IT: CHAPTER 2 THAT SCENE (NO, NOT THAT ONE).

Stephen King is no stranger to controversy regarding his work. The original novel of IT has been publicly dissected on numerous occasions for a variety of scenes and images (not least of which is a fairly infamous one involving minors engaging in sexual activity), but rarely to any great or lasting furore.
 
King has also been consistently criticised -not least by himself- for his portrayal of LGBTQ characters, who have a tendency to either be victims or monsters in his stories.
 
The novel IT features a particular sequence in which a gay couple are stalked by a gang of homophobic inbreds who ultimately assault the pair, killing one of them and leaving the other near dead. The scene has courted a great deal of controversy from various circles, in that the only expression of homosexuality within the book involves violence and murder, the only LGBTQ characters it features living up to the stereotype of “victim” that is often applied to our demographic (albeit not without cause or real life inspiration).

​Regarding the novel, I've always powerfully disagreed with the consensus: whilst it is questionable that the only LGBTQ characters in the book ultimately end up beaten and murdered, the scene is not disrespectfully rendered; the gay guys are not stereotypes or cartoon characters; they are just a couple out for a night of fun. Meanwhile, the homophobic characters are also rendered realistically, the resultant violence paying of mythologically, as this is the catalyst for the entity known as Pennywise stirring after its decades-long hibernation and convalescence following its defeat by “The Losers Club.”
 
The scene functions in context and warrants itself within the wider work, not only serving as the catalyst for Pennywise's return but also emphasising the aura of negativity that envelopes Derry as a result of its presence (or that allows it to subsist here. The novel is somewhat unclear on that point).
 
The 1990s TV adaptation wisely chose to omit the sequence, as it serves little purpose within that particular adaptation and would likely have been little more than an exercise in shock value, choosing to make Pennywise's return quieter, more subtle and consistent, with ex-Loser Mike realising that the entity is back thanks to the escalating disappearances of children throughout the city.
 
When I heard that the follow up to the 2016 adaptation of the book's first half was going to include the sequence, I felt a degree of apprehension. Not only is the sequence incredibly dark and distressing, it is also based on an actual event; a homophobic assault and murder that occurred in Derry when King was a younger man, that stuck with him and filtered through into his writing. 

There are so many dangers inherent to attempting to render this kind of material, a powerful onus on the creators to warrant its inclusion, to make it pay off and maintain meaning for the wider film. Without that, it runs the risk of not only being tonally inconsistent or baffling but outright offensive and execrable. As with all sensitive subjects or materials, ranging from rape to child abuse, from homophobia to racism, if creators of any stripe, in any medium, are going to include or explore them, they immediately come under immense pressure to ensure they do so meaningfully, respectfully and with sincere degrees of earnestness. These subjects should never, never be treated lightly; they are powerful, profound and meaningful and therefore need to be explored with sincerity. If the creators can't manage that or are hamstrung by other pressures or concerns, then they should simply jettison the effort entirely, rather than risk creating something ill-conceived, incongruous and potentially distressing in all of the wrong ways.
 
This is a particular bug-bear for the horror genre, which does, sadly, have a history of treating such matters with a degree of lightness or lassitude that renders the works in question suspect or morally execrable. Homophobia specifically has historically been rampant within the genre, with LGBTQ characters all too often portrayed either stereotypically or in the hideously limiting category of either victim or monster. Either that, or the genre simply pretends we do not exist, and that everyone on Earth is sexually and romantically cut from the same cloth to the same template.
 
Thus, there is something of an onus on present day creators within the genre to buck that trend, to at least acknowledge the existence of LGBTQ characters etc. in a manner that does not reduce or diminish us as the genre traditionally has.
 
