Horror, Humour and Their Coexistence in David Lynch's Cinema

Horror, Humour and Their Coexistence

in David Lynch’s Cinema

Date of completion: 24 June 2016


Film Studies - Department of Media Studies


University of Amsterdam


Thesis supervisor: Dr. Assimakis Tseronis


Second reader: Dr. Catherine Lord


Word count:18.738

Martino Dugheri

martino.dugheri@student.uva.nl

Student number: 11104260

Abstract

This thesis springs from asking what relation exists between horror and humour in film experience, and more specifically, from analysing the different modalities of their coexistence. The two notions are brought into discussion following Noël Carroll’s theory, who conceptualises them as emotional states. The theoretical framework provided by the American philosopher is discussed, slightly revised and applied to David Lynch’s cinema, which has been chosen due to the peculiar expressive properties that the literature attributes to it. The operation consists of a twofold intent. On one hand, the analysis takes into consideration a specific configuration that Carroll’s theory discusses only implicitly, but that has seminal importance for the functioning of the whole system. On the other hand, the analysis highlights an expressive capacity proper of the medium cinema itself, which Lynch’s films present in a paradigmatic way.

Keywords

Contents

Introduction

Horror and the Monstrous

A Preliminary Remark ……….7

Carroll’s Theory of Art-Horror ………8

Art-Horror in Lynch’s Cinema ………..14

Humour and Its Incongruities

Function and Origin of the Concept of Incongruity ………. 19

Carroll’s Revised Incongruity Theory ……….. 20

David Lynch’s Humour ……….24

The Coexistence of Horror and Humour

The Tension Between Intention and Expectation ….………..……….. 28

Two Attitudes Towards the Perceived Incongruity ………..…..……….………..… 31

The Absurd Cinema of David Lynch ……… 33

Conclusion

Reference List

Introduction

In the brief but dense article Horror and Humor, Noël Carroll discusses the apparent paradox that relates the two emotional states of the title. At first sight, horror and humour clearly appear as opposites. In fact, it could seem counterintuitive to imagine a spectator comically amused and then suddenly horrified or vice versa. And even more striking it would be to imagine a spectator facing the interpretative limbo that allows horror and humour as equally valid reactions to the same scene. Carroll’s analysis, however, brilliantly shows how horror and humour can be part of the same representation, coming in tight succession. This kind of configuration of the two states is found, for example, in the genre of the horror-comedy. The reason for this simple version of their unproblematic cohabitation is supported by the assumption that horror and humour share a common nature. Such common nature is identified in the fact that both horror and humour stem from the transgression of some mental (as well social, moral, cultural and logical) categories. As it will be shown, the two states are generated by a fracture of what at this point can be simply regarded as

perceived normality.

Examples supporting the idea of a theoretically unproblematic juxtaposition of horror and humour abound in cinema and other media and the origin of the phenomenon is said to be traceable far back in time. Among many others, Horace Walpole’s Castle of Otranto from 1764 could be mentioned as an eminent example of horror-comedy in literature. The French thinker Voltaire, as reported in the preface to the second edition of the novel, considered intolerable the “mixture of buffoonery and solemnity” presented in the story (12). Moreover, as also noticed by Carroll, despite its long life and its recurrence within different media, the genre of the horror-comedy has gained increasing prominence in huge as well as independent cinematic productions during the last decades. Zombieland (2009) and Shaun of the Dead (2004) are just two among numerous examples that could be recalled here. These two films, for example, employ a typical horror setting, namely a zombie apocalypse, to elicit comic amusement from their audience. Carroll’s analysis of movies as such aims to show that the fast succession of horror and humour within a film is not theoretically unsupportable inasmuch as the two states present profound and constitutive similarities, which will be presented and discussed throughout this thesis.


However, since the two emotional states, as theorised by the American philosopher, are so intimately connected, it strikes that their common occurrence is always presented and imagined as not simultaneous. In fact, as the author writes, “[o]ne aim of this genre [the horror-comedy], it would appear, is to shift moods rapidly - to turn from horror to humor, or vice versa, on a dime” (Carroll, Horror and Humor 145). According to Carroll then, horror and humour can cohabit

the same fictional world within the same movie, though they always remain stark oppositions. Following Carroll’s theory, however, also allows to bring into discussion the possibility of the coexistence of horror and humour. In fact, on one hand, such coexistence strengthens and integrates Carroll’s intuition, showing the deep interconnection of the two emotional states and on the other hand, it offers useful insights to discuss the multiple rhetorical possibilities proper of the medium cinema itself. In order to initiate the discussion that supports such claim, David Lynch’s filmmaking has been chosen for its peculiarity. David Foster Wallace provided a definition of the adjective “Lynchian”, he wrote that it “refers to a particular kind of irony where the very macabre and the very mundane combine in such a way as to reveal the former's perpetual containment within the latter.” (A Supposedly Fun Thing That I’ll Never Do Again 146). This definition helps to understand the strange nature of the filmmaking of the director, which is founded on a presentation of stark oppositions, in order to provide new interpretations of them. Therefore, the cinematic style of the American director represents a perfect candidate insofar as it employs expressive techniques that push to extreme the conceptual possibilities of the medium. Lynch’s movies, in fact, are structured around paradoxical narratives and conflictual representative solutions on several levels, generating profound incongruities that work together with and within the movie’s text. The difficulty raised by a fictional representation delivered in such way allows the spectator to have a special film experience, which essentially consist of an epistemological crisis. The reality of this crisis is testified by the enormous and diverse literature that Lynch’s cinema has produced, often leading to opposite and seemingly incompatible interpretations.

The controversy of the vast literature that Lynch’s work has generated is indeed the main reason that led to the choice of his cinema as the case study of this thesis. In fact, when reading about Lynch’s films, one of the first things that captures the attention is the high degree of diversity among the several interpretations proposed in the attempt to theorise his work. According to many scholars and critics, humour and horror are intended as necessary elements to discuss Lynch’s cinema, even though rarely the two states are both considered within the same analysis. On the side of humour - in addition to Wallace - it can be mentioned Slavoj Žižek’s text The Art of the

Ridiculous Sublime, in which the Slovenian author writes that “in a paradigmatically post-modern

way, these scenes [of Lynch’s movies] are simultaneously comical, provoking laughter; unbearably naive; and yet to be taken thoroughly seriously” (3). At the same time, Eric G. Wilson in his text

The Strange World of David Lynch writes already in the preface that “Lynch, through his use of

irony, unsettles cogent and often stifling ideologies and throws viewers into irreducible ambiguity” (viii). Both authors, among many others, suggests to bring into discussion the conflictual nature of Lynch’s cinema and its essential irony in order to produce a compelling

interpretation of it. However, no one of them couples these features with the equally present horror of Lynch’s films. Indeed several commentators have individuated the essential horror of Lynch’s cinema as the theoretical point from which the interpretation of his movies should begin, though leaving the humour of such films undiscussed. For example, as Steven Jay Schneider writes at the beginning of his article The Essential Evil in/of Eraserhead, “I will attempt to show how

Eraserhead relies upon formal and thematic techniques familiar within the horror genre in order to

engender its uncanny effect” (5). Similarly, Samantha Jane Lindop's article The Influence of the

Gothic Novel on David Lynch’s Mulholland Dr. finds a direct connection between the ancestor of

horror as literal genre - namely the gothic novel - and Lynch’s cinema. In her text, Lindop provides interesting hypotheses supporting the idea that Sheridan Le Fanu’s novella Carmilla and Lynch’s

Mulholland Dr. share profound analogies.

