By Marilyn Ferdinand
The line between science fiction and horror is often breached because humanity’s fear of the unknown has proven fertile soil for the fevered imaginations of scifi writers and filmmakers. The 1950s, of course, produced a slew of Atomic Age nightmares, as the science fact of massively destructive weapons merged with the paranoias of the time. Some forget that this period in human and movie history also was awash in psychoanalysis—the science of the mind—with Freudian theories all the rage in films of all types.
The 1957 scifi/horror classic The Incredible Shrinking Man from director Jack Arnold is firmly rooted in these socioscientific concerns. The plot is propelled by environmental horrors. A radioactive cloud floats toward the boat where the title character, Scott Carey (Grant Williams), and his wife Louise (Randy Stuart) are relaxing and coats him with a stardust sheen. Scott doesn’t start shrinking, however, until he is exposed to insecticide after they return home. While there is plenty of frightening action ahead, it is in the aftermath of these initial events that the film takes on more psychological and philosophical shading, and makes a pointed critique of a society slipping a straitjacket of conformity and wholesomeness over its citizens following the chaos and lingering malaise of World War II.
Scott asserts his privilege as a white man in a white-male-dominated society in the very first scene by ordering his wife to go below deck to get him a beer: “To the galley, wench.
Fetch me a flagon of beer,” he jests. Unwittingly, he did the manly thing by saving her from getting dusted, but because his rescue was unintentional and unconscious, we know we are in Freud’s realm of the uncanny. Freud said, “The uncanny is anything we experience in adulthood that reminds us of earlier psychic stages, of aspects of our unconscious life, or of the primitive experience of the human species.”
In Scott’s case, his body becomes one of a child, reduced to dependence and an infantile relationship with his wife. When he shrinks to the size of a doll, he takes up residence in a dollhouse, a feminizing situation, with his wife’s face looming over him like the overbearing mother’s in Woody Allen’s segment of New York Stories (1989). When he becomes even smaller, he must rely on primitive instincts and strategies to survive in a once-familiar but now alien and threatening environment.
Based on Richard Matheson’s book The Shrinking Man, The Incredible Shrinking Manoffers the usual thrills of a Jack Arnold film and a sexual tension that can be found in many of his works—most notably, The Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954)—and present in this one by the changing dynamic between Scott and Louise and Scott’s abortive attempt to return to a normal heterosexual relationship with Clarice (April Kent), a midget he befriends and from whom he flees when he discovers he is still shrinking. Voiceover narration by Scott somewhat preserves Matheson’s fractured timeline, though the film proceeds chronologically.
Arnold’s brilliant use of oversize furniture and props, as well as optical printing to put Scott in the same frame as the enormous beings who surround and threaten him, create a convincing world through which we can empathize with Scott’s struggle. I was particularly taken with the gentle cat for which the Careys show obvious affection, and its transformation into a dangerous beast chasing its own master seems the perfect metaphor for the destructive force of nature human beings unleashed upon themselves. With global warming filling our skies with the moisture of melting glaciers that cause mammoth hurricanes and biblical floods, the timeliness of The Incredible Shrinking Man cannot be overstated.
Arnold preserves some hope for humanity’s survival as we watch Scott improvise a house from a matchbox, a grappling hook from a pin, and a flaming arrow from a match. Arnold takes his time filming Scott in the cellar of his house trying to scrounge for food. Scott’s attempt to grab a piece of cheese from a mouse trap, as well as to reach some bread crumbs on a high ledge now guarded by a spider in its web are both painstakingly tedious and fraught with tension. His duel with the spider taps into the arachnophobia many people feel, providing audiences with a genuine fright.
It is in these final scenes that Scott’s attempts to reclaim his life and his privacy from the legions of curious people and probing reporters when he was, if small, still human-sized, completely fall away and move him—and us—into a contemplation of existence. It’s not entirely clear, but it appears that Scott will keep shrinking to the size of an atom, the perhaps logical end for exposure to atomic radiation, or disappear altogether to join the cosmic dust from which the universe sprang. Arnold ends his film with a vision of our galaxy, the alpha and omega of humanity. Don’t we all feel small in the face of that!
Based on Richard Matheson’s book The Shrinking Man, The Incredible Shrinking Manoffers the usual thrills of a Jack Arnold film and a sexual tension that can be found in many of his works—most notably, The Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954)—and present in this one by the changing dynamic between Scott and Louise and Scott’s abortive attempt to return to a normal heterosexual relationship with Clarice (April Kent), a midget he befriends and from whom he flees when he discovers he is still shrinking.
Superb observations, much like the entirety of this deft and breezy piece on a film that has of course developed a cult following to match its prominence in the genre for which it is rightly classified. THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING MAN is thematically rich -the philosophical thrust of the closing scenes resonate permanently – narratively captivating and smartly paced, with excellent acting and adroitly applied special effects. Matheson of course was one of that era’s major figures in sci-fi. He wrote some of the most memorable episodes of “The Twilight Zone,” the original “Star Trek” and “The Outer Limits.” With such a creator THE INCREDIBLE SHRINKING MAN had a head start from the get-go. Anyway, it has been a while since I last saw the film, and I was so riveted by this perceptive and entertaining review, that I’d like to revisit. Great job Marilyn!
I guess we can say that this cautionary tale of sorts hasn’t lost an ounce since it released. Excellent review of a cult favorite.
I love your essay, Marilyn. One of the greatest sci-fi endings ever. Hopeful in the face of futility – the opposite of the human default. The movie’s a slow burn of the subconscious, body horror of a different kind, and your write-up tells me all I need to know about why I can’t watch it with my wife.
Short, sharp, and supoib, Mare.
Thanks, all. I realized that I had never seen this film before, so this was a great opportunity to be introduced to a truly startling and well-realized movie.
A fine essay: many thanks for the enjoyment, and for the refreshment of my memory — it’s many years since last I saw this. (I actually read the novel first; it has its own interest.)
I think — completely without hard evidence — that the reputation of The Incredible Shrinking Man has been a little clouded by the 1968-70 tv series Land of the Giants, which took what Irwin Allen thought were the exciting bits of TISM (and various screen incarnations of Mary Norton’s 1952 book The Borrowers) — little people outwitting relatively huge household creatures — and repeated them endlessly. In memory it’s easy to overlook that TISM had a lot more to say than that.
I think you’re right about that. This is a movie with a lot on its mind. I think it’s very telling that Scott doesn’t get rescued from his predicament, that the best medical science has to offer just isn’t good enough. Human frailty and limits are constantly affirmed in the film, and I like that. These are human stakes we’re talking about, not the supermen and women that populate many thriller films today.
A tremendous film (on my list at #70) made in the face of the technical limitations of the era, and the B-movie world it was birthed from. It’s no matter as the the script is an absolute cracker (Sam points out its glitterati connections of the scriptwriter), and the central performance one of incredibly moving pathos. Marilyn is all over these charms, wonderfully highlighting them and some of the technical wizardry on display. In an era where many of the sci-fi masterworks are campy—and the better for it—this is a rare piece of near poetic existentialism.
Makes for a wonderful twin bill with the similarity titled, but a lot different, Incredible Melting Man, a classic of the gore schlock genre. Though Marilyn, that might be one that Shane goes for more (hehe).
Jamie – Ha ha. I’ll recommend that one to him. He finds the worst movies to watch! You remind me that I never got back to you about lunch/dinner. I’m so embarrassed. So sorry.
Oh, no worries happens to me more than I’d want to admit in public!
I’m almost assuming Shane is aware of it…