The Duck Speaks

Another roundtable? That’s right folks, another roundtable. Join me and Chad Plambeck of 3B Theater as we take a look at one of the greatest pulp writers of the age, in:

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The Incredible Shrinking Man, by Richard Matheson
Scott Carey is trapped in a barren wasteland. His food supplies are dwindling; every day he must struggle up huge cliffs and barriers to find a few shredded crackers to sustain him. He’s sick and injures himself more with each passing hour. And he is hunted; by a beast that knows no pity, which can appear anywhere, and is determined to devour him alive.

Scott Carey is living in his basement. He is one inch tall. And a spider is trying to kill him.

This is a damn good book. You wanna know how good it is? Going in, I knew just about everything that was going to happen, the big plot events, even the ending. I was sort of dreading it- rereading a novel is one thing, but having it be familiar before you’ve laid eyes on the first page is another thing entirely. Besides, the whole “shrinking” thing seemed kind of lame to me. Can’t explain why; I suppose I prefer to have my horrors to be unknowns, rather than just normal things super-sized.

Well, more fool I. I devoured this novel, especially the last hundred or so pages (and in a novel just barely 200 pages long, that’s saying something), and it continually surprised me. Not the story, although there were a couple of turns I hadn’t expected- more in the way the story was told, and its absolute commitment to the validity of its experience.

I’ll translate that in a second. But this is the first Richard Matheson work we’ve looked at around here, and he deserves a moment’s introduction. Matheson was one of the best writers to come out of the pulps in the fifties and sixties, a man gifted not only with a brilliance for stories but also an intelligence in telling those stories; unlike many of his contemporaries, he was not satisfied with ham-fisted (I love that phrase) heroes battling other- worldly monsters to save half-unclad buxom blondes. His work focuses on the supernatural, the occult, the surreal- but just as much on the science behind the surreal, and even more importantly, on the psychological effects those forces have on the average men and women who come in contact with them. It’s rare for a Matheson protagonist to be completely guilt-free or pure, and they don’t always respond to situations as immediate heroes. Very often, they are angry, frustrated men, even cowards- and it is only in the extremity of circumstance that they find their strength.

Scott Carey is a good example of such a hero. The novel proper starts (after a page long introductory chapter) with him stuck in the basement of his own house, fighting for his life in what he assumes to be his last week alive; after all, he’s been shrinking an inch a week for quite some time now, and he’s still shrinking, so come Saturday, he’ll be nothing at all. At this point, Scott is almost more animal than man, driven by hunger and fear to keep himself safe; but he still has his brain, which has kept him alive and continues to do so despite his fervent wishes to the contrary. Unfortunately, he also has a past, and can remember all of it. A past where he was “normal” sized, with a lovely wife and young daughter- and beyond that, a simple ability to communicate with other people.

As the story progresses, things unfold in two different times. We have the immediate present, as Scott hunts for food, avoids the spider, and tries to think how he can last- and we have the run of Scott’s illness as told in flashbacks from the point where he first conceived of something wrong, up until his eventual fall into his current home. The first story is where the action takes place, and very well done action it is; let’s not get into superlatives, but I was gripped and all those wonderfully exciting things that makes us read this kind of novel.

The second story is where, for the most part, the psychological action takes place. Oh sure, the split isn’t precise or anything- Scott isn’t an utter drone in the present, and exciting things do happen in the flashbacks. Matheson is too good at his job to make the transitions so blatant. But the ramifications of what is happening to Carrey, and his relationship to the world around him, are shown the most blatantly in his dealings with his wife Lou, and the rest of the humanity; and it’s this stuff that makes the novel not just good but great.

Shrinking is, at first glance, a silly concept. Even the word itself sounds slightly goofy, like the punchline of a joke everyone already knows. But there are precious few laughs in the book, for the obvious reason that the joke stops being funny when it starts being you. The loss of size means a number of things, most of them minor inconveniences- but the most important one, the one that sends Scott into fits of despair and rage over and over again- is the loss of power.