Even though these texts show that Lynch’s films have been vaguely discussed in terms of humour and horror allowing to speculate in that direction, the first part of the thesis aims to revise Carroll’s independent theories of horror and humour in order to provide a precise and successful application of such theoretical framework to the director’s oeuvre. The operation has a twofold function. On one hand, it discusses and reviews Carroll’s work, showing how the philosopher’s theories of humour and horror are indeed applicable to Lynch’s cinema. On the other hand, the application presents the peculiar manner in which Lynch plays with the essential features identified by Carroll in an original way. This moment is of seminal importance inasmuch as Lynch’s productions, at first sight, are not clearly identifiable as proper comedies or horror movies. Confronting such initial difficulty, the first and the second section show how these films are structured in a way that follows the rules established by both genres, allowing the spectator to actually experience both emotional states in the terms established by Carroll.


Finally, the third chapter discusses those specific moments in which horror and humour seem to become equally valid interpretative solutions. This operation has a twofold meaning as well. On one hand, it is an application of Carroll’s theory to a specific context that has been left undiscussed by the author himself, functioning as an additional evidence for the reliability of the theory - or at least for the intuition on which it is based. On the other hand, it provides the opportunity to highlight a special expressive possibility of the medium cinema, mainly individuated in Lynch’s cinematic style. The director, in fact, is not the only one who employs such rhetorical operation in order to immerse the spectator in this particular film experience, however, especially in the context of mainstream cinema, this kind of practice happens to be quite uncommon. Such topic, due to its subtlety and peculiarity requires a keen reflection upon its functioning.

Horror and the Monstrous

A Preliminary Remark

In his text The Philosophy of Horror, Noel Carroll defines a theory of the “cross-art cross-media genre” (12) of horror, which will be here applied to Lynch’s audiovisual productions in order to understand and analyse their horrific components. The first striking point that has to be mentioned is that at the very beginning of the introduction Carroll accounts David Lynch as one of the “specialists in the horror/fantasy film” (3), though the director is not even briefly discussed elsewhere in the whole text. The reason for this lack of explanation resides probably in the fact that the theoretical framework proposed by the American philosopher needs to be clarified to fit Lynch’s particular filmmaking style. In the attempt to provide such clarification, the first part of this chapter analyses and evaluates the main features of Carroll’s theory, while the second part considers them in relation to Lynch’s cinema.

However, once presented the reason that initiates the discussion, it is necessary to make a preliminary remark, namely the explanation of the distinction between “art-horror” and “natural horror”. In fact, the central focus of Carroll’s text, as well as the concept analysed in this chapter in relation to Lynch’s films, is not the general notion of “horror”. For example, it is not relevant to notice that it is possible to describe what the Nazis did as horrible, neither that the prospect of an ecological disaster is horrible (Carroll’s examples). Such applications of the term have to be understood as occurrences of the notion of natural horror, which is not relevant to this analysis. Conversely, the issue at stake is the meaning of the term “horror” when, for example, used to answer the question: what kind of book is The Shining? (Carroll’s example as well). Such specific understanding of the term is identified by the label art-horror, which is defined as a “cross-art, cross-media genre whose existence is […] recognised in ordinary language” (Carroll, The

Philosophy of Horror 12). More specifically, it is claimable that “horror takes its title from the

emotion it characteristically or rather ideally promotes; this emotion constitutes the identifying mark of horror” (Carroll, The Philosophy of Horror 14). Even though it must be pointed out that not all genres are identified according to the emotions they elicit from their audience, art-horror can be considered as the emotional state defining the genre in this specific case. Indeed, Carroll himself founds his analysis on the assumption that:

members of the horror genre will be identified as narratives and/or images (in the case of fine art, film, etc.) predicated on raising the affect of horror in audiences. Such an analysis, of course, is not a priori. It is an attempt, in the tradition of Aristotle’s Poetics, to provide

clarificatory generalizations about a body of work that, in everyday discourse, we antecedently accept as constituting a family. (The Philosophy of Horror 15)

The aim of this chapter then is to account Lynch’s movies as possible “members of the the horror genre”, evaluating the peculiar manner in which the essential features of art-horror are displayed in his cinema.

Carroll’s Theory of Art-Horror

The starting point of Carroll’s analysis is the assumption that “horror novels, stories, films, plays, and so on are marked by the presence of monsters” (The Philosophy of Horror 15). Right after this claim, the philosopher adds that “[f]or our purposes, the monsters can be of either a supernatural or a sci-fi origin” (The Philosophy of Horror 15). Even though this point may seem unquestionable, there are some problematic consequences that first need to be made explicit and then discussed. According to the given definition of horror, movies such as The Silence of the Lambs (1991) have to be considered not belonging to the family. Even though it is totally right to label Jonathan Demme’s probably most horrific film as thriller or crime drama, it would sound awkward to preclude the possibility to label it as horror as well. On this account, it is worth noticing that Carroll’s book was published one year before the release of The Silence of the Lambs so it was impossible to bring it into discussion. However, Carroll, trying to solve such classificatory issue, briefly comments the movie in his subsequent article Horror and Humor. The philosopher writes:

Hannibal Lecter is arguably only a psychotic - albeit one unprecedented in the annals of psychiatry - rather than a monster. So, if you are disposed to classify The Silence of the

Lambs as a horror fiction, you may balk at the correlation between horror and monsters.

