Werewolves and revolution

MIRA SUCHAROV

This year, Halloween came on the heels of a recent viewing of one of the most captivating modern comedy-horror films, John Landis' 1981 cult classic An American Werewolf in London.

Watching Landis being interviewed on the DVD version led me to puzzle over something fundamental to the classic werewolf tale. And, I would add, something essentially – though not exclusively – Jewish. That is, the age-old psychic tension between power and powerlessness in personal and collective life.

Those who've seen the movie will recall protagonist David Kessler's (as played by David Naughton) dramatic transition into a werewolf, for which makeup artist Rick Baker (later of behind-the-scenes "Thriller" video fame) won an Oscar. With Blue Moon providing the soundtrack, Kessler's spine curves, hair sprouts from his back, his fingernails give way to yellow claws, and his face stretches into a fanged, salivating mouth. And, all the while, he is sweating profusely and screaming in anguish.

In the interview, Landis speaks of the horrible physical pain depicted in the werewolf transition. And while Kessler's screams and contortions were duly evident, I still puzzled over this. I hadn't read the scene as physical pain at all. Rather, I had viewed Kessler's reaction to his becoming werewolf as psychic pain, coupled with physical relief for what the body – or at least that part of the self – craved becoming.

Power, eros and the Jewish experience have been well documented by historians of Jewish life, including by historian David Biale who has illuminated the idea of Zionism as an erotic revolution, and literature professor Ruth Wisse, who has critiqued Israel's path to peace in terms of appeasement and power.

I'm not the only one to read Jewish themes into Werewolf. Landis himself wrote the Kessler character as Jewish (there is some discussion in the London hospital of his having been circumcised), and there is a central nightmare scene taking place in Kessler's upper-middle-class American Jewish home, with the camera lingering on a brass menorah atop a bookshelf before machine gun-toting Nazi zombies invade.

Fast forward to much more recent films and we have the informal trilogy of Jewish revenge movies, starting with Steven Spielberg's Israeli counter-terrorism tale Munich, proceeding through the Second World War depiction of Daniel Craig as a Partisan fighter in Defiance, culminating with Quentin Tarantino's much-hyped Inglourious Basterds fantasy of a Jewish slaughter of the Nazis.

"The rebirth of Jewish swagger is having a real impact on the psyche of the American Jewish male. Just watch Sy Becker of WWLP-TV in Springfield, Mass., as he reviews Defiance and tries hard not to kvell," blogs J.J. Goldberg in the Forward.

All this leads me to surmise that perhaps Halloween is a most Jewish holiday after all. The candy-coated evening is all about coming to terms with our inner aggressor – that aspect of ourselves that stands in stark contrast to our victimized self. Costumes enable us to try on what we are not, or even what we fear in ourselves. Goblins, superheroes, historical figures: all these incarnations speak to some element – however inverted – of our everyday self. And all – even a near-invisible ghost – possess that most specific form of power: agency.

It is by now a truism that Jews have suffered much powerlessness and victimization – epitomized but not limited to the Holocaust, of course. And for many, the establishment of modern Israel represented the ultimate wielding of sublime power as the Jewish nation fought for its existence within a sea of enmity.

The story is not so simple, of course, and is still being written. It's being written by Jewish advocacy groups that fear a new round of anti-Semitism in our midst, with some arguing that they're doing the work essential to maintaining a free society and others that they're helping perpetuate a climate of fear. It's being written by Israelis like Ari Folman, director of Waltz With Bashir, who are attempting to come to terms with Israel's battlefield past. And it's being written by all of us, every day, as we try to negotiate our sense of ethical living, collective assertiveness and inter-communal belonging.

Halloween, like werewolf stories in all their creepiness, may just help us reflect on who we are and what we want – whether it's backward-looking revenge or forward-looking reconciliation – all while fueled by an evening of painted faces, mini-chocolate bars and neighborhood cheer.

Mira Sucharov is an associate professor of political science at Carleton University. She is currently writing a book on nostalgia and political change.

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