Or, to be blunt, the loss of sexual power. As things go on, Scott finds himself further and further estranged from his wife; and while she is still willing to at least attempt intimacy, he can’t bring himself to do it, because it is obvious to him that she no longer views him as a man but as a little boy, a freak to be pitied and cared for, but not respected. Scott has problems with this, understandably enough; and in one of the books most disturbing and empathetic sequences, he starts fantasizing about his daughter’s teenage babysitter. Knowing it’s wrong, but unable to help himself, he watches her when she’s not looking.

Combined with the sexual pressures is his inability to support his family in any meaningful way. He loses his job, and in a desperate attempt to pay the bills, sells his story to a local newspaper. The response is overwhelming, and he becomes a public spectacle; and when he can’t deal with that, he breaks his contract with the newspaper. He and his family run away to hide. His wife goes off to work during the day while he stays at home, hiding in the locked basement from the babysitter whom he can’t keep his eyes off of. When he tries to go out on his own, a gang of neighborhood kids sets on him, and the only way he saves himself from an elementary mugging is by admitting his identity and running away.

What’s so fascinating about all this is how it forces you to realize just how important size in terms of our ranking in the hierarchy. Loss of size doesn’t mean just loss of physical strength, although that’s a big a factor- it also means loss of status, of an essential adult identity. As Scott gets smaller, he grows younger, at least to the outside world- and no matter how frustrated he gets, he can’t seem to change that. There are momentary reprieves; his one night stand with a midget at a carnival provides a brief return to his former glory. But even that is fleeting because while she’s his height right now, he knows she won’t be forever; and soon he’s relationship with her will be just as lost as his relationship with his wife.

It is only when he finds himself alone in the basement, forced once again to deal with situations entirely on his own, that he discovers some sense of power. It is ironic that this discovery comes mere days before his impending dissolution, but if that dissolution happens or not is up for the reader to discover…

SCREEN:

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The Incredible Shrinking Man, directed by Jack Arnold
While Scott Carey and his wife are on their vacation, they come across a strange cloud floating over the sea. The cloud engulfs Scott, leaving him covered in small, shiny particles. He cleans them off and pays no mind to it; however, six months later, his clothes don’t fit anymore. And he’s losing weight fast. Visits to the doctor eventually confirm what to him has become the obvious- Scott is shrinking. Why, and for how long, no one can say…

I’m going to do my best not to repeat myself here (although why start worrying about it now): story-wise, the movie version is close enough to the novel that it’s not truly a separate entity, and those changes which are made are really better off discussed in direct comparison to the source. So if this is review is a little shorter than usual, my apologies. Just tell yourself brevity is the soul of wit, and be thankful I didn’t babble too much.

Anyway, this is another good ‘un, a damn fine sci-fi movie from the ‘50’s; actually, it’s not science fiction so much as adventure story. There is science in here, of course, and I’d bet most of it is fiction, but it’s really not the heart of things- aside from yet another indication that radiation is going to do strange things to unlucky people, we’re mostly worried about how someone continues to survive when just about everything becomes a danger to him. Especially the once friendly house-cat, and the once squishable spider.

Special effects are the first thing you think about in a picture like this, and they were surprisingly good. Scott’s shrinkage is done through larger sized props (giant couches that remind me immediately of that Ruth Ann sketch Lily Tomlin used to do- and hey, didn’t Ms. Tomlin star in The Incredible Shrinking Woman? Wheels within wheels, people), misdirection and blue screening-

Okay, okay. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t actually called blue screening back then, but I can’t think up the word for it, and all of you are so much more clever than I am, so you probable know it already. So I won’t go look it up. Laziness or megalomania? You decide.

Odd, I seem to be rather cantankerous this evening. Must be having to work on the weekend.

Back to the point, the special effects are quite good, and the movies two big action set-pieces, an attack from the cat, and an assault on a spider, are excellent, and definitely get your heart racing. This is one of the few b-movies from the era that actually manages to pull of suspense for me; even Them! I love more for story and character than for thrills.

Which isn’t to say there aren’t character or story here in abundance. The acting is damn solid; I particularly liked Randy Stuart as Louise Carey, as she takes another housewife role and invests it with a great deal of intelligence and character. But acting wise, the movie belongs to Grant Williams, or the Shrinking Man himself. He’s on screen nearly every shot, and he’s in every scene; and while his voice narration does a lot of the work conveying what’s going on in his head, he does a capable job of showing it onscreen as well. He spends a good half of the picture reacting to things that aren’t really there, and he acquits himself very well.