However, there is an easy way in which to adjust the correlation so that it accommodates Hannibal Lecter and his peers. It merely requires the recognition that the psycho-killers one encounters in the relevant popular fictions are not really of the sort countenanced by

contemporary psychology, but are actually creatures of science fiction, though in these cases we are dealing with science fictions of the mind, not the body. (148)

Carroll’s proposal is clear and effective, though ultimately unsatisfying. Indeed, it is common knowledge that characters such as Norman Bates of Psycho (1960), Leatherface of Texas Chainsaw

Massacre (1974) and Jame Gumb of The Silence of the Lambs were inspired by real serial killers,

Ed Gein first of all. Moreover, it is quite a hasty move to claim the absolute science-fictional quality of the nature of this sort of characters. The risk is to sound too assertive about issues that are not directly our concern, namely the verisimilitude of a psychopathology. Therefore, defining the

monster only on the account of its science fictional or supernatural qualities seems erroneous and unreliable.

Fortunately, there is a more powerful instance within any horror film on which monstrosity can be founded. Such instance is the specific relation that the antagonist establishes with the other characters within the fictional universe of the representation. The importance of such relation is indeed acknowledged by Carroll himself, though the philosopher discusses it for different purposes. Trying to establish a theoretical difference between the monsters of art-horror worlds and the monsters of, say, fantasy worlds, Carroll writes that “what appears to demarcate the horror story from mere stories with monsters, such as myths, is the attitude of characters in the story to the monsters they encounter” (16). Then this first part of the chapter suggests to use the same parameter not only to differentiate between horror monsters and non-horror ones, but also to consider it as a general rule to define the monstrous in horror stories.

This theoretical strategy, however, could produce further remarks as well. For example, taking into consideration characters such as Polyphemus and Shelob, it is difficult to avoid the tremendous fear and horror that they produce in the protagonists. Though, at the same time, labelling the Odyssey or The Lord of the Rings as horror stories seems quite mistaken. To this extent, the only safe theoretical position seems to claim that, even though fear and in certain cases horror are evidently present in these fictional universes, the narration of the events is not developed under the dominance of these emotional states, which represent only a quite limited section of the whole story. In fact, monsters are those characters that push the social, moral and rational limits established by the norms of the fictional universe itself. Therefore, they have to be perceived as dangerous, repelling and horrific by the other characters, and such feeling of horror has to be the main element around which the narration of the events and the entire universe of the story are constructed. According to these new parameters, it is now explained why within the universe of, for example, Star Wars the character of Chewbacca is not an art-horror monster even though it “looks exactly like the sort of thing we would expect to find in a werewolf movie” (Carroll, Horror and

Humor 149). In addition, this theoretical position explains why within the same Star Wars universe,

there are also creatures that elicit a feeling of horror from the other characters and, arguably, from the audience as well. A simple example is the monster Sarlacc, inhabiting the Great Pit of Carkoon. Surely, Star Wars as a whole is not classifiable as horror, though some horrific features can be found in it to define the essential feature to art-horrify an audience. Therefore, after this discussion it is possible to claim that the monster is an essential feature of horror, though the aspect that ultimately defines it as such is the attitude of the “positive human characters” (Carroll, The Philosophy of

However, it is clear that the attitude of the positive human characters is not the only necessary condition that individuates the figure of the monster. Therefore, it is worth to consider two other examples, which negatively illustrate an additional consideration upon the nature of art-horror. In

Scary Movie 2 (2001), an even too obvious parody of the most famous horror movies, there is a

scene in which two “positive human characters” are running from an apparently threatening undead skeleton (an obvious example of monster). However, only one of the two has seen the creature and the other runs only assuming the state of danger according to the mate’s behaviour. When they seem to be left with no chance of surviving and the “monster” reaches the two terrified girls, the one that has not yet seen the skeleton stops suddenly to scream and rebukes the other girl for being scared just by “bones”. Even though the entire movie is overwhelmed by its comic tone, it is only in this precise moment that the scene fully reveals its comic nature. Any possible chance for horror is totally swiped away as soon as the characters recognise the “monster” as incapable of harming them. The opposite scenario, again in a comic context, can be found in the low-budget saga of the merciless Killer Tomatoes. In these movies too, the comic effect is generated by mocking the long lasting horror tradition, though in an almost opposite way to the Scary Movie’s gag. In this case, in fact, the “positive human characters” never acknowledge the undoubtedly inoffensive nature of their antagonists, even though for any viewer the “monsters” of these films happen to be just regular tomatoes. Quite obviously, the paradoxical scenario leads to more or less predictable comic situations. These two examples show that in order to produce art-horror there must be a parallelism between spectators’ and characters’ reactions.

As Carroll puts it “no specific physical state represents a necessary or sufficient condition for a given emotional state” (The Philosophy of Horror 25). In other words, the claim means that the emotional state art-horror, as any other emotional state, is not fully explainable in its physical aspects but that it is made clear only if coupled with its cognitive elements. Carroll writes that “[e]motions involve not only physical perturbations but beliefs and thoughts, beliefs and thoughts about the properties of objects and situations” (The Philosophy of Horror 26). Simply put, characters and spectators have to think that situations and monsters are dangerous and scary in order to be horrified. Therefore, the fictional representation needs to instil such ideas in the spectator and show that they are rightly shared with the characters. The suitable device to accomplish such task ultimately is the plurality of elements that constitute the narration precisely in the exact way in which it is delivered.

Art-horror has been described as the emotional state provoked by horror stories in their audiences. However, if the theorisation of the genre only relies on the reaction of the viewer, its

definition becomes a matter of pure subjectivity. In order to escape the charge of relativism, Carroll writes that “rather than characterising art-horror solely on the basis of our own subjective responses, we can ground our conjectures on observations on the way in which characters respond to the monsters in works of horror” (The Philosophy of Horror 18). To put it simply “the emotive responses of the audience, ideally, run parallel to the emotions of characters” (The Philosophy of

Horror 17). This assumption certainly doesn’t represent an indisputable theoretical position,

however it is counter-proved by the two examples previously mentioned. The feeling of horror provoked by the most terrifying monster imaginable would be considerably reduced if related to a “positive human character” who didn’t fear it at all. On the other hand, the most scared “positive human character” would never be enough to horrify an audience if the threat was something completely harmless such as a tomato. In a way, this theoretical position can be said to explain the reason why some horror movies age so bad. In fact, even though horror is supposed to be their emotional core and the characters in the story are terrified by the monsters, after some years the affect of their monsters on the audience happens to be sort of the same intentionally produced by the Killer Tomatoes.

According to what has been said so far the monstrous serves the functions of eliciting fear from the audience as well as from characters within the story (creating a correspondence with spectators’ emotions). Moreover, it has been said that this structure has to represent the emotional core of the whole movie in order to be properly labelled as art-horror. These conditions are necessary to define horror though not sufficient. In fact, fear is not the only definer of the monstrous.

