Following a pattern established in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, in this book I reveal the existence of abject space across an extensive range of genres, with the common link between them being their institutional setting. Abject space is usually associated with institutions that function as castrating maternal bodies, but it is also apparent in repressive patriarchal structures. It is not only evident in spaces that anatomically resemble the interior body, but may also emerge through the oppression of identity. In this book I have uncovered certain visual and narrative consistencies across the ‘institution film’, which stem largely from the excessive control exercised there. These consistencies range from a mise-en-scène that includes scenes of inmate homogenization to certain noir tendencies of lighting, characterization and spatial architecture. Scenes of homogenization, which are often filmed with slow or static camera movements or symmetrical framing, chiefly feature uniformity of dress and figure movement, control of bodily function and repression of sexuality. Various other practices, which serve to erase individuality, range from compulsory drug administration to restricted social interaction.
Mostly, however, fictional institutions restrict private space as a means of control. Such spatial restriction tends to affect characters in various ways, either inhibiting character agency or, in extreme cases, resulting in a transient but identifiable loss of self. This applies especially to total institutions, such as prisons, where constriction of space tends to be excessive, exemplified by Leone’s solitary confinement in Lock Up. In general, however, as in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, attempts to suppress individuality meet resistance, which often constitutes the primary narrative disorder of institution films. Efforts to reclaim space and, therefore, identity mean that such disorder usually develops through the transgression or destruction of boundaries. Inevitably, individuals encounter abjection in a literal sense (escaping through the sewers) or undergo horrific experiences. Alternatively, they try to maintain subjectivity in other ways. These might include displays of excessive masculinity, or the ‘creation’ of private space that enables some autonomy consistent with normal adult activity. The abject is therefore synonymous with efforts to regain space, either through transgressing boundaries, or exploring spaces that are normally out of bounds. Reclaiming or retaining an adult identity may also involve assuming a moral position, which can sometimes lead to the death of a character.
From this study it is apparent that disorder is inevitable in films set in institutions, and that it arises because of the presence of constraint or excessive orderliness. Ultimately, institution films involve the protagonist re-establishing boundaries of private space, which may be physical or mental, to encourage ego formation. Without private space, these characters cannot function in an adult capacity. This arises, for example, in Carrie, in which the central character, Carrie, has little private space at home and none at school. Similarly, in Coma, Susan Wheeler’s private space is restricted and she must therefore occupy peripheral spaces. Again, she undergoes literal abjection (through confronting death) and almost dies. Invariably then, a feature of ‘the institution film’, as defined in the context of this book, is the production of abject space.
It is interesting to note that the spaces identified as abject within these institutions are predominantly located in low-lying, subterranean or hidden locations. Consequently, abject spaces involve transgressive practice in that they are either prohibited or uninhabited. They are invariably chaotic and disordered and frequently characterized by low-key lighting, erratic camera movements and, often, a noir aesthetic. An affinity for noir characteristics seems to be especially associated with scenes of sadism. Typically, underground tunnels and labyrinthine passageways, much like those that Creed identifies in her description of Alien, are synonymous with abject space. In some respects, however, The Last Castle differs from the other films examined here. One reason for this lies in its multi-generic nature, in which elements of the action genre are dominant. This demands that the film’s main activity takes place in an open central courtyard. It is thus largely devoid of the labyrinthine underground scenes that tend to typify abject space. Rather, it is more concerned with the control of the body through constant observation and the threat of physical abuse than with acute constraints on personal space. Even so, it clearly demonstrates the characteristics of abject space I have defined, both through the transgression of spatial boundaries and the infantilizing of the prisoners. Moreover, it reveals a form of abjection through the criminal tendency of one of its main characters, Colonel Winter. The Last Castle is therefore perhaps the least abject visually and therefore defines the limit of this study, but it contributes to a resolution of my claim for institutional settings as abject spaces.
