Advocating for the dumb heroine

Yep, her. The pretty girl who can't run ten feet without falling on her face. The gutsy woman who, despite having a PhD, doesn't have the brains to stand with her back to the wall so that the hideous thing that she's hunting can't sneak up behind her. The resourceful young co-ed who, despite getting stalked multiple times (Are you there, Sidney?) has never thought about moving to a state where you can get a license to carry a concealed gun, or three. Yes, this weeks little chat will be about the women who we all curse and mock, even as they skip merrily to their doom.

Claudia has speculated that in the world where these stories take place, these poor ladies have no examples to learn from; that in the world of horror movies, they themselves have no horror movies. There were no Grimm's Fairy Tales to terrify young children into obeying their parents. No one ever told scary stories to nervous campers huddled around a hand-built fire. Nor are there any urban legends warning innocent virgins about the dangers of parking along a deserted road with their boyfriends. That, to me, sounds like a pretty scary world. ('Who? Stephen King? Oh, you mean that schoolteacher up north somewhere? The one who went crazy and chewed his own hands off in front of his class? What about him?')

But that's too easy an answer. The movies are made and watched in this world, so we have to assume the rules of this world apply to them. You can't say that the hero was able to get to the heroine in time by breaking the speed of light, when everyone knows that you can't do that. We need to empathize with the people on the screen, and we can't do that if they have superpowers or otherwise don't have the same worries that we do.

So assuming there could be an attractive young lady, (wearing only panties and a dress shirt, of course, but that's a different discussion) running from a knife-wielding maniac somewhere in a neighborhood near you, why exactly is she doomed to trip over her own feet at some point? Why didn't she notice him staring at her through the window? Why didn't she run screaming out the front door when she heard the floorboards upstairs creak?

Do a little thought experiment for me, would you? Sometime this week, pick one day, and try to notice every, single, detail that might mean something.  Do this from the time you get up in the morning until you finally fall asleep at night. Take note of all the little sounds, (My co-worker just walked by me a few minutes ago. The spare blade that's stored inside his box cutter clicked with each step. I wonder why he was still wearing his box cutter on his belt this late in the day?) sights, (Strange. I never noticed dirty fingerprints on that part of the door before. Looks like they’re from a lot of different people, too) and other minutiae that you encounter every day, and then automatically forget. Make yourself aware of every single thing that whoever writes the next 'Saw' or 'Sherlock Holmes' movie could turn into one of the secret 'Ah-ha' moments right at the end.

Good luck getting to sleep.

As for why our heroine can't walk and chew bubblegum at the same time, imagine this: What if the very next time you got a call, or page, or text, you had to run. I mean you had to go balls to the wall, full power sprint, and you couldn't stop until you encountered someone wearing a beret. I'm not asking, or even recommending that you really try this, but just think about it. You have to run, and you don't know how far or even how long. There's no nice, even track for you to use, and there WILL be lots of things lying around for you to trip over. Life is like that. Oh, and the consequences of falling, or not running fast enough? That's where that big, shiny knife comes in, and you won't get the benefit of a fade out. Your version of the scene follows all the way through.

Now you can say that individuality will play a big part here. Some people are damn good at running, and other people wouldn't run, especially if Mister Spookface shows up in our heroine's home. That fight or flight response is unpredictable at best. Just today I read where a fourteen year old boy shot a man who broke into his home. That's the kind of news story we love to read, but would it fit in a horror movie?

Which brings me to the last point. All of the above, when you really consider it, is another answer that's just too easy. Hollywood and the writers that fuel it have been churning out hapless heroines for over a century, and they show no sign of slowing. There are exceptions, but they're only remarkable because they contrast to the norm. Horror requires that certain buttons get pushed, and the archetype of a damsel in distress pushes them. Are there other things that push the buttons? Of course. I, and my colleagues/competition, are constantly working at hunting them down. That doesn't mean we're going to stop using what works, not any time soon.

Is that archetype demeaning? Does it insult not only all the women who could outrun our killer, but also the ones who would outwit him, not to mention the ones who would blow his fool head off? (Have I mentioned that my wife can shoot?) Only if they were supposed to be models to live by. But these are fables, not news stories, and they function under different rules. There's a reason our heroine has a face, and why the killer wears a mask of some sort. We have to relate to her in one way, and to the killer in another. From a guy's perspective, the heroine is that girl who got away, and who will now run eagerly into our arms, because we can protect her. The killer, partly, is all the rage and hate we felt toward her, which is why he wears a mask. We don't want to be recognized as hating her. What is it from a woman's perspective? I can speculate that it's about the fears a woman has, of men and of the parts of life that she can't control, but I'm in unfamiliar territory here. A lady's response would be welcome.

My this post has a dark tone, doesn't it? Try to think about a cardboard box full of puppies and kittens for a little bit. That should clear your mental palette.

Still writing.

Edit:  Vagina.  See?  I say it, and the world doesn't end.