The Shining, and the Horrors of Masculinity
Theatrical poster for “The Shining.”
A few years back, I went to Universal Studios (legally, I’m obligated to remind you that it’s the Entertainment Capital of LA). I didn’t just go to Universal Studios, but instead went to their annual Halloween Horror Nights event, riddled with themed mazes aimed at bringing some of horror’s most recognizable and iconic intellectual property to life. The first year I went, Universal was touting a maze themed to Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining. I feel the need to delineate that it was Stanley Kubrick’s version as anyone who’s read Stephen King’s original novel knows the movie wildly differs from its source material.
In Kubrick’s version, there are plot elements from King’s that are entirely dropped, sequences that are extended, and a plethora of symbols and other directorial devices so bewildering there’s an entire documentary devoted to the interpretation of these alterations (which by the way I cannot recommend highly enough). And yet, my core exposure to the story of The Shining is through Kubrick, and in watching the film for the first time at perhaps too tender of an age (13), I’ve grown to become obsessed with its contribution to the horror genre, as well as its fascinating psychological complexity.
This obsession has been so acute, that in attending Halloween Horror Nights that fateful year, I made my friends wait roughly 2 hours for just a taste of Kubrick’s nightmarish retelling realized in full-scale, tactile glory. And, let me tell you, it was worth it. The design and aesthetics of The Shining are so recognizable, and so iconic, that seeing them blown up into full-scale sets populated with talented scare actors was a dream come true for 13-year-old me. My zeal that night has led to a question that’s taken me years to fully answer, as I realized that I have struggled in the past to pinpoint the nuances of my obsession with The Shining. What is it about The Shining that makes it my favorite horror film of all time?
Danny Lloyd, as Danny Torrance, playing in the Overlook Hotel.
I mentioned previously that The Shining is a film full of interpretive symbols and devices, most of which can be attributed to Kubrick himself, or to his production and art design teams. It’s in these devices that Kubrick perhaps intentionally leaves the meaning behind the film split across multiple interpretations. Kubrick himself was not known to leave things to chance, and was often perceived as aggressively deliberate, however, part of the joy of The Shining is that different audiences can glean different meanings from the film, as its storyline, characters, and points-of-view are some of the most complex, dense storytelling devices utilized within the horror genre.
For me, my personal interpretation of The Shining is why I think I find myself so compelled by it. In many ways, the film seems preoccupied with the horrors of masculinity, and the toxicity inherent in clinging to said masculinity with an ironclad grip. Our heroes suffer at the hands of Masculinity’s domineering presence, and our villain ultimately loses because of it.
The film’s production history lends itself well to this interpretation, as Kubrick was known to be psychologically tortuous to the film’s leading lady Shelley Duvall during filming (in what some believe was an attempt at elevating her performance as the victim of an abusive marriage). As a gay person, I myself have suffered at the hands of masculinity during my teenage years, right around the time I first watched The Shining. In retrospect, I would attribute this trick of timing to my obsession with Kubrick’s masterclass in horror, and its relevance for me to this day.
There are several elements of the film one can look to in order to interpret the film through a gender-based lens, however, there is one specific scene in the film’s second act that represents this interpretation perfectly.
For those who have never seen the film, be warned there will be some spoilers ahead, however, I will try to keep the film’s best sequences a secret, or at least vague, and avoid discussing specific details directly.
Jack Nicholson, as Jack Torrance, stalking his family in the Overlook’s hedge maze.
In The Shining, we follow the struggling writer Jack Torrance (played by Jack Nicholson), his wife Wendy (Shelley Duvall), and young son Danny (Danny Lloyd), as they relocate themselves to the Overlook Hotel, high in the Rocky Mountains. Jack has recently accepted a job as Winter Caretaker for the Overlook, a position needed as the hotel shuts down during the winter months and becomes relatively inaccessible due to the tumultuous winter storms that pummel the grounds. Jack is downright gleeful at the prospect of the solitude the job will give him: “It’ll give me time to write,” he tells his employer with a smile plastered across his face.
