecidos por la percepción de un mundo occidental, llevando al individuo a convertirse en lo que siempre ha deseado, pero que nunca se ha atrevido por las imposiciones de la sociedad. Aludiendo a la sensación del horror provocado por la novela gótica, esta composición retoma de modo eficiente el motivo del doble, poniendo en duda si el ser regido por la razón es realmente el auténtico.

Obras citadas

Alcalá, Antonio. “La otredad gótica y la figura del doble”, Anuario de Letras Modernas,10, pp. 115-127.

G. Cortes, José Miguel en Villasana Méndez. “La otredad y la sombra siniestra en la literatura gótica de terror” Actas de Coloquio Internacional Gótico I y II, 2008-2009, Samasara Editorial.

Black Sabbath, Black Sabbath, Vertigo, Inglaterra ,1970.

Moonspell, Irreligous, Century Media Records, Portugal, 1996.

Sánchez-verdejo Pérez, Francisco. “Fundamentos del gótico”, Polofonia, [1966], pp. 3-22.

Jonatan A. González es estudiante de Letras y Literaturas Modernas Portuguesas por parte de la Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Ha participado en el proyecto de literatura fantástica del Centro Cultural José Martí y la editorial independiente Goliardos. Sus áreas de interés son: Dialogo entre literatura y rock, los motivos góticos en las letras del metal subterráneo, la primera etapa del Modernismo Portugués y estudios pessoanos. Actualmente prepara una tesis sobre el Antídoto de José luís Peixoto, la primera novela en lengua portuguesa que retoma elementos de la literatura gótica.

[1] Black Sabbath, Black Sabbath, Vertigo, Inglaterra, 1970, pista 1.

[2] Francisco Sánchez-verdejo Pérez, “fundamentos del gótico”, Polofonia, [1966], pp. 3-22

[3] José Miguel, G. Cortes en Villasana Méndez, “La otredad y la sombra siniestra en la literatura gótica de terror” Actas de Coloquio Internacional Gótico I y II, 2008-2009, Samasara Editorial, pp. 28-29

[4] Antonio Alcalá, “La otredad gótica y la figura del doble”,Anuario de Letras Modernas,10, pp. 115-127

[5] Moonspell, Irreligous, Century Media Records, Portugal, 1996, pista 11.

[6]Alcalá, Art. cit.

[7] Idem

[8] Idem

[9] Moonspell, Cd. cit.

[10] Sánchez-verdejo Pérez, Art. cit.

[11] Alcalá, Art. cit.

[12] Moonspell, C.D., cit.

[13] Sánchez-verdejo Pérez, Art. cit.

[14] Alcalá, Art. cit

Latin American Gothic Association / Asociación de Gótico Latinoamericano

LAGA (Latin American Gothic Association) Site for scholars to share on the Gothic, mainly in and around Potuguese and Spanish / Sitio que promueve la colaboración entre académicos interesados en lo gótico y sus manifestaciones en español y portugüés, principalmente.