Nicolas S. L. Brown

10/31/2013

ENG 380/FMS 232: The Horror Film

Professor Middleton

Monstrosity as a Unifying Force in The Host (Bong Joon-ho,

2006)

The horror genre, particularly the horror film, owes a

great deal to the monster. Though not an absolute

requirement, the monster allows horror to take a physical,

recognizable form; this is what makes the monster so

powerful. The monster is the ultimate object of horror.

Over the course of the last century, the monster of the

horror film has taken on a vast array of forms engineered to

strike fear into the hearts of viewers. But what is it that

makes a monster horrifying? Moreover, what is it that

attracts us to horror in the first place? I will be

exploring these questions specifically in their application

to a particular film: The Host.

The Korean title of The Host is “Gwoemul,” or “Monster,”

but because this title already exists in several forms in

English, the title “The Host” was ultimately chosen for

western release (Lee). The original Korean title

immediately identifies the film as a monster movie, placing

the film within the kaiju tradition that originated in Japan

(Lee), but even though The Host is a self-identified monster

movie, it harbors characteristics of more than one genre.

The film fuses aspects of the kaiju film, the horror, and

even the family drama. This fusion of genre is what makes

the film’s monster (which I will refer to as “Gwoemul”) an

interesting case of monstrosity. Through the nature of

Gwoemul and the features of the film’s narrative, The Host

demonstrates the monster’s capacity to move fulfill more

than the role of the object of horror, in this case acting

as a force that unifies the protagonist’s family with a

common goal, while also unifying the general public against

a troubled government.

In his discussion of monstrosity, Noël Carroll

succinctly claims, “The objects of art-horror are

essentially threatening and impure” (Carroll, Fantastic

Biologies, 42). Carroll extrapolates on the threat of the

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monster, explaining that this threat is not necessarily a

physical one, but that physical lethality is a common and

simple way to satisfy this aspect of monstrosity (Carroll,

Fantastic Biologies, 43). The second requirement Carroll

posits is also addressed by Peter Hutchings, who writes:

“one possible way of separating out horror monsters from

villains in other genres is by stipulating that these

monsters should not only be dangerous, but ‘impure’ and

‘unnatural’ as well…So far as our common-sense way of

understanding the world is concerned, the horror monster is

simply a thing that should not be” (35). Monsters are

distinguished from ordinary dangerous animals by the fact

that they are not only threatening, but also unnatural,

yielding a combination that produces horror and revulsion.

Gwoemul satisfies both of these requirements for

monstrosity.

The Host makes it obvious that Gwoemul is physically

threatening; in Gwoemul’s first appearance on land, it kills

and maims a number of people. In conjunction with its

lethality, Gwoemul swallows many of its victims, bringing

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into play “enduring, infantile fears” targeted by so often

by objects of art-horror (Carroll, Fantastic Biologies, 43).

These dangerous characteristics are obvious, but Gwoemul’s

impurity prompts broader discussion. Gwoemul appears to be

a giant (about 1.5 stories tall and 3 car-lengths long)

fishlike amphibian with four leg-like appendages, two

bulging eyes, a long snake-like tail, many small, haggard

fish tails, and a mouth with a protruding beak (see Figure

1). Gwoemul towers as a visually an amalgamation of various

creatures, many of which are already “things that creep and

crawl,” which Carroll claims to be “prime candidates for the

objects of art-horror,” especially when magnified (Fantastic

Biologies, 43). Gwoemul’s impurity revolves around what

Carroll, adapting Mary Douglas, calls “interstitiality and

categorical contradictoriness” (Fantastic Biologies, 43).

Categorical contradictoriness refers to a simultaneous

occupation of two or more culturally or scientifically

contradictory categories, while interstitiality refers to an

existence between states that are considered culturally or

scientifically separate. Carroll offers several examples of

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categorical contradictoriness such as inside/outside,

living/dead, insect/human, and so forth (Fantastic

Biologies, 43). One example of interstitiality and

categorical contradictoriness is fusion, which Carroll

explains to be “the compounding of ordinarily disjoint or

conflicting categories in an integral, spatio-temporally

unified individual” (Carroll, Fantastic Biologies, 44). In

other words, a fusion figure is one that combines things

that we normally associate as separate. This fusion of

contradictory elements tends to produce in the viewer a

feeling of repulsion (Carroll, Fantastic Biologies, 45).

