THE
THING (1982)
Starring
Jed the Dog, Kurt Russell, Keith David, Richard Dysart, A. Wilford
Brimley, David Clennon, T.K. Carter, Richard Masur, Donald Moffat.
Directed by John Carpenter. (109 min)
Essay
by D.M. ANDERSON💀
If
you’re a horror fan – particularly an ‘80s horror fan – you
probably hold John Carpenter’s The Thing in high regard, and
understandably so. Though not very successful when first-released,
it’s become deified over the years and is generally considered one
the director’s best films. I’d go a step further to say he hasn’t
made a truly great one since (though I’m open to arguments for They
Live).
Because of the classic status it enjoys now, there have been a lot of
explanations why The Thing flopped in 1982, the most common claim being that it was overshadowed by another film that summer
featuring a decidedly friendlier extraterrestrial. Frankly, I think
that explanation is bullshit. Does anybody seriously think The
Thing was trying to nab the same family audience that loved E.T.?
I
think the
seeds of
The
Thing’s
box-office failure might have ironically
been planted by John Carpenter himself back in 1978, when
Michael Myers arrived to carve-up Haddonfield in Halloween.
Afterwards,
hardly
a week went by without
another masked
killer
being
unleashed to relieve
teenagers
of
their
discretionary income, who
were eager
to see their own kind sliced-and-diced on the big screen. By
1982, the extraterrestrial terrors of Alien
were a distant memory. With
some classic exceptions,
the
most successful horror
films of
the decade
featured young characters,
simple plots and enough exposition to
appease
even the dumbest fucks
in the theater.
The
Thing
has
none of that...no masks, no sex (premarital
or otherwise),
no women, no killer’s backstory. Favoring
dread to
gratuitous jump-scares,
the
film is claustrophobic, gruesome
and
unpredictable. Relentlessly downbeat – nearly
nihilistic - we
suspect everyone’s
doomed right
from
the get-go, through no fault of their own.
Then
the movie
has
the audacity to end ambiguously,
its
biggest question left unanswered.
What
chance
did
it have against
the likes of Friday
the 13th
Part 3,
which outgrossed it
by $15 million? That Friday
3
also outgrossed Blade
Runner
is
a strong indication that most
folks
buying tickets
in 1982 preferred
being spoon-fed.
Like
Blade Runner,
The Thing
is a
belated classic
because it ultimately
transcended
its own decade. Even today,
the film doesn’t look or
feel dated, whereas
revisiting Jason
Voorhees’ Excellent
Adventures is
mostly
a fun nostalgia
trip. While
grooming my youngest daughter into the horror fan she is today, she found the Friday
the 13th
films silly and archaic.
However, she absolutely
loved The Thing and was surprised it was almost 40 years old.
 |
| "Who's up for a weenie roast?" |
I’ve
probably seen The Thing a few dozen times since catching it in
an empty theater back in ‘82. Sure, the ground-breaking (and still
impressive) creature effects are what first floored me, but I’ve
grown to appreciate other aspects of the film. The notion of an alien
consisting of individual, free-acting cells with their own built-in
instinct to survive is an intriguing concept to wrap your brain
around. That it can perfectly imitate other lifeforms adds a whodunit
element similar to an Agatha Christie mystery, enhanced by the bleak
Antarctic setting. Taking place almost entirely in a research station
during a winter storm, these 12 characters are completely cut-off
from the rest of the world. Worse yet, one or more of them may have
already been assimilated by the creature.
The
Thing is also a smart movie that doesn’t depend on the
stupidity of its characters to advance the plot. Everyone
makes logical survival decisions and develop reasonable ideas for how
to detect and combat the Thing (such as the “blood test” scene, a
high-tension masterpiece). The fact that none of it works exacerbates
the hopelessness of their struggle and the apocalyptic implications
of the open-ended denouement. In my opinion, it’s still the
greatest conclusion to a horror film of all time.
 |
| One of The Thing's many feel-good moments. |
The
overall performances have gone largely unappreciated over the years,
one in particular. Kurt Russell takes another quantum leap from his
clean-cut Disney image and the supporting cast of familiar faces is
terrific, especially bald-&-badass Keith David (in a perfect
world, he’d be an ‘80s action icon). But I think
the most overlooked performance might belong to Jed, playing a sled
dog that arrives at the station in the first act. Since he’s
actually the Thing, Jed is required behave differently than your
typical pooch, an “anti-dog,” if you will. He doesn’t bark, wag
his tail or display any real emotion. He slowly and methodically
lurks the halls of the station, quietly studying his new environment
– and potential hosts - with blank, unblinking eyes for long
stretches of time. After awhile, that stare is unnerving.