Following Carroll, another essential element is produced by the observation of the precise reaction that the monstrous elicit from audience and characters. In fact, the philosopher gathers some examples from literature and cinema in order to claim that:

character’s affective reaction to the monstrous in horror stories is not merely a matter of fear, i.e., of being frightened by something threatening. Rather threat is compounded with revulsion, nausea, and disgust. And this corresponds as well with the tendency in horror novels and stories to describe monsters in terms of and to associate them with filth, decay, deterioration, slime and so on. The monster in horror fiction, that is, is not only lethal but— and this is of utmost significance—also disgusting. (22)

According to this claim then, another important property of the monstrous has to be considered, namely the fact that the reactions of characters and audience have to run parallel not only on the account of being scared but also of being disgusted. To this extent, it is now possible to accommodate another unavoidable title in the horror genre without further hesitations, that is,

Roman Polanski’s Repulsion (1965). As Jennifer Barker writes “Repulsion draws us in with a caress, but that caress quickly becomes a repulsive smear. Repulsion insidiously invites us to get close […] only to horrify us when those images begin to slither, creep, and erupt with things we’d rather keep at a distance” (The Tactile Eye 48). An essential component of the film is indeed disgust as, for example, the progressively rotting rabbit in the living room of the mentally unstable protagonist testifies. The horror of the movie stems mainly from this indissoluble property of the film. However, the feeling of repulsion is not unilaterally directed towards a monster and perceived by the positive human character. In fact, the disposition of these elements is more complex than this, inasmuch as the scared and disgusted positive human character happens also to be the monster of the film. Catherine Deneuve’s controversial character happens to be both victim and offender in the particular narrative of this masterpiece. Spectators are somehow confused here, because they feel fear and disgust together with the protagonist in some moments, while in other moments they are scared and disgusted by the same character. The eminent ancestor of this peculiar disposition of art-horror elements is probably Lovecraft’s short story The Outsider, in which the protagonist narrates in first person his attempt to escape from a dark dungeon. The description of the dark and unknown rooms builds up the tension and horrifies the reader and the protagonist up to the moment in which the protagonist presumes to be face to face with the monster, though he is only indeed horrified by his own reflex in a mirror. In this case, the positive human character with whom the reader’s reaction runs in parallel in terms of fear and disgust is also the monstrous generator of horror. These two examples perfectly show that the display of disgust and fear in art-horror is not always unilateral and that the source of such emotions and the positive human characters with whom spectators should share such emotions are sometimes overlapping. In this sense then, it is understandable why it seems more appropriate to think of the monstrous as a property of the representation as a whole, rather than a a quality solely identifiable in a singular charter.

The last essential feature of the monstrous, which carries out a twofold function, is individuated in its indescribability. According to Carroll, what ultimately makes monsters terrifying and disgusting is the fact that they are undefinable. Their elusiveness can be analysed on two levels. At the first level of analysis, it appears that monsters are never completely explained. Something about their origin, nature, reason and so on always has to remain unsaid. Sometimes, it is simply the fact that monsters are never fully portrayed, emerging from the darkness or appearing in a reflex for a brief moment. On a more abstract level then, monsters are said to be indescribable because of their conceptual impurity. Indeed, they are always characterised by presenting one or more transgressions of established conceptual categories. The most common conceptual confusion that monsters

represent is the dyad dead/alive, a confusion of which vampires, zombies, mummies, ghosts and so on are obvious exponents. Carroll briefly summarises what it has been now explicated writing that “monsters of horror […] breach the norms of ontological propriety presumed by the positive human characters in the story” (Philosophy of Horror 16). However, not to fall in a conceptual loop, it must be said that the confusion of categories is something ultimately established by the norms within the movie. As Carroll specifies the relevant ontological properties are those presumed by the positive human characters. In a movie such as Ridley Scott’s Alien (1979), there are some features that could be considered transgressions of categories, for example the fact that the characters are awaken from a cryogenic state similar to death at the beginning of the film. These elements, however, are perceived as normality by the positive human characters, therefore they are innocuous in the universe of the movie and cannot horrify them or the spectator. On the other hand, the figure of the alien represents a transgression of the normality established by the movie inasmuch as the creature seems to be more intelligent than humans, but also to have a more aggressive biological equipment. In other words, it conceptually strikes as a very intelligent brutal beast. Therefore “the norms of ontological property” are established solely within the fictional reality of the movie, even though they necessarily have to resemble our world and our human conceptual categories to some extents.

In conclusion to the first part of the chapter, the theory presented can be summarised as follows. First of all the monster is considered an essential feature of horror. The monster, however, is not always a creature which the other characters try to avoid. In fact, as the examples of Repulsion and

The Outsider show, sometimes monster and protagonist can be the same character, even without

losing any of the essential qualities that classify them as such. To this extent, the monstrous has been taken as the classificatory element for horror movies, rather than the monster. The monstrous then has been characterised as the feature that allows the running in parallel of the response of both spectators and (at least some) characters. Such response has to present fear, threat and danger as well as disgust, revulsion and nausea. Moreover, the monstrous is defined by its essential

indescribability that functions on two levels. One level is represented by the hidden nature of the monstrous and its elusiveness, while the other is represented by the conceptual confusion that the monstrous constitutes, putting into tension mental (as well as social, moral and cultural) categories.

Art-Horror in Lynch’s Cinema

The second part of the chapter applies the previously sketched theoretical framework to David Lynch’s cinema in order to show how the director creates uncommon horror films, which, however, present all the essential features that allow to classify them as art-horror pieces.

Some scholars, for example Steven Jay Schneider, have already noticed that “Eraserhead relies upon formal and thematic techniques familiar within the horror genre” (The Essential Evil in/

of Eraserhead 5). More precisely, this author thinks that the analysis of the movie would be

incomplete without the discussion of its “manifest horror” (5). Even though the horror of

Eraserhead is said to be manifest, its discussion is not so intuitive. In fact, all the elements proposed

in Carroll’s theory appear in this movie, though deconstructed and recombined in an original way, which make their analysis more difficult. Disgust, for example, a feeling that helps to create the art-horror emotional state, is omnipresent in the movie. Quite at the beginning of the story there is a scene where Henry (John Nance), the protagonist, cuts a chicken for dinner and the dead animal starts to bleed and move awkwardly. The event obviously generates distress in Henry, though it seems to remain unnoticed by the other fellow dinners, as it was just a dream or a fantasy. Already at this point then, it is understandable that Lynch’s narrative universes are not homogeneously composed and what is terrifying, distressing and disgusting for some characters might be not for others. In other words, the peculiar display of art-horror elements proper of narratives such as

Repulsion and The Outsider is push to the extreme in this film.