You can therefore imagine my apprehension when I sat down to watch the film. From what I'd seen in trailers, interviews etc, I had high hopes: whilst the first film had some questionable decisions (reducing Beverly to “The Damsel in Distress” at the film's climax, taking the role of town historian away from Mike and giving it to Ben), the overall experience was one of the more positive I've had at the cinema in recent years, certainly regarding mainstream, big budget horror, the adaptation just the right side of distressing and comedic, adapting the book in such a manner that captured its essential ethos whilst removing some of its more problematic elements.
 
There is a phenomena not unique to LGBTQ audiences but quite particular to us when we witness scenes like this: whilst I will not presume to talk for every audience member as though we're part of some hideous, homogenous whole, common experience often results in similar reaction: there is a visceral, powerful jolt, like a physical blow, a sudden projection, in which we place ourselves and our loved ones in the places of the victims. We may even recall situations in which we have experienced something similar or feared that we might, in which we genuinely feared for our lives, not knowing how far our assailants were prepared to go.
 
It therefore becomes something more than just a sequence of brutality and violence; it becomes intimate, it becomes personal, powerful and emotive, in the way that good cinema should be.
 
The sequence is well rendered; atmospheric, beautifully shot and established, the characters clearly defined and recognisable. There are a few issues of stereotyping that, interestingly, do not exist in the original novel, in which the imminent victims throw some fairly eye-rolling sass back at their assailants, but nothing to write home about.
 
Then, the violence happens. It is tonally unlike anything that happens in the previous film, which is not necessarily a bad thing: my initial reaction was one of pleasant surprise, in that it felt as though they were using the scene to demonstrate that the film has moved on from the previous instalment, grown up in the same manner that the Losers Club have. This made me extremely excited for the rest of the film, which I hoped would hit a similarly dark and serious tone, perhaps exploring some of the themes that are present but fairly subtle in the original novel.
 
Nothing of the sort, sadly.
 
The rest of the film is so tonally removed from this opening scene, it could have been cribbed from another project entirely. There is nothing that even comes close to the level of brutality, grit, dirt and human excrement that occurs in this scene. Nothing even close. If anything, the rest of the film plays out like a fairly light horror comedy, with every “scare” punctuated by a gag or visual joke, the film affecting an air of lightness that, if anything, is even more pronounced than in the first instalment.
 
Furthermore, the opening sequence is barely even referenced after the fact. It has no mythological significance or plot closure, as it does in the original novel, rendering it not only incongruous but fairly redundant (here, it is fairly clear that Pennywise is already awake and active when the murder occurs, meaning there is no reason for it to happen).
 
There are positive elements here, the soul of a good film straining to rise through the mire, but it is smothered, almost aborted, by the layers of -clearly studio imposed- jump scares, visual gags, cushioning, highly questionable decisions in editing, writing, characterisation that occur throughout.
 
Beyond the innate problems that the film suffers from -and there are plenty-, that opening sequence absolutely murders whatever positive impact or impression I might have taken from it. Its inclusion, its existence, renders the film not only tonally inconsistent but morally execrable. 

As previously mentioned, as a creator in any medium, if you choose to explore such subjects, then it must be done with a degree of respect and sincerity; it needs to have freight and meaning and wider significance to the story being told. Here, it is simply a matter of shock value and establishing a false sense of tone that never recurs throughout the entire running time. It becomes a sake of shock value for shock value's sake, utilising something innately resonant and “triggering” to elicit reaction that has no wider significance in the rest of the film. Far from carrying that sense of distress and disturbance over to the following scenes, the effect is one of tonal whiplash; the jocular, horror comedy ethos of the rest of the film jars massively and traumatically with the opening scene, which has the effect of confusing and frustrating, rather than arousing in the ways the film makers obviously intended.
 
Regarding the jocular tone the rest of the film hits, cushioning the opening sequence with scenes immediately after that are replete with verbal and visual gags serves to diminish its significance but also dilute the wider concerns and situations it highlights: the fact of the homophobic assault -and murder- is treated as though it's nothing very much, when all is said and done; a matter to be forgotten while we get on with reacquainting ourselves with The Losers in their adult incarnations, which is all well and good, but, given that the subplot isn't even referenced hereafter, begs the question: why include it at all?
 