As for story, it’s basic but well done. What’s amazing is the long stretches of dialogue-less screen time after Carey has fallen into the basement; it’s tense, and never manages to be boring, both through the actor’s intensity and the drives of the narrative. Oh, and the terrific sets, which manage to look familiar and alien at once- and without which, Carey’s predicament would be that much more difficult to accept.

COMPARE/CONTRAST:
Matheson himself wrote the screenplay for the movie; these days, it’s hard to tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but with Matheson it’s a damn good thing because the man knows his stuff in both mediums. Many writers can be brilliant when it comes to fiction, and utterly hopeless with screenplays- Matheson had extensive experience in both arenas, and is responsible for some of the horror and fantasy genre’s most indelible imagery.

The first thing one notices as different between the novel and the movie is the change in structure. As noted earlier, the novel takes place in the “present,” with Carey already trapped in the cellar, revealing his back story in a series of extended flashbacks; the movie starts from the beginning of Carey’s troubles and proceeds from there in an entirely linear fashion. This makes sense- while the nature of prose lends itself to a smooth transition between past and present, with movies, unless you’re very careful, jumps in time can disorient and frustrate an audience. It also adds an opportunity that Matheson takes full advantage of: the possibility of a cure for the hero.

The second big change is the loss of the Carey’s child, Beth. Beth was in the story more as a device than anything else; we don’t get much of a sense of who she is, other than she’s young, and, well, young. Perhaps precious as well, but I really couldn’t say. More important is how she relates to Scott, and how Scott’s sees his authority over her disappear as he grows closer and closer to her height- and then shrinks below it. This culminates in her picking him up and carrying him across the room, almost crushing him, in an attempt to be “helpful”; Scott tells Lou that she has to keep Beth away from him, or else the child will unintentionally hurt him, and the girl disappears from the story.

Her absence in the movie can probably be attributed to nothing more complex than time and convenience. While the novel isn’t especially long, the movie is shorter, and not everything can be included in the transition from source to screen; the child, while providing yet another proof of Scott’s loss of status, doesn’t serve much point, and can be easily lifted from the narrative. Besides, no one likes working with child actresses anyway.

Beth did serve one other purpose in the book, however; she necessitated the entrance of Catherine, the babysitter with whom Scott becomes infatuated. Catherine does not make an appearance in the movie, as the sexual content was heavily toned down; besides, it’s difficult to imagine a modern audience sympathizing with a thirty year-old oogling a 15 year old, let alone audiences of the day. (Nobody mention American Beauty, okay? Wait, I just did.)

Matheson manages to retain some of the sexual frustration in the novel, mostly by playing it under the collar and presenting it more as a simple desire to make sense of the rapidly expanding world. Scott’s relationship with a circus midget still happens, but instead of a one night stand allowing him briefly to feel like an adult, here it’s more of a chaste friendship between equal. His frustration increases with Lou, as in the novel, but it’s not blatantly said to be based on his rage at not being able to have her. It’s like hearing a great song on the radio with some of the lyrics edited out; those familiar with the original notice the difference, and miss it, but enough remains to keep the loss more ascetic than fundamental.

The endings are also slightly different. I won’t go into detail- I’ve already spoiled too much of what is terrific about both these works- but I will say that the original ends on a note of almost scientific wonder and discovery; while the movie ends on with a sort of religious ecstasy. Both work nicely, although I do prefer the novel.

The main thing the movie and the novel share, aside from the same story, is their utter straight-faced-ness in relating their respective tales. There are moments of humor, but they are few and far between, and neither version needs it; instead of playing Scott’s predicament for laughs, we are shown a man going through a very personal sort of hell. That makes the situation, no matter how foolish it seems at the outset, very real, and it makes us care for what happens to him all the more. That’s what good storytelling really is- going for the throat with honesty, and not letting go.

In case you haven’t guess it, both of these come strongly recommended.

SOURCE: QQQQ
SCREEN: QQQQ
Now why the hell isn’t this out on DVD yet?

Hungry for some decent writing? Check out 3B’s look at Hell House.