Quarantine and What I've Learned from Serial Killers...
Don't worry, I'm really just here to recommend some movies and a book.
It all started with Train to Busan, I guess. I went on a movie binge during spring break—when it was still just a spring break but not an eternal hellhole of lockdown—and I too fell into the trap of “zombie/apocalyptic movies are great for a time like now.”
I think I was about 30 minutes in when I literally jumped off my bed to be away from my laptop screen. I was spamming not one, but two friends.
We had our light on the brightest setting. My roommate sipped her wine and ignored me. Still. I was scared.
Then one thing after another. Suddenly I lived alone in LA. A quarter of online school started and ended. March was 4 months ago.
“Um, do you want to watch a suspense horror with me?”
At that point of the quarantine, besides my parents, I only kept in contact with my two best friends back home. I proposed this unholy lockdown activity to my Rom-Com best friend, not my I’ve-seen-Train-to-Busan-and-meh-it-was-alright best friend.
You know, if I’m about to do this with a time zone difference (meaning: it’s either me or him who’s gonna have to watch this alone at midnight on any given day), I might as well grab someone who would be just as scared as me.
Let me start by saying, this show blew the FUCK up in China this summer. The uncut version of it most likely went against a series of rules of the National Radio and TV Administration, the government agency that controls all of Chinese broadcast media. As a result, the series’ biggest flaw was probably the very rushed-off, cut-up finale. But overall, the official release was still so stunning that many shows of similar themes had since then emerged and attempted to seek the same hype.
It’s not an overstatement to say that 隐秘的角落 changed the stale, unadventurous undertone of the Chinese TV show market.
The protagonists (and antagonists) of this show consist of three kids (two boys, one girl) and one adult. Two of the kids are orphans, they came to the city in hopes of saving the girl’s sick younger brother by finding a sufficient fund. They didn’t have a plan at all other than seeking help from the older boy’s childhood friend. A complete coincidence, the three kids witnessed a double-murder on a hiking trip.
Enter: the adult. Aka the to-be serial killer.
Oh yeah, another thing. The kids didn’t turn that dude in. They apparently saw him as a potential source, somehow the only possible source (in their eyes) for that sufficient fund they needed.
None of the murders was bloody. As far as I could remember, jump scares were rare. A lot of chase/hide & seek scenes though. By the end of the show, there’s no one really to root for—or I guess, you can pick your favorite bad/not-too-bad person and hope they don’t die.
As far as I’m concerned, the plot made sense. If you grew up in the suburbs of Canton, this show felt almost too real and too close to life. It’s not that you’d encounter criminal activities on a per-summer basis. But, sure, summer is definitely a time for crimes in Southern China.
Well, the show that I had just finished makes absolutely no sense—to an extent. Maybe it’s because I’m not Korean?
For some reasons Netflix decided to use “Strangers from Hell” instead of the original AND perfect title, “Hell Is Other People.” I’m not gonna bother dissecting the philosophical background of this title, because I think if you do decide to watch this, you’d look it up yourself—or even better, you’d feel it as you watch the show.
You know how sometimes a movie makes someone feel empty inside afterward? Right, not only did I feel empty inside after just the first three episodes, I felt as if someone had personally scooped out all of my insides, one wooden spoon at a time.
I wouldn’t even say I was ever actually scared at all throughout the ten episodes, I was just very bothered in a horrific way.
It’s a pretty predictable show, but the good thing is that the ending didn't necessarily go towards the most obvious direction. There are a LOT of not important loose ends that could be interpreted as whatever metaphors as you want—unless they’re really prepping for that second season which I really don’t see how but it really feels like they’re gonna do it. The lighting was executed so perfectly that I geeked out constantly while on the edge of my seat. There will be characters that you would really root for even when you really shouldn’t root for them (ugh. He’s SO fucking hot. Seriously.).