A comparison of two scenes can clearly demonstrate the employment of this technique in

Eraserhead. One scene that produces great disgust and fear is the titular one, in which Henry gets

beheaded by a phallic creature, similar to his son, sticking out from his neck. To this extent, the

monstrous seems to be identified in this creepy half-human being, insofar as it represents a threat to

the protagonist. Moreover, the most disgusting element among the several of the movie is certainly the sick creature that plays the role of Henry’s child. The creature also becomes more and more revolting throughout the story, reaching the peak towards the end of the movie, when it starts screaming, bleeding and producing disgusting materials. In this scene the dying son of Henry actually liberates all its horrific power and Henry retreats in a corner refusing to watch, as we would expect from any other “positive human character”. However, an important difference has to be mentioned here, namely the fact that Henry is the killer in this situation, while the creature plays the role of the victim. In fact, it is Henry that causes the death of his child, stabbing him with a knife. Therefore, Henry and his son form a perfect duo of a horror movie, presenting all the necessary essential features, though it is impossible to tell who is the real monster. Is it the infanticidal Henry or the half-human revolting creature?

According to Carroll’s theory, threat and disgust are supposed to be generated by the same character, namely the monster. However, as the example of Repulsion has shown, this is not always the case. The horror effect produced by Polanski’s film is indeed twofold. On one hand, spectators are brought into the protagonist’s sick view on reality, the view of a paranoiac and psychologically unstable person. The anxieties of the protagonists are indeed a rich source of horror visions in the film, for example the nightmarish and creepy hands coming out of the walls trying to catch the terrified woman. On the other hand, the protagonist is the real origin of the threat for other “positive human characters”, inasmuch as she ends up killing two men. Something similar happens in

Eraserhead and very often in Lynch’s cinema. In fact, the presence of some sort of threat is

anticipated already in the very first shot of the movie. A close-up of Henry portrays him in an expression of terror, staring at something that remains unrevealed off screen. Even though, the precise origin of the threat is (and to a large extent will remain) unidentified, the emotional state that the shot suggests is extremely clear. Another moment that reinforces this idea is the already mentioned titular scene. In this nightmarish sequence the spectator is confused in many ways, though what seems to be clear is that something bad might happen to Henry. The danger perceived by Henry and the audience is made clear by Henry’s unsettle fingers moving and his subsequent decapitation. The same happens for the feeling of disgust in the dinner scene. In fact, the disgust comes from a meal instead of a monster and only Henry and the spectator perceives it, however the scene unquestionably adds some power to the emotional core of the film. Therefore, the film actually presents the essential features of the monstrous, in terms of disgust and threat. Moreover, it establishes a parallelism between characters’ and spectators’ emotional responses, though it does so recombining all these elements in a more complex scheme than the unilateral display proper of the most common horror films.

The third feature of the monstrous is considered to be indescribability. As it happens for threat and disgust this notion too appears as part of a more complex structure and it is not unidirectionally identifiable. At first sight, the creepy creature presented as Henry’s son might be regarded as the character that brings the feature of indescribability into the film. In fact, the creature is never fully shown and always covered by bandage. Even more relevant then, the creature puts into relation the categories of human and inhuman, looking as a beast or an alive object but being considered as a human by the other characters. However, the real indescribability and categorical confusion is not only contained in it, rather it is an actual property of the entire movie. As Jason Southworth notices “Eraserhead, much like other films of its type, is comprised of both literal and metaphorical imagery. However, upon watching this film, it becomes apparent that Lynch made a deliberate effort to blend the two together. In other words, Lynch employs a cinematic tactic that

makes it hard (and sometimes even impossible) for the viewer to tell the one from the other” (In

Heaven Everything Is Fine 191). The conceptual confusion in Eraserhead is not only expressed by

the uncommon or illogical nature of a character, the conceptual confusion works indeed within the very structure of the movie, becoming its defining element. As it happens in many other Lynch’s movies, the feeling of confusion is encountered by the viewer not only due to the dark, gothic, obscure and mysterious scenarios but even more evidently by the development of the movie itself, which constantly leaves something unsaid and often presents incompatible sequences. All these features suggest to interpret Eraserhead as an unconventional horror, which represents the

monstrous and its qualities as properties of its very structure.

The same kind of technique is applied in other Lynch’s films that don’t take place in fantastic and irrational universes. Among the possible options, Blue Velvet (1989) is probably the one that presents all the elements of art-horror in the most linear way. In fact, starting with the identification of the monstrous, it is clear that it mainly resides in the sadistic and psychotic character of Frank Booth (Dennis Hopper).

The repelling quality of the character can be seen in many of his actions. First of all, the way in which Frank treats the female character Dorothy Vallens (Isabella Rossellini) is an unquestionable source of disgust, especially the sexual rituals to which the woman is forced by him. However, another scene can be considered the highest expression of the disgusting quality of the character, the one in which Frank Booth puts on some red lipstick and begins to kiss the defenceless Jeffrey Beaumont’s mouth (Kyle Maclachlan). It is interesting to notice that, while the usual line delivered by Frank is “don’t look at me!” - a detail that allows to speculate about the indescribability of the character - this is the only occasion in which he says “look at me!”. While Frank usually wants to hide his nature, according to his status of monster, this is the only situation in which he uses his figure not only to scare the other characters but also to disgust them. As Frank was aware of his repelling nature, he exploits it to become even more horrifying.

Another trait that defines Frank as the monster is his terribly dangerous nature. While the protagonist, during the development of the story, gets progressively closer to Frank, he is informed by other characters about the threat that he will face. In fact, there are several moments that introduce Frank and his world as dangerous even before Jeffrey actually meets him. Even before Frank appears, Jeffrey is instructed by his aunt about the part of the city that should be avoided, the one in which Frank operates. Afterwards it is the time of Sally’s father, the police detective who warns Jeffrey against continuing the investigation. And again the characters of Sally and then Dorothy tell Jeffrey that what he is doing is extremely dangerous. So, even before Jeffrey and the

spectator meet Frank, the character is already surrounded by a dangerous quality that forewarns the horror. Finally, seeing the character in action leaves no doubt about his dangerous nature. In addition to this, it should be noted that monsters in Carroll’s theory are defined according to the relation they establish with other characters. Therefore, the twisted criminal Frank Booth becomes even more terrifying in relation to the quiet people living the seemingly perfect neighbourhood in which the story takes place.

