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| Daniel Radcliffe as the horned, Parseltongue Diablo |
On the surface Horns appears to be a murder mystery with
heavy religious themes. Daniel Radcliffe
plays Ig Parrish, a sloppy, washed up townie looking to exonerate himself from
the death of his girlfriend Merrin (Juno Temple). In the middle of his predicament, Ig
unexplainably grows horns, which allow him, in a town that scourges his every
move, to be privy to the deepest and darkest of sins looming within each
character he comes into contact with.
The Horns are a personification of humanity’s true nature; a
devil mask that reveals what we want to see of others. The town views Ig as a devil for what they
believe he did to Merrin, but as the film progresses, confession after
confession the town-folk illuminate their own sins. Harboring their own demons, they give way to
gluttony, to vanity, to selfishness, to envy, and wrath and so on.
The film slips back and forth between the present and past
tense as Ig uses his horned abilities to ascertain the true details of Merrin’s
death. The film is fresh and original as
one can be as an adaptation of a novel.
The Diablo transformation is unique to an otherwise standard Hollywood creation,
playing with the same cliché tropes. Good
vs. Evil, female purity, and the ever tired plot device that requires the
female love interest to die in order to propel the story of the male
protagonist into motion.
However, there were two things that stood out the most; one,
the lack of personhood and agency afforded to the character development of
Merrin allowed for two, the possession of Merrin’s identity catered to male
entitlement in frightening and fatal ways.
The film, Horns, does not
actively seek to play on the real anxieties many women face in today’s culture,
but it contributes, as an example, of the strict and rigid expectations of
gender roles.
On the surface, Ig and Merrin’s relationship seems
ideal. Childhood sweethearts that appear
to have a impenetrable romance, but the toxicity of their relationship is not
from strange, uncharted territories, but in fact, from the prescribed gender
roles assigned. From the start Merrin is
pitted against another female character, Glenna Shepherd. The two have no on screen interaction, but
are, in juxtaposition, biblical opposites.
Merrin is the good virginal woman that all the main male characters vie
for while Glenna is reduced to the town slut.
That the two characters cannot coexist as separate and autonomous
entities without being boxed into the Madonna/whore complex is a major
problem. For too many reasons I cannot
write here, giving women equality would disrupt the status quo. Neither woman was allowed ownership of her
own body.
When Merrin decides to break up with Ig, her motivation is
that of self sacrifice. However, on the
surface, Merrin is believed to have acted on selfish impulse. But choosing not to disclose the true
reasoning leads Ig to wrongfully assume she was leaving him for another man,
which induces his jealousy. The surly behavior
Ig exhibits at the diner is curiously revealing. Ig is passionately stubborn about his
relationship, and it borders near obsession.
His whole life, since meeting as children, has centered on Merrin. He has no concept of an identity beyond their
romance. As his ire increase it becomes
apparent that he is more upset at losing his picturesque ideal that anything
else. That he was quick to accuse Merrin
of being unfaithful – a claim for which there is no evidence – suggests a sense
of ownership of her body. This is not
love.
Love, in the same regard, is also not what Lee (Max
Minghella) exhibits for Merrin. Though
he has been Ig’s best friend since they were all kids, he too has been
passionately stirred by his friendship with Merrin. Lee comes across as a well mannered, diligent
good guy, but in the later part of the film it becomes very clear that his
crush on his best friend’s girlfriend is not only unhealthy and obsessive, but
dangerous and fatal. What makes Lee
dangerous is his clean cut expression of masculinity. The film does its best to create suspects out
of everyone but Lee, which gives him a sense of privilege that society condones. Yet, Lee is a textbook sociopath that takes
advantage of his friendship with Merrin, and completely disregards her
personhood as well as her boundaries.
When Lee stumbles upon a distraught Merrin in the cold,
rainy night rather be a friend she could trust he makes a pass at her. Agitated by his brazen behavior, Merrin
defends herself by pushing him off. But,
years of obsessive love, built on this notion that Lee has always had possession
of Merrin by virtue of fixing her broken cross when they were kids, comes to a
boiling conclusion as he is denied access to her body. Fed up, Lee infringes upon years of
friendship, and savagely rapes her, forcing his claim of property, as that is
what she has now become, he then murders her viciously and violently.
Merrin’s death could be classified as a “crime of passion,”
but in truth this one act is not an isolated incident. Though only a film, adapted from a novel,
Horns reveals how toxic patriarchy really is.
In no place of the film does Merrin or her body belong to her. She becomes an extension of identity for each
male in the film. First it is her
father, he is over protective. Then it
is Ig; neither, from childhood to young adults, knows a life without each
other. Then, in her worst moment, Ig’s
brother makes an uncomfortable pass that prompts Merrin to abandon a possible
safe passage home for the darkness of the woods. And just when things couldn’t get worse, they
do. She believes she has found solace,
at last, when Lee finds her, but he is neither a friend nor a safe place to
rest.
After her murder, Ig discovers a letter she had written to
him. In it she finally reveals the truth
to why she broke up with him. She had
been stricken with the same kind of cancer that had killed her mother, but
rather tell him up front she complicates the situation, hoping it would be an
easier to push him out like a baby bird to fly on his own. Even when she is faced with the scariest thing
in her life she doesn’t belong to herself either. She belongs to the cancer in her body. And as the failings of hyper masculinity
engulf Merrin in violence, her own body traps her life a wounded animal shot in
a hunt. The only thing that remains of
her is the tree house, now turned into an effigy, and the scene of the crime,
which really belonged to Ig and Merrin both.
The reason I make a big deal about this lack of
characterization of Merrin is that our society rarely affords women the freedom
of personhood without attaching their entire identity to a man. It is most evidenced in film, though it may be
subtle at time. Further, the idea of females
as property creates a scary environment where men feel entitled to women’s
bodies. In recent years we have seen an
increase of violence against women in various forms. A teenage girl was stabbed to death after decliningan invitation to prom, a young man went on a killing spree after posting a
misogynistic rant on youtube, and most recently, female video-gamers have been receiving
a deluge of rape threats and mass shootings in what is being calledgamergate. Street harassment videos are
also highlighting the various experiences of women who just walk down the
street, which I need to add is a universal experience as this video from Egypt show.
The point to all of this is that while, the film Horns, on
its own, is a decent film with actors we can all love, it does serve a purpose
beyond the mise en scene. It can
illuminate as well as contribute to the stressful environment that women and
men face when navigating through a patriarchal society.
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