However, in the ensuing months, Jack’s writer’s block, in conjunction with the maddening isolation, starts to drive him towards the brink of insanity. He breaks his sobriety, and begins to see visions of former employees and residents of the Overlook, all of whom urge him to murder his wife and son. In the opinion of these specters, Danny and Wendy are actively undermining the Overlook and Jack’s responsibilities as Winter Caretaker, and have to be dealt with.
Meanwhile, Jack’s son Danny feels a connection to these spirits as well, and is told by an employee of the Overlook prior to their isolation that some old places and buildings tend to “shine,” and that people who can sense such things “shine” as well. Perhaps, Danny himself even has this “shining” quality to him.
Do you get it?
As the action of the film escalates, Jack begins to act on the dark impulses the spirits of the Overlook urge him towards, threatening Wendy with violence. In a climactic scene in the film’s second act, Wendy is backed up a stairway by Jack, with only a bat for means of protection. The dialogue in this scene perfectly encapsulates The Shining’s usage of toxic masculinity as a vehicle for fear and horror.
In the scene, Jack mocks Wendy for her genuine concern regarding their son’s welfare, mimicking her with infantile taunts, and accusing her of being negligent of his responsibilities as the provider of the family, and as an employee of the Overlook. Jack’s preoccupation with his commitments to his “employers” and his Gaslighting insistence that Wendy is insensitive to these concerns draws firm gender lines between the spouses.
Jack, as the head of the family, and the male in their sexual dynamic, is in the right, and Wendy, as the woman, is wrong; stupid even by Jack’s description. In Jack’s mind, as a woman, she can’t possibly fathom the weightiness of his tasks, and the enormous pressure he’s consumed by. Additionally, Wendy is also forced to navigate Jack’s verbal abuse with delicate steps, so as not to invoke his anger further to the point of physical harm. At other points in the film, the spirits of the hotel invoke racial slurs, and other derogatory language meant to inferiorize people of color, women, and children. They do so all in service of upholding Jack’s (a straight, white man) status as Caretaker of the Hotel, a title offered up so many times it seems inextricable from a gender-based interpretation of The Shining.
Shelley Duvall as Wendy Torrance, as she desperately tries to escape Jack’s murderous rampage.
Is Jack perhaps referred to so often as “The Caretaker,” that this phrase is meant to imply a certain legacy Jack must protect? Jack, as one of only two straight, white male characters in the film (the other being a ghostly visage of his predecessor in the job) is heralded by the spirits of the hotel as the protector of the status quo, and of the Overlook’s legacy, which itself has a history tied to white supremacy, and the genocide of Native American peoples. The repetition involving Jack being referred to as “the Caretaker” seems to imply a protectiveness of white supremacy, and a fear of marginalization by races and genders encroaching on that supremacy; an anxiety that, regrettably, speaks to many people in America today.
It’s this interpretation of The Shining, my personal reading on the film, that drives my preoccupation with it to this day. It’s common to see white men play villains in horror films, but it’s rare to see them truly scrutinized in this way, and not simply portrayed as a caricature or villainous boogeyman. In recent years, the horror film as a conduit for dissecting progressivism and sociological evils has become more common. But, that may be because of the influence of The Shining, one of the only horror films to tackle so many progressive and equally divisive issues regarding race, gender, and masculinity in one single film. Its influence can be felt in film’s like Get Out, Us, and It Follows, which each tackle certain sociological issues through horror in their own right.
The Shining is unique however, as it addresses the deeply complicated horrors intrinsic with toxic masculinity through a powerful, overbearing metaphor. And yet, it still remains steeped in the trappings of pure psychological horror: ghosts and specters, jump-scares, and gore, making The Shining one of the most singular, and yet classic, offerings I would recommend for a Halloween movie night this October.