Indescribability then is another feature of Frank’s character. For example, he appears almost only during the night, he imposes to Dorothy to turn off the light before having their perverted sexual intercourse and, as already said, he repeats several times the line “don’t look at me!”. Moreover, Frank’s obsessions and actions remain totally unexplained. To mention two of them, Frank breathes nervously using what appears as an oxygen mask and he is obsessed with blue velvet, to the extent that these elements play an important role in his sexual and sadistic rituals. The indescribability of the character is also expressed in the categories he puts into tension. He is portrayed as a cruel criminal as well as an emotional music lover, moved by Dorothy’s singing. As Michael Atkinson writes “though he [Frank Both] stands as one of the most horrifying characters in film history, he in nonetheless torturously, miserably human” (Blue Velvet 45). Despite his monstrous nature Frank seems to reveal some very human qualities, such as the impossibility of feeling pleasure and satisfaction, the appreciation of music and the will to regress to the infancy, longing for protection and consolation. The monstrosity of Frank then is similar to the one of Norman Bates and Hannibal Lecter. These characters are monsters because they create confusion about the notion of human. In fact, there are no supernatural explanations for their actions, they are shown as other human beings, though they do things that the spectator needs to consider inhuman.

The last film brought into discussion is Lost Highway. As the others discussed, this movie presents all the features of art-horror, though, as in Eraserhead, their disposition in the story is not linear. Therefore, it is necessary a specific analysis of the movie in order to understand its horror.

The qualities of the monstrous, similarly to what the discussion of Eraserhead has shown, are partly individuated in the protagonist himself and precisely in its being split into two separate entities played by two different actors. The repelling quality of Fred Madison (Bill Pullman)/Pete Dayton (Balthazar Getty) is made explicit in the famous scene where the identity of the protagonist suddenly changes. The transformation is portrayed in a very physical way. The head of the character moves unnaturally and starts to bleed and to lose pieces of flesh. The last image of the transformation sequence is a horrible wound opening up while the camera seems to disappear inside

it, fading to black. In this scene the character of Fred Madison/Pete Dayton completely reveals his being monstrous presenting his disgusting nature.

The feeling of threat is also not unidirectional because it is partly perceived by the protagonist himself who, however, could even represent the danger, inasmuch as it is not made clear wether Fred actually kills his wife or not. In fact, the protagonists receives a videotape showing him covered with blood next to the dead body of his wife. In this scene the protagonist plays the role of killer, though he seems nauseated and horrified at the same time. The feeling of danger is again clearly present but the spectator cannot be sure either someone is threatening Fred or Fred is actually the threat. As it happens for the disgust, the feeling is perceived by the spectator in parallel with the character but also the character is the source of such feeling. However, it is only with the transformation that Fred role of monster becomes clear. Not only does the way in which the transformation is portrayed produces a sense of disgust but also it conceptually allows to interpret the character as monstrous. In fact, the unexplained switch of personality brings into play the other two elements of art-horror, indescribability and conceptual confusion.

In the second part of the story, the character of Pete Dayton functions as a substitute of Fred, he lives a more or less normal life, but something obscure seems to haunt his past. On a general level, the second part of the movie creates a narrative universe very similar to the previously mentioned The Outsider. There seems to be something unsayable about the protagonist and his quest leads only to the revelation that he is indeed the monster. Pete/Fred form together a monstrous being also because of the conceptual categories that they put into tension. The violation of the distinction between self and other is pushed to extreme levels since they are recognised as separate beings within the universe of the film and presented as one at the same time. To this extent, Lost

Highway can be considered an example of conceptual horror. In fact, it presents all the features that

have been identified as constitutive of the genre, though they work more on a conceptual level rather than an aesthetic one. The monster, for example, shows its disgusting nature only in the transformation. During the rest of the movie, we are left with a conceptual monster, which repels the audience due to its ontological inconsistency, rather than its appearance.

In conclusion the discussion has proved the presence of essential features of art-horror in Lynch’s cinema. The analysis could go much deeper and also be extended to other movies. However, it is sufficient to categorise these films under the label art-horror. Next section will delve into Carroll’s theory of humour and then consider how the theoretical framework applies to Lynch’s cinema.

Humour and its Incongruities

Function and Origin of the Concept of Incongruity

It’s extremely difficult to provide an unmistaken and complete discussion of humour because the phenomenon seems to involve personal, cultural and endless context dependent features. In fact, for example, a joke that makes people laugh in Europe might not be understood in China and vice versa. At the same time, as the so called inner jokes demonstrate, a particular type of humour can function only in restricted groups of people. However, these groups of individuals can be much bigger than a couple of lovers or a circle of friends from the same high school. Communities that appreciate a specific type of humour can even extend transnationally as the development of the particular humour of the internet community shows. Considering all these variables can help us to understand subtle and internal differences within the vast topic of humour, though it doesn’t ultimately provide enough material to build a theory. The definitive parameter that separates what is regarded as comic from what is not seems to be the previous mental state in which the subject happens to be when he or she encounters the supposedly comic situation. This is particularly interesting in the discussion about humour in movies, because the temporal dimension of film can help to create the right mental state in which the spectator can appreciate the humour of a certain scene. Despite the intent of a movie, however, the most ironic scene might not produce comic amusement if watched in an inappropriate moment and there seems to be no way to completely theorise such relativity. What appears to be extremely functional then, even though not completely resolutive, is the notion of incongruity, since its generality offers a common base on which it is possible to create a discourse that applies to every occurrences of humour, without creating a too limiting definition that fails to describe some particular situations.

Historically, the theory has its inception in Francis Hutcheson's reaction to Thomas Hobbes’ superiority theory. While Hobbes thought that laughter was only a brutal sign for acknowledged superiority towards someone or something else, Hutcheson pointed out that such perceived superiority does not always take part in situations of comic amusement and that comic amusement does not arise solely from perceived superiority. More reliably then, Hutcheson wrote that “generally the cause of laughter is the bringing together of images which have contrary additional ideas, as well as some resemblance in the principal idea” (Morreall, The Philosophy of Laughter

and Humor 32). This could be said to be the basic formulation of the theory. To this extent, it should

appear clear that - as Hutcheson's notorious remark to Hobbes goes - we don’t laugh at oysters even though we could ostensibly perceive our superiority. On the other hand, a guy coming out from a

pet shop with an oyster could be a possible idea for a comic gag. Here the oyster is somehow funny because it is obviously not an usual pet, though it resembles to a certain extent the principal idea, since it is classified under the kingdom animalia after all. Moreover, the oyster can be said to lack all the requirements that a pet should have (cuteness, beauty, exotic fascination or usefulness), instead it is commonly considered food. An example that clearly shows this point can be found in the seventh episode of the tenth season of the famous series The Simpsons. The subplot of Lisa Gets

an A develops around Homer and his new pet, a lobster. Such incongruity is the generator of many

gags in the episode, whose humour stems from the fact that the lobster is nurtured and nourished as a pet. In this sense, it is understandable that the incongruity perceived is not a property of only one term, but it is a property that the term acquires when put in relation to at least one other. Therefore, it can be claimed that the object of the emotional state humour is a perceived incongruity generated by the juxtaposition of elements in a certain situation.