A
definite graduate from the less-is-more school of acting, Jed is
sort-of the canine equivalent of Ryan Gosling. As the anti-dog, Jed
subtly manages to instill more dread than a scenery-chewer like the
Saint Bernard in Cujo. Or maybe I’m more
attuned to his performance because I’ve since-noted similar
behavior in Murphy, my 12 year old Wheaten Terrier and an anti-dog if
there ever was one.
 |
| Jed in The Thing. |
 |
| Murphy in the dining room. |
A
bit of background...Murphy is a dick. By that, I mean it seems like
he goes out of his way to be the antithesis of any dog I’ve ever
met. Wheaten Terriers are known for being playful and energetic their
entire lives, yet Murphy never enjoyed playing and hates walkies.
Though housebroken, he frequently drops single turds around the house
like a puppy Pez dispenser. When we leave him home alone, he protests by peeing wherever I usually sit or sleep.
Speaking
of me, while dogs may indeed be man’s best friend, Murphy makes it
abundantly clear the feeling isn’t mutual. Oh, he probably likes
me, but saves any actual love for my wife. When she isn’t around,
he spends much of his time under our bed. He seldom greets me when I
come home after a hard day’s work, content to make sure I’m
not an intruder before going about his own business. The only time he
pretends we’re actual buddies is when I’m eating something he
wants.
 |
| The watcher. |
Murphy
also stares at me – a lot – even during such mundane activities
as using the toilet or watching TV (he’s staring at me right now,
in fact). Wherever I might be in the house, he’ll simply stand from
a discreet distance and stare. It’s initially cute, but after 5-10
minutes pass and he’s still looking at me – silent, motionless
and unblinking – I start getting
nervous. Since we’ve lived together for 12 years, it can’t
possibly be because he’s fascinated by my remote control skills. I think Murphy’s fucking with me.
Maybe he was in the room
while I was watching The Thing and took inspiration from Jed, like my obnoxious co-worker who makes Seinfeld
quotes part of his nutritious breakfast. More startling are the
nights when I suddenly wake up at three-in-the-morning with the
midnight munchies and head downstairs, only to find Murphy already
standing at the base of the steps, silently staring back at me as
though he’d been holding vigil. It’s really fucking creepy and
fuck you, Murphy!!
Though
tentacles haven’t burst from his face – yet – Murphy
reminds me of the Thing in other ways, too. For those unaware,
Wheaten Terriers have hair rather than fur, meaning they require at
least three-to-four trips to the groomer per year. But because it’s
expensive and I’m lazy (trimming my own hair only once a year to
keep it out of my ass crack), I often procrastinate until he looks like
a matted, eyeless Muppet. So we end up having to shave him.
We
love pets because they’re cute, and they're
cute because they’re fuzzy. When you shave them, they look
like different creatures altogether. I shit you not, when Murphy is
shaved, he’s grotesque. If I were to slather him in Karo syrup and
snot, he’d be the spitting image of the monstrous dog-Thing from
the movie...
 |
| Fuzzy Murphy. |
 |
| Murphy after a shave. |
On
Murphy’s other shaved end is his naked butthole, a hideous pink
starfish that pulses when he barks. And it's only when shaved that
he feels compelled to greet me in the morning by jumping on the bed
and sticking his ass-flower in my face (my wife gets the friendly
end). Until his hair grows out a bit, petting my pink-skinned pooch
has the same appeal as popping a stranger’s pimples. Ironically,
it’s when Murphy's at his most repulsive that he shows me the most
affection. Or maybe he’s just fucking with me again. A true
anti-dog.
 |
| Murphy's ass-flower, as seen in The Thing. |
As
for his
role model, Jed went on to display his diversity in such films as The
Journey of Natty Gann and
White Fang
– and even hung out with the Dead Kennedys – before passing away
in 1995 at the ripe old age of 18. But
for me, Murphy and
horror lovers worldwide, The
Thing would be his
ultimate legacy. Belying the
decade from which it sprang, the
film holds up remarkably well
compared to other horrors of the ‘80s, as well as most of John
Carpenter’s subsequent work.
