Review: The Thing (1982)

When I'm asked to think of a classic example of monster-horror done right, my mind always goes to John Carpenter's The Thing. It's not a flawless movie by any means—like most films of its age, it's got chronic issues with representation and diversity—but when it comes to monster-based frights, it knows what it's doing.

Like Alien, this seems to be one of those films where you're not really expected to remember all the characters' names—or even recognize their faces. None of the characters seem to have strong personal motivations beyond survival, or really any personality traits more than skin deep. I couldn't tell you what this team of researchers is meant to be in Antarctica researching, why any research lab would furnish its scientists with booze, weed, and poker chips, and how exactly each seemingly unstable team member is actually qualified for any sort of research work. And you know what? I'm okay with that.

The Thing is meant to do one thing: scare the pants off me. And it does it well. Sure, a little more emotional investment in the characters wouldn't hurt, but that doesn't stop the Thing from being a terrifying monster. It's gory, it's unpredictable, and it's a straight up psychological shit show. What more could you want?

What makes it so good is the way that it so delicately balances two very different forms of horror. On the one hand, it makes ample use of some pretty disgusting gross-out body horror. There's no shortage of juicy fluids and deformed anatomy for folks who go for things like that. On the other hand, one of the things that makes the Thing so frightening is not merely what it looks like when it's tearing people apart, but what it looks like when it isn't. The Thing becomes a genre classic for this latter reason: a monster that, until it strikes, looks and acts just like us.

And it's not, ultimately, the monster's stringy tentacles or torso-ripping teeth that destroy the crew of the research base. It's the fear it instills. Like Mac says, "Nobody trusts each other anymore." It's this psychological element that, to me, makes The Thing truly great. Without shying away from showing the viewer how horrible this monster really looks, the movie still manages to play effectively into our fears of the dark, the unknown, and each other.

Another thing I appreciated: The Thing doesn't waste time trying to come up with a rational explanation for something as deeply irrational as a hundred-thousand-year-old alien that can imitate any other life form down to the cellular level. Yes, there are medical and scientific professionals on the crew, but they quickly admit themselves baffled. They only weigh in to give the viewer the necessary vague outline and then declare themselves stumped. I can't express enough how much I appreciate this frankness. I've been tearing my hair out all term at the number of books and films where "scientists" and "doctors" spout off theories that are just blatantly untrue—

I know, I know. It's speculative fiction! It's not meant to be "true." But that doesn't mean a writer has license to talk down to their readers. Just be honest! If your characters are coming at the irrational from a scientific and reasoned perspective, either admit their logic stumped or come up with a damn good loophole. Don't just assume your audience won't know any better.

Alright, alright, I'll climb down from my soapbox now. Point is, The Thing is a great film. It's gross, it's well-paced, it'll disturb you with nightmares of betrayal by your closest friends. If you're looking for a good scare this Halloween season, give it a watch. It's a classic that truly deserves its laurels.


Citations: The Thing. Directed by John Carpenter. Universal Pictures, 1982.