But its vague presence still wormed its way into my mind somehow, forming the basis of a rare adult nightmare about struggling to escape The Scariest Scene of All Time.
The Abyss
I only knew it by reputation. One of those film scenes reputed to be among the most terrifying, at least to mainstream plebs. The type of infamous scene you usually end up becoming over-familiar with anyway through images, second-hand accounts and hacked-up clips, safely isolated from the context and suspenseful build-up required to get the full impact. Then the ultimate neutering: a meme template.
But for whatever reason, the "scary" scene from The Abyss had avoided that fate, at least in my experience. When it comes to mind one day, I realise I don't actually know anything about it, and that piques my curiosity.
So I look up the clip. Without the context and suspenseful build-up required to get the full impact. I'm not going to watch a whole film. It's not a safety measure or anything.
The screen is pitch black. I know the clip's playing, because there are eerie tones and distant wailing on the soundtrack that I've rudely walked in on. More like the ominous interlude in Pink Floyd's 'Echoes' than the oppressive cosmic choir in 2001. After an indeterminate time, but not long enough to start getting creeped out (thanks, uploader), the blank screen is replaced by a static black-and-white image of Sigourney Weaver's character (oh, I didn't know she was in it), lying deathly pale on her side, staring out at the viewer. Despite her condition, the soundtrack is now fully occupied by a guttural grrrrrrrrroooooooooaaaaaaaaan.
It wasn't that bad, but I'm well aware that I'm not getting the full effect from a YouTube clip, so I can't say I've truly experienced it. And that's motivation enough to actually watch the film, even if I've ruined the ending now. Though knowing that's coming will add suspense in its own right, and who knows, it could be scarier the second time around, once I know her character and everything.
The second time comes around sooner than expected, as the film I've opened on my laptop starts at the same bit. Come on, I don't want to see that again. The eerie tone and wailing continue as the dodgy website and my old computer are slow to respond. I don't want to see it again. Please. Eventually, I manage to stop it, with who knows how long to spare. The blackness evidently lasts a good while and was cut right down in the YouTube clip.
I watch the film from the start. I don't take in much of it, but it's weirder than expected. There's that character who's a disembodied head that crawls around on robot spider legs, for example. Then there's a palpable sense that the craft is plunging deeper into the darkness than advisable and the screen turns black. I prepare myself for the fright, but it's like the film knows I've cheated and isn't going to let me off that easily. In the darkness of my room, lit only by the brighter black of a laptop screen, the disembodied head guy is crawling across my bedroom wall towards me, his face now more ghoulish. I'm not scared of him. I'm scared of what he's got planned for when the darkness is lifted and the groaning starts. Any moment now.
I realise this is another layer to the scene's infamy: people who've seen the film, and know what's coming, playing pranks on their family and "friends" to make the experience even scarier. I suddenly remember something I've got to be doing and close the laptop. The disembodied head guy on my bedroom wall betrays no expression.
You'd think I would have been scared off, but when the light of day banishes childish thoughts of monsters to the shadows, I decide to show someone a scene of the disembodied head guy to see whether he recognises it from somewhere. "It's not the scary bit, is it?" he asks, chuckling, aware of the film's reputation. I confirm that it isn't, but the scene that plays isn't the one that was supposed to.
The black screen is there again, but noticeably lighter grey this time, with subtle interference indicating it's been transferred from an old video tape. This isn't the same version I watched last time. Why would someone go to the trouble of uploading from this obsolete format when the film's widely available digitally? Unless it's not the same.
I decide to stick with it. This sense of fear and discomfort is surely what I was seeking, after all. But I've been cutting it close to when my young daughter might wake up, and sure enough, she enters the room just as the screen illuminates with a bright corpse in the corner of my eye. I shut it off, sparing her the possible lifelong trauma and me a deserved telling off.
We get out a card game to play and I start to shuffle the deck when I'm horrified to spot an image of that scene on one of the cards. The face is different now, closer to the ghastly visage and patient stare of the disembodied head guy, now embodied. I place the card at the bottom of the deck where it surely won't come up in our game. Almost definitely not.
Then I notice the snails. Two baby snails, so light and pink in hue that they were camouflaged against the carpet they're crawling on. My daughter's been bringing gross minibeasts indoors again. I look around and spot another, and another. I walk her out of the room, careful to avoid all the snails, asking why did she bring in all the snails, moaning that I'm going to have to clean up all the snails, yuck.
I know that bit about the snails is a bit of an anticlimax, but that's dreams for you. I hope you didn't skip to the end, you won't get the full impact.
October 2024