If you happen to watch the film from beginning to end and cut out that opening sequence, skip directly to Mike calling each of the former Losers in turn and reminding them of their oath, nothing has been lost. Absolutely nothing. The return of Pennywise is established more consistently in scenes that follow, his preying on children specifically becomes more consistent (his presence at the riverside during the opening sequence is somewhat baffling), the film becomes more tonally consistent (though not entirely).
 
There are several other sequences in which this tonal up and down recurs: one that fans of the book will be familiar with, the suicide of Stan Uris; a scene that, once again, tonally and emotionally, doesn't belong here. Stan's suicide is well rendered, believable and emotive, but is, once again, cushioned by surrounding sequences that are infested with gags and jokes that simply don't fit, that serve to render not only the scene but the subject of suicide itself insignificant.
 
Later, Pennywise is depicted preying on several children in fairly graphic manner, scenes that are distressing and hideous by measure of their nature and subject, but which, once again, lead from or into sequences of jocular japes and silly horror comedy, rendering these moments baffling in terms of their true vileness and lacking in the weight they should ostensibly have.
 
Nothing and nowhere in the film's running time hits the same level of despair and degradation as that opening sequence. Nothing has the same sense of weight or gravity. As such, the film peaks far, far too early, but also fails to capitalise on the emotional promise it establishes here, rendering the scene baffling in its incongruity, pointless in its sheer nastiness, akin to including a scene from Jacob's Ladder in a Friday the Thirteenth film or a scene from Seven in The Evil Dead; it just doesn't fit, doesn't work and serves to diminish both itself and the wider film. 

Let me be very clear here: this is not an argument for censorship. I happen to loathe censorship in all of its forms. Nothing in terms of subject is off the table or out of the question when it comes to media exploration, especially in storytelling. As a matter of fact, all forms of trauma, abuse, human horror, are essential to explore in these arenas as a means of coping with them, of working through them on both a personal and cultural level.
 
However, as previously mentioned, if creators wish to explore subjects such as assault, rape, abuse, homophobia, racism etc, they need to earn it, to treat the subject matter with gravity, sincerity and as something worth exploring. Here, there is nothing beyond the superficial violence or the fact of entrenched homophobia, nothing that relates to the wider mythology or story, nothing that warrants this scene existing and certainly not in such graphic, lurid, tonally inconsistent form.
 
One might conceivably make the argument that the sequence, along with others, feeds into the wider mythology King draws of Derry, in that the creature simultaneously feeds and sustains off of the air of negativity and indifference to atrocity that hangs over the town. And that would be a significant point, were it not for the fact that this film completely abandons that particular factor of the back mythology and barely explores it at all. It certainly draws no significance between the opening murder and that phenomena, subtly or otherwise, whereas the book most certainly does.
 
Here, the moment floats free in its own strange mire of confusion and inconsistency; it has no reason to exist, no wider significance or commentary upon the subjects it portrays and serves to actively murder the rest of the film, which becomes morally dubious as a result of its inclusion.
 
IT: Chapter 2 thereby becomes the strangest of phenomena; a work that is subtly homophobic not by dint of any ideological intention but through its sheer ham-fistedness, its lack of restraint or respect for subjects that it hasn't earned the right to portray or explore.
 
There is a wider commentary to be derived from this regarding authorial and creative responsibility, the onus that automatically becomes ours when we presume to explore these matters in our work. We presume to set up territory in the minds and imaginations of others; to alter and reform the abstract landscapes in which others sustain inside their own heads. That is a supremely powerful and profound responsibility; to ensure that we take care of that territory, that we shape it with care and concern, not with frippery or disregard.
 
This factor is emphasised to the power of N when dealing with traumatic subjects such as rape, abuse, assault etc; consideration is essential, but there is precious little of it here, such that this may go down as one of those rare films that leaves more than a last bitterness on culture's palate as time passes. 

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