[FEATURE ARTICLE] MASTERS OF THE UNIVERSE: REVELATION, THE BRILLIANCE OF SCAREGLOW

MASTERS OF THE UNIVERSE: REVELATION, THE BRILLIANCE OF SCAREGLOW

3/8/2021

Here, fear is used as a meditation upon itself: Scareglow might seek to induce dread and despair for their own sakes, but, for the characters and wider story, those confrontations are necessary for healing and transformation.

Masters of The Universe: Revelation, The Brilliance of Scareglow
[feature article by george daniel lea]

Fair enough; you might say that I'm stretching the bounds of what constitutes horror with this one, but, in my defence, the new Kevin Smith-authored Netflix release of Masters of the Universe: Revelation does include an entire sequence involving – the wonderfully hokey-named- Scareglow, a character played by none other than the Candyman himself, horror-legend Tony Todd. Besides which, this present-day resurrection of the classic 1980s toy and cartoon franchise represents a “growing up” thereof in almost every respect, not least of which in terms of what it is prepared or able to portray:

As well as introducing genuine stakes, psychological depth and character complexity, the show includes multiple scenes of sincere horror. Forced to delve into the Hellish depths of “Subternia,” a realm of the dead not unlike the Greek Hades or even the Christian Hell, our heroes are encountered by Scareglow, a character that boasted a toy in the original franchise but barely featured in any original media at all (certainly not the iconic Filmation cartoon). Despite this, he has long-exercised a certain fascination with fans, owing to one -likely poorly-worded- entry in a single comic book from the late 1980s, in which he as described as “. . .the evil ghost of Skeletor.” This, along with his obvious resemblance to old bone-bonce, has led fans to speculate that he may in fact be a future, undead incarnation of Skeletor pulled back through time by arcane chicanery. This factor has been incorporated into various different lores and timelines that have come after, with some establishing that this is indeed the case whereas others have expanded into other arenas (in the Masters of the Universe: Classics mythology, Scareglow is actually the son of Skeletor and right-hand Evil Lyn, who, following in his Father's foortsteps, finds himself cursed by the power of Castle Grayskull, bound to it as a sort of spectral guardian forevermore).

Quite what side Kevin Smith's work comes down on is open for debate, as the character makes reference to these potential origins without coming down on any one side. If anything, what Smith has done is taken this oft-neglected but much-beloved character and re-imagined it for the present day:

Far from being merely just another villain for the heroes to defeat, Scareglow is more of a force of nature; the presiding lord of Subternia, and therefore a kind of Hades or Plutonian figure: He rules over the dead of Eternia that, for whatever reason, failed to make to the celestial realm of Preternia, feasting on their fears, dreads and neuroses (he describes himself at one point as a “. . .collector of curios”). In this manner, not only does he provide an excellent basis for some superb horror set-pieces, but also allows the characters to directly confront the dreads and neuroses that plague them.

Take, for example, protagonist Teela, who has been in a state of anger and denial since the series' opening (which sees not only her best friend destroyed but her life come crumbling down around her as secrets are revealed that turn her assumptions upside down