Simply put, the notion of incongruity will be considered a necessary but not sufficient feature of humour. Therefore, acknowledged these premises, it is now possible to delve into Carroll’s version of the incongruity theory in order to understand the main elements of humour and then apply such theoretical framework to the selected case.

Carroll’s Revised Incongruity Theory

The fundamental points that describe a viewer in a state of comic amusement are: a) the mental state of the viewer is a perceived incongruity; b) such incongruity is regarded as neither threatening, nor anxiety producing nor annoying; c) the subject doesn’t approach the perceived incongruity with problem-solving attitude; on the contrary, d) the perception of the unsolved incongruity arises some sort of enjoyment and levity in the subject. In the following paragraphs I analyse these four points, making some necessary remarks, while in the second part of the chapter I propose their productive application to Lynch’s cinema.

As already said, the notion of incongruity is very vague, therefore it is difficult to provide an univocal definition. However, it can be claimed that the strength of this concept is precisely its generality. In fact, a certain degree of incongruity seems indeed to be present in every comic situation, though always displayed in peculiarly different manners. Basically, incongruity is a particular notion that our mind can establish only if a mental state defining what is considered to be congruous is given. In other words, the concept of incongruity works because in any given moment a viewer has a more or less conscious perception of what is - or at least should be - normal. According to this evaluative state of mind the viewer can consider a certain experience as either

congruous or incongruous to his/her idea of normality. In this sense, the perceived normality has to be taken in its broadest meaning, involving every different aspect. Just to give an example, a scene in which a man asks another man “what time is it?” and the other replies “orange!” could be considered an incongruity inasmuch as it would not be expected, since it violates norms established by common sense and syntax. Similarly, a scene where a man accidentally drops his watch, which, however, doesn't fall to the ground but instead flies away, could be perceived as incongruous inasmuch as it breaks our expectations based on our experience and the rules of modern physics. Therefore, incongruity has to be generally defined as the idea that something is not in compliance with someone’s expectations. Understood in these terms, the notion of incongruity can explain even those cases that Carroll himself proposes as examples in which the notion is not applicable to analyse humour. In fact, the philosopher writes that:

The kind of incongruity that the theory identifies as the quiddity of humour requires structure - a structure against which opposites, extremes, contrasts, contradictions,

inappropriateness and so on can take shape. But not all comic amusement would appear to require this sort of structure in order to be effective. Sometimes we laugh at pure nonsense - a funny sound, perhaps, or a dopey expression, like "see you in a while, crocodile” - where no explicit or implicit foil of the sort the incongruity theory presupposes can be specified (no contrasting category or concept or norm or expectation). (Horror and Humor 154)

Even though this claim might seem reliable, a deeper reflection would show indeed that “a funny sound” or the expression “see you in a while crocodile” can produce comic amusement - if it is admitted that they can do so - precisely due to their unexpectedness, which is Carroll’s last mention. The structure against which the sound and the expression reveal their incongruity - as well as their humour - is what we expect to be the regular stream of the events. In other words, the sound is funny if it is perceived as slightly inappropriate to the situation, though not to the point of being disturbing, threatening or alarming. This can be individuated as the reason why a joke, or a sound or even the expression “see you in a while crocodile” can be regarded as funny the first time that they are heard, but their repetition usually loses the original effect, to the paradoxical point that an obsessive repetition of a funny riddle can generate horror. In this sense, it is enough to think of the well known “all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy” printed on paper hundreds of times in Kubrick’s horror masterpiece The Shining (1980). Therefore, incongruity is indeed a fruitful starting point for a theory of humour, because, as it has been suggested, the ultimate structure against which it is possible to perceive any degree of incongruity seems simply to be what a human mind regards as normality. In other words, inasmuch as we have an idea of how things should be in their normal

condition, there seems to be always a chance for humour and, as it will be suggested in the third chapter, for horror as well.

Carroll’s second point deals precisely with this distinction, stating that, in order to generate humour instead of horror, it is necessary that the incongruity is perceived as non dangerous nor annoying nor anxiety producing. Since this discussion pertains only to how horror and humour as emotional states are generated by fictional audiovisual productions and not how they function in real life, these notions become extremely subjective and context dependent. In fact, every spectator knows that the images moving on screen are fake, however, as the paradox of fiction theorises, some can affect us to the point that we might even look somewhere else or scream, even if we should always be aware of the fictional nature of those images. For example, a spectator could perfectly understand the comic purpose of the last scene of the previously mentioned Shaun of the Dead, where the protagonist plays a video game with his “zombified” friend, however, if the spectator was totally afraid by zombies, he/she might not regard the scene as comic. Subjectivity also represents the main problem in detecting what could be considered to be an annoying incongruity. In a scene of Ace

Ventura: When Nature Calls (1995), the eponymous character played by Jim Carrey is driving a

Jeep in the savannah. His head moves awkwardly bouncing in every direction, producing the impression that the vehicle is moving on a rough route. However, when the camera moves back revealing that he is driving on a common paved street, we understand that those weird head movements are just another extravagance of the character. Even though the scene’s intent obviously is to be comic, some spectators, considering Jim Carrey’s acting style too excessive, might perceive the scene as annoying. Finally, in regard to anxiety producing incongruities, it should be pointed out that a certain degree of anxiety is sometimes a fundamental component of humour. In movies such as Death at the Funeral (2007) or There’s Something About Mary (1998) the sequences of unfortunate events which the characters have to go through are sometimes so tense and so shameful for some of them, that these movies can be said to produce considerable anxiety. Even though they tell the whole story in an obviously comic tone, the fast pace at which the accidents happen and connect with each other reminds the slapstick comedy of the masters Buster Keaton and Charlie Chaplin. These great artists made use of anxiety and tension in their works, even though such feelings were clearly not the emotional core of their movies. Among numerous examples, Keaton’s

The Boat (1921) can be recalled here. In this short film that basically represents a shipwreck the

sequence of events evolves around the protagonist’s attempt to save his family and himself just before finding out that they are sailing in a less than one meter deep sea. In light of this discussion, it seems that it is a safer theoretical position to assume the general idea that the incongruity has to

be perceived without negative connotations in order to produce comic amusement. In other words, even if humour can involve disruptive elements, they have to be ultimately regarded as innocuous by the viewer.