The best part? Even though the plot is absolutely unrealistic, you’re going to see shadows of yourself in the two main characters. You’re going to end up questioning how seriously fucked up human beings could become and how the root of evil is quite literally within all of us. And you would quite literally slip into this unescapable hell along with the protagonist, very subtly, bit by bit, no turning point whatsoever, because any point could be the last straw and hell that last straw probably came at the very damn beginning…
I’m a little bothered by how much I rooted for the killer(s) and the rush of adrenaline I felt not out of fear but out of urges. I really wanted some of those people to go out in the most gore way possible. Physically, my stomach said “what the fuck are you doing” but mentally, my mind said “oh this is soul food.”
As we wrap this year up, I think it’s time to analyze my obsession with serial killers.
My favorite book this year was “Helter Skelter,” written by Vincent Bugliosi, the man responsible for successfully putting Manson and his family behind bars.
Remember that week in September when the whole California didn’t have any blue sky but red/orange/yellow ones? Right. It was then when I introduced myself to my new roommates by accidentally failing to set up our Wi-Fi on time and having an overt obsession with Charles Manson. For 10 days, I was mostly quiet (well… not too quiet. I’m… me.), often completely oblivious to what was happening in the apartment unless I really needed a quick rant about how stupid the LAPD was even during the 60’s.
But I wasn’t obsessed with the murders, I’m obsessed with how Charles Manson is the reason why we’re struggling as a country today. The 60’s changed everything. The hippie movement (I’d go ahead and say that was quite literally the white kids’ revolution because they felt left out) along with the Civil Rights movement as well as the Gay Liberation movement, led to the War on Drugs, another era filled with conspired fear, new appreciation for a national identity (*cough* Republicans), and of course, a half-a-century of heightened racism and anti-Blackness blatantly supported by “liberal” and “progressive” legislations and politicians.
I’m being completely honest when I say my biggest takeaway from reading this book was that our police force is literally the equivalence of the gutter. If you live in LA, you’d know that our drainage system is practically non-existent. Absolutely useless. Counterintuitive.
Manson is the only real serial killer I looked into this year. One is enough, seriously. One is enough to let me understand that those very unbelievable, flat-out evil fictional characters could easily be real in this fucked up society—this very society that we all live in.
It made me doubt my own identity. What really sets me apart from psychopaths? What really sets any of us apart from psychopaths?
隐秘的角落 made it clear to me that my childhood was a far more traumatizing one than my own best friend’s, despite we had pretty much grown up together since the age of 13. Manson and his family is a prime example of how society is capable of creating murderous machines from the prime age of 9.
I think the biggest surprise to me was that Hell Is Other People really revealed the positive side of me.
I have considered myself pessimistic for a long time. My dad never thought so. I always thought that was just one way of showing how he actually doesn’t know me that well. But somehow this Korean horror series made I realize, you know what, my parents are scarily accurate when it comes to understanding me, sometimes.
The pressure set on the shoulders of the protagonist was clear from the start, so was his animal instinct. We all have that. When facing the cruelness of reality all alone by ourselves, what could we do? The only option is pessimism. That goes to everybody.
I didn’t have the brightest upbringing story. Sure, there are things that I could definitely brag about. But prior to my new sense of ~independence~ from living in Los Angeles, there were a lot more sad memories than happy ones. I was trained to look down instead of up, expect the worst, embrace the happy coincidences.
And I think the only reason why I turned out ok was my inherent positive outlooks of things. I understand how dire each bad situation could be, I tend to feel helpless on a regular basis. But I know how to carry those bearings, because somehow assuming things could get worse can sometimes be the best kind of positivity when there seems to be no way out.
(I hope that made sense)
I think that’s what kept me sane for 5 months alone in my studio apartment. That’s what kept me sane when the national guards patrolled my college town. That’s what kept me sane when the racist in the white house kept me from seeing my parents and best friends through this entire year.
The world is fucked, we don’t have to be. Congrats to us making out of this year together x
