I Survived The Shining

I survived The Shining last night. It’s no mean feat. I’ve fallen out of a plane, done the dance in a gas chamber, and survived bullets – and that wasn’t the Army. The Shining scared me.

Room #237 always beat me. I had to watch it through my fingers. I’ve always known I stared at weird things, and some people passing through the neighborhood just freaked me. But, images of blood and gore, autopsies, and the chicken hearts my grandmother used to analyze as she gutted a roaster provoked fascination. That I couldn’t stomach a cackling old woman in a bad dead body suit annoyed me more than even the palpitations. I just couldn’t figure out why she frightened me. It no longer scares me, but I doubt I’ll color any bathroom olive green ever.

The other aspect that jarred me was the entire premise of the film: ESP. The entire plot of the film – I’ve not read the novel, and since I like the film, probably never – is just crap. Reincarnation, or absorption, buildings with personality, talking imaginary friends, ghosts…it’s all crap. I don’t care how many Indian symbols, abusive fathers, and white supremacists parade across the screen, it doesn’t justify crap. There’s a really good movie there, if someone just stripped away the horror film.

What The Shining is lies on the cutting room floor. It’s not Gothic schlock with Halloween mask characters. It tries to ask, what does scare me. Unfortunately, it’s what scares Stanley Kubrick. Unless one engages Kubrick, the film is just a cultural artifact. And, what scares me is the crap that scared me, until last night.