Gwoemul’s impurity comes from his interstitiality and

categorical contradictoriness as a fusion figure. In this

case, the monster is a magnified fusion of various

biologies, combining characteristics of fish, snakes, and

amphibians with various other biological fragments such as

crane/lizard-like legs and a beak. What we see is a collage

of various sorts of animals coming together via mutation in

a very unnatural way, capitalized by the fact that the

monster is able, despite its very aquatic appearance, to

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walk on land. In addition to its state of fusion, Gwoemul

finds additional physical monstrosity through the abject.

Peter Hutchings brings up abjection as an idea useful

for understanding the biology of monsters, with specific

relevance to the aspects of biology that humans seem to find

repulsive (36). He offers that abjection is “a process

integral to the formation of the self,” defining it as “the

exclusion of those elements that might threaten or undermine

the individual’s sense of him- or herself as a distinct

entity” (36). The abject is that which rouses disgust or

revulsion because it challenges our sense of singular

identity. This includes anything the breaks the bodily

barrier between internal and external, including the

expulsion of bodily fluids and excrement. Generally, things

that remind us of the existence of our organs involve

abjection. The main source of abjection for Gwoemul is its

mouth and stomach. On several occasions, we see the

monster’s beak peel back at the corners, showing the

monster’s gullet and often revealing a body, living or dead,

within its throat (see Figure 2). The monster’s

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regurgitation is coupled with another subject of abjection,

death, when the monster begins to vomit a massive number of

human bones into the sewer (see Figure 3). Although

abjection is an instrument used to horrify an audience,

Hutchings makes an interesting point about its accompanying

attractiveness: “The abject does not simply designate that

which is disgusting and which threatens identity. The

abject also offers a source of fascination and desire,

seductively drawing our attention to the limits of our

selfhood even as we seek to distance ourselves from that

experience” (Hutchings 36). This alluring side to the

abject is often what produces the viewer’s internal conflict

between the desire to look away and the desire to keep

watching, yielding the classic between-the-fingers viewing

experience that has become so iconic for the horror film

genre.

Moving beyond the biology and behavior of the monster,

Hutchings brings up the monster’s potential as a metaphor,

writing: “horror monsters have…been interpreted as

expressions of or as metaphors for socially specific fears

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and anxieties. From this perspective, monsters help

audiences (and perhaps film-makers as well) to engage with

and come to terms with those fears” (Hutchings 38). In

order to look at what Gwoemul represents in The Host, the

narrative itself calls for examination. As a horror film,

The Host becomes involved with an interesting question that

arises for the genre as a whole. As Carroll puts it, “why

would anyone want to be horrified?” (Why Horror, 33).

Carroll’s answer to the appeal of the horror film rests on

the idea of curiosity (Why Horror, 35). He argues that the

viewer is attracted to the horror narrative because he or

she is curious about the monster, specifically the monster’s

nature and fate (Carroll, Why Horror, 36). The viewer may

be horrified by the monster, but Carroll claims that “the

disgust that such beings evince might be seen as part of the

price to be paid for the pleasure of their disclosure” (Why

Horror, 35).

While I agree that the viewer’s curiosity about the

monster is an important aspect of the horror film

experience, I am unsatisfied with Carroll’s proposal that

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the narrative of disclosure of the monster is the primary

source of attraction to the horror film. If Carroll were

right, then wouldn’t the appeal of the horror film greatly

diminish after the first viewing? However, viewers seem to

enjoy re-watching horror films as much as films of most

other genres. The Host offers a counterexample to Carroll’s

theory on the attraction of horror narrative. Namely, the

film does not seem to be all that concerned with the nature

of the monster. Before exploring this counterexample, a

brief summary of events is necessary.