Carroll’s third point discusses the attitude that the spectator has to assume in order to be in the emotional state of humour. This is a fundamental point inasmuch as it explains why the response to a movie can change in multiple viewings. Whereas we didn’t get the humour of a film we might get it years later, as well as re-watching a movie that didn’t scare us at first can be a terrifying experience in a different situation. According to Carroll then, humour should not be approached with problem-solving attitude in order to be enjoyed. The application of logical thinking is necessary solely to the extent that the spectator understands that humour is somehow illogical. This seems to be the reason why jokes should never be explained. In fact, in a certain sense, jokes cannot even be explained. An explained joke is not a joke anymore but it becomes nonsense. In other words, the incongruity, in order to be regarded as comic, must be accepted in its incongruous nature. Therefore, humour seems to exist at best in its being ambiguous and unresolved and in order to perceive it as such, the spectator has to approach it knowing that there will be no explanation. An obvious example that shows this point can be found in Mel Brooks’ Young Frankenstein (1974). In this hilarious parody, Dr. Frankenstein’s nephew (Gene Wilder) is helped by the hunchbacked and bug-eyed servant Igor (Marty Feldman). An ironic feature of Igor is that his hump, whose existence Igor himself continuously denies, inexplicably changes position from scene to scene. The reason for such extravagance though is never provided in the story. The spectator that approaches the hump gag trying to logically unpack its meaning or expecting to find out the explanation of the fact would not experience the emotional state of humour, which, as it has been said, requires to be approached without problem-solving attitude.

Finally, Carroll’s fourth point addresses the sense of levity that humour should produce. Humour is intended by Carroll as a liberation from the constant application of reasoning that life requires. In fact, as it has been said already, humour functions on its being ultimately unexplained. The lack of an explanation, however, is not comic per se. The spectator has to approach the scene in a certain way, namely without trying to logically unpack its meaning. The enjoyment then is generated by the bare presentation of unreasonable elements. Representing a transgression of mental categories and being somehow beyond logic, however, has been said to be a trait characteristic of horror as well. In fact, it is of utmost importance to remember that a leap into a realm that accepts illogic in its structure can be scary for some but it can also be regarded as comic by others and produce a feeling

of levity. To put it simply, an essential definer of humour is the attitude of the viewer towards a specific representation. A movie, presenting a certain number of incongruities, can employ many different techniques to give rise to humour, however, the definitive element that creates such state is the spectator’s way of approaching those incongruities. To conclude, after this brief discussion, humour should be intended as the perception of an incongruity that makes the viewer enjoy facing his/her human cognitive limits, which ultimately reflect his/her specific cultural and individual background.

David Lynch’s Humour

Presented the main features of Carroll’s version of the incongruity theory with some small additional remarks and some examples, it is time to apply this theoretical framework to Lynch’s cinema in order to understand and evaluate its comic nature. The notion of incongruity has been quite obviously considered dependent on the idea of what one’s mind expect to be congruous and normal. In the particular case of fictional products, however, the notion of normality has a twofold nature. In fact, in the case of cinema, there are expectations that work in relation to the fictional world described within the movie’s text and there are expectations that work in relation to the movie as object, according to the genre, the year of release, the company of production and so on and so forth. As already touched upon in the first chapter of this thesis while discussing the notion of the

monstrous, the idea of what is normal and what is not in a movie is dependent on the rules

established by the movie itself, which ultimately resemble - to a certain extent at least - the rules that communities have established outside the fictional universe. Considering some examples from Lynch’s cinema it will show how these two levels of expectation give rise to two types of incongruity, which can be distinguished inasmuch as they operate on different planes. On this account one typology of incongruity is regarded as intra-textual and the other as extra-textual. In the following paragraphs it will be shown how these two different typologies of incongruity are present in Lynch’s cinema.

The Straight Story (1999) is a film directed by David Lynch and produced by Walt Disney Pictures.

It narrates the story of the elderly Alvin Straights (Richard Farnsworth) who decides to go visit his brother Lyle one last time, though the only way possible to do that is driving for several miles his lawn mower. At a certain point during the journey, Alvin happens to meet a woman on a desert highway, who has just accidentally killed a deer with her car. When the nice old man asks kindly if he might be of any help the woman replies with a rude “no, no one can help me!”. The woman then starts to complain desperately about the fact that the same accident happens incredibly often and

none of the preventative measures she adopts seems able to avoid the weekly repetition of the tragedy. Moreover, there seem to be no trees or other plants from which the deer can unexpectedly come out and be killed by the woman’s car. In fact, looking at the desert land the woman incredulously asks “where do they come from?”. The incongruity of this scene is all contained in the scene itself. The previously perceived normality that gives rise to the perceived incongruity is understandable just following the movie’s text. In other words, the incongruity is displayed on the level of the story insofar as, for example, it is incongruous that the woman impolitely replies to Alvin, who wanted to help her. Also it is incongruous that there are deer coming out from nowhere, which get weekly killed by this same woman. Therefore, these features can give rise to the emotional state of humour in the spectator and the incongruities that constitute it are found within the movie’s text.

A similar intra-textual incongruity can be also found, for example, in the strange world of

Eraserhead. In the already mentioned titular scene a kid brings Henry’s dropped head to an office

where it will be absurdly turned into an eraser for pencils. The sequence is illogical and incoherent on many levels, however, it presents one of the most classic gags of the history of cinema, which displays the incongruity again on an intra-textual level. When the kid with Henry’s head enters the office, there is only a man behind a desk. As soon as the man notices the kid carrying the head, he starts ringing a bell which actually makes a “a funny sound”. The man, saying nothing, keeps ringing the bell and staring at the kid for some time, until another man suddenly opens the door pointing his finger to the first man and shouting extremely bothered: “Ok, Paul!”. Even though, the entire movie presents several incongruities working on several planes, this simple gag is built on an incongruity that just puts into relation elements within the movie as text. In fact, the two characters can be seen as a quite typical couple of clowns, whose juxtaposition is the essential element of many comic scenes. The first man represents the so called Auguste while the second one is the so called White Clown. As it happens usually and in this scene too, the foolishness of the former generates the madness of the latter and together they create a perfect comic gag.

The extra-textual incongruity, however, is more complex and works when an element of the movie’s text is put into relation to another element of the movie as object. For example, in the road movie

Wild at Heart (1990) there is a scene where the two protagonist lovers discuss about smoking.

When Lula (Laura Dern) asks Sailor (Nicholas Cage) when he smoked for the first time, he takes a small pause and replies “I guess I started smoking when I was about... four. My momma was already dead then from lung cancer”. The incongruity of this answer is not internal to the movie. In fact, due to the extremeness of Sailor’s character, to which we have already been acquainted at this