In keeping with an affinity for noir aesthetics, abject space is distinctly associated with a mise-en-scène of darkness. In Girl, Interrupted the girls descend into the basement at night, while in Bubba Ho-tep the mummy attacks under cover of darkness; in Coma, darkness is especially associated with threat and in The Shawshank Redemption, Andy escapes during the night. Both Lock Up and Full Metal Jacket culminate in night-time scenes. While perhaps providing a visual means of increasing narrative tension, such noirish tendencies may also suggest that the abject is associated with the emergence of the repressed unconscious during sleep, or more likely, reflects freedom from surveillance.
Mostly, scenes of horror or disorder involve a renegotiation of, or literal passing through, the abject and a rejection of the castrating maternal body of the institution. Institutions, however, as evident in Coma, may also function as patriarchal structures. Alternatively, scenes of abjection signify a return to the semiotic world associated with the maternal figure, and in some cases show an inability ultimately to separate from it. In Girl, Interrupted, fixation at the Oedipal stage results in neurosis while in Coma, the main protagonist, though sustaining temporary neurosis and almost dying, proves resistant to patriarchal practices. Bubba Ho-tep and the three prison films examined also involve a renegotiation of abjection to reclaim adult subjectivity. Conversely, in Full Metal Jacket, the maternal institution returns the inmates to a stage of psychosexual development from which they are unable to return, leading to perversion that is sadistically/anally motivated. Carrie also demonstrates a protagonist unable to separate from the maternal figure and who is thus similarly engulfed by the abject. In other scenarios, the inmate may become institutionalized and thus struggles to survive on the ‘outside’. Nevertheless, despite provoking anxiety or horror, and despite the negative connotations film theorists previously attached to the abject, experiences of abjection in these films paradoxically often lead to positive or liberating outcomes. Remember the Titans and The Shawshank Redemption particularly demonstrate this. It is interesting to note that both fared well commercially.1 This conclusion has some commonality with Krzywinska’s2 claim that certain transgressive practices may be liberating.
A further consistency of the institution films examined in this book is the incidence of ritual or scenes of ceremony, which figure prominently in Remember the Titans, Full Metal Jacket and Carrie. The presence of ritual in these films relates to its value in containing or confronting abjection. Kristeva’s account predominantly refers to religious and spiritual rituals as ways of both addressing and containing abjection; the similar rituals that feature in Carrie and Bubba Ho-tep perform comparable functions. In Remember the Titans, prayer is associated with racial cohesion and team spirit, while the ritualized procedures evident in each of the prison films, as well as Full Metal Jacket, are different. Rather than religious or spiritual cleansing, their daily regimes relate to physical cleanliness and orderly containment, but serve the similar purpose of keeping the abject at bay. Coma, on the other hand, is concerned with the protocols and practices of managing diseased or decaying bodies, though this too ties in closely with the imposition of boundaries aimed at containing abjection (literally in body bags and organ transplant boxes). Humour, which Kristeva3 suggests is an alternative way of displacing abjection, is also evident in Full Metal Jacket.
An incidental finding in this study is the common narrative presence of a father–son relationship in which the ‘son’ dies. This is apparent in a number of male-dominated institution films and is consistent with theoretical discussions of masculinity and the development of ‘new masculinities’ in films of the 1980s and 1990s. In the context of this book, however, such relationships also serve to remobilize the adult identity of the ‘father’ figure and provide the narrative impetus for these characters to break away from the maternal institution.
At the same time, the analysis of abjection in these films challenges other research. While it shows that the abject is present in hitherto unexpected genres/films, it also proposes alternative contexts for films that have already been associated with the abject. For example, Creed identifies abjection in Carrie with regard to the ‘monstrous-feminine’ body, while my argument for abjection centres on the spaces the protagonist occupies and on a further examination of monstrosity in relation to amorality and religiosity. While Creed’s work on Carrie discusses maternal abjection in relation to attempts to break away from the maternal figure, my argument incorporates Kristeva’s theological approach to the maternal figure as abject.
This examination of the ‘institution film’ has therefore broadened the application of abjection in film through a consideration of aspects as diverse as nationalism, theology, sport, language, music, medicine, mental illness, point of death and imprisonment. The interpretation of language within a filmic context is relevant since Kristeva’s views on the abject with regard to subjectivity relate closely to the use of language. For Kristeva, the point of maternal abjection may be signified through acquisition and use of language. In this study I therefore outline the use of text and speech as signifiers of the symbolic. I also demonstrate how the semiotic chora may be signified through sport and music, and represented through distinctive styles of cinematography, such as whip pans and fast tracking shots, which are techniques that are often associated with sports films.
Some examples here reveal Kristeva’s account of abjection to have limitations. For example, in this book I find abjection associated with the male reproductive body (Bubba Ho-tep) and therefore challenge Kristeva’s concept of abjection. This is in line with arguments presented by Grosz4 who similarly questions Kristeva’s distinction between the male and female reproductive body. Clearly, the depiction of filmic institutions also compromises Foucault’s5 analysis of discipline. The films suggest that surveillance and physical ordering of the body do not necessarily produce entirely regulated subjects as he indicates in Discipline and Punish. In fact, pervasive surveillance and intense spatial restriction do not maintain orderliness at all. Rather, these practices merely generate resistance and conflict, which supports my argument that institutions are inherently abject. This perhaps ties in with other messages that the films convey.
While it was not my original intention in this book to identify and explain emergent perspectives on the nature of real institutions, it is impossible to ignore the common messages that have become apparent through a study of these films. These consistently comment on the individual institution and often the larger establishment of United States politics. It is interesting to note that the criticisms of individual institutions, which inevitably indicate their general failure, correlate with a trend towards deinstitutionalization, care in the community, electronic tagging and ‘revolving door’ care (short-stay patients with frequent admissions).6 While these films are mostly fictional, several draw on real experiences and perhaps reflect anxieties concerning institutions.
The most pointed criticism of the institution occurs in One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest where a series of controlling and cruel punishments replace any form of care. Its more recent counterpart, Girl, Interrupted, while not as damning, raises similar questions about the treatment and diagnosis of mental illness. In the broader context, one scene from Girl, Interrupted specifically references the unreliability of the United States government (apparently in the context of Vietnam). In Coma, medicine is shown to be a corrupt, patriarchal and purely commercial enterprise, with the organ depot named the Jefferson Institute and the chief of staff portrayed as a political figure. In Carrie, the abject home of Carrie and Margaret White – a picket-fenced white house –turns out to be repressive and cloyingly religious. This space therefore clearly comments on the strictures of American life, while the collapse of the Whites’ house likely comments on the breakdown of family structures and perhaps some of the failures of US politics.
The entire narrative of Full Metal Jacket centres on a critique of America’s political stance on Vietnam, while the prison films discussed here appear to reflect recent concerns about the nature of discipline, poor conditions and the current growth of prison populations.7 In fact, The Shawshank Redemption, as well as commenting adversely on programmes of rehabilitation, contains scenes of explicitly Nixonian politics. The political undertone of The Shawshank Redemption leads Wilson and O’Sullivan to comment that ‘this benchmark of failure is just as much a failure of wider social and cultural phenomena as it is of each institution.’8 Given the era of American politics from which many of these films emerge, it is likely that they not only refer to processes of institutionalization but also allude to American political strategies, especially with regard to Vietnam and Watergate. It is therefore possible that the institutions shown in these films are metaphors for US political establishments, which, as in the institutions analysed here, are ultimately unstable.
In sum, since abjection exists in films that are set in institutions, the generic range of abjection may therefore be extended beyond the horror film. In analysing the development or regression of subjectivity in relation to space, I suggest that the agency of characters is influenced by the spaces they occupy. By examining a coherent body of films that involve restricted spatialities, therefore, it has been possible to locate notions of the abject in films that deal primarily with identity, either in its formation, maintenance or decline. This furthers previous perspectives that forged links between abjection and the horror film, the monstrous-feminine and the disgusting body. Rather, a broadening of the scope of abjection, largely in line with Kristeva’s views, but sometimes moving beyond them, has allowed alternative readings of abject space and found that its presence is inevitable in fictional institutions.