The monster is the mutated result of an American

scientist’s order for formaldehyde to be poured into the Han

River. Years later, the monster appears on land and wreaks

havoc, abducting the daughter of the single-father

protagonist in the process. The protagonist, along with his

brother, sister, and father, lament her death, but later

learn that she is alive when she manages to briefly reach

her father via cell phone. The family escapes the hospital

quarantine that has been issued due to the disease that the

monster is reportedly spreading, and they search for Hyun-

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seo, the protagonist’s daughter. The government decides to

deploy Agent Yellow, an extremely dangerous chemical weapon

developed by the United States designed to destroy the

monster and its accompanying disease. Ultimately, the

protagonist and his siblings kill the monster, with the help

of Agent Yellow, but the chemical weapon also causes

tremendous harm to a large number of innocent people

protesting its deployment. Hyun-seo does not survive, but

her father adopts a small boy whom she had befriended while

in the monster’s lair. This brief summary demonstrates that

the film’s narrative is not driven by an elucidation of the

nature of the monster, but rather by the family itself. The

fact that the monster originates from an American doctor’s

order to pour formaldehyde into the Han River is politically

significant, but beyond this, Gwoemul’s origin is not

dwelled upon. There is no potent sense of mystery or

discovery related to the monster’s characteristics or

origin. Rather, these things are already apparent from

early on in the film. In this case, Carroll’s theory of the

viewer’s curiosity toward the monster suggests that, in the

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case of The Host, the audience continues to watch because of

interest in the ultimate fate of the monster. However,

because the film sets up a plot of revenge against the

monster, the focus seems to be on the resolution of the

family’s revenge, rather than on the monster itself, so

Gwoemul’s fate seems to be significant mostly because it is

tied to this revenge plot, and not simply because it is the

monster. In reality, the film’s narrative is not driven by

the viewer’s curiosity in the monster, but the viewer’s

investment in the story of the family and its members.

Part of what makes The Host an interesting horror film is

the fact that it is ultimately less about the monster, and

more about the unification of family and society. The

monster is the agent that brings about these unifications.

For the dysfunctional family, Gwoemul’s abduction of Hyun-

seo provides a reason for the family, previously separate,

to come together. Similarly, the citizens of Seoul come

together in opposition to the government only because the

monster reveals the government’s disregard for its citizens.

By appearing in full, well-lit view during the day, not only

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does the monster give the spotlight to the family by

neutralizing its potential as a subject of mystery, but it

also represents the fact that the monster brings to light

the government’s lack of sympathy and humanity, a theme that

is reinforced by the visual parallel between Gwoemul hanging

from the bridge and the dispenser for Agent Yellow (see

Figures 4 and 5). Gwoemul may be dangerous, but Agent

Yellow is even more dangerous. An irresponsible government

becomes the main threat to its citizens, rather than

Gwoemul, which feels more animalistic than malicious because

of its clumsy, instinctual behavior.

While it does not deliver a definitive social or

political thesis, The Host uses the monster, Gwoemul, to

present viewers of various backgrounds from all over the

world with subjects of family togetherness and

sociopolitical conflict between a government and its

citizens (Lee). In some ways, the film seems to serve as a

political satire of the United States’ “war on terror,” but

the message is ultimately too vague to be confined to a

single, dominating reading (Lee). What’s clear is that The

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Host is an example of the horror monster being used in a

progressive way that brings up both domestic and national

issues, while taking an unconventional back seat to the real

monster in the film: an uncaring, inhumane government.

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Figure 1

The Host: Gwoemul’s mouth, eyes, legs, and tail are visible as it faces

the grandfather.

Figure 2

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The Host: Gwoemul has opened the corners of its mouth, revealing that is

has begun to swallow the American soldier.

Figure 3

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The Host: Gwoemul vomits human bones into the sewer.

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Figure 4

The Host: Gwoemul is first seen hanging from the bridge upon the Han

River.

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Figure 5

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The Host: The dispenser for Agent Yellow hangs down in a shape

reminiscent of our first sighting of Gwoemul, shown in Figure 4.

Works Cited

Carroll, Noël. "Fantastic Biologies and the Structures of

Horrific Imagery." The Philosophy of Horror, or Paradoxes of the

Heart. New York: Routledge, 1990. 42-52. Print.

Carroll, Noël. “Why Horror?” In “The Philosophy of Horror, or

Paradoxes of the Heart. 33-42.

Hutchings, Peter. "A World of Monsters." The Horror Film.

Harlow, England: Pearson Longman, 2004. 34-40. Print.

Lee, Nikki J. Y. "Localized Globalization and a Monster

National: The Host and the South Korean Film Industry."

Cinema Journal 50.3 (2011): 45-61. Project MUSE. Web. 31

Oct. 2013. <http://muse.jhu.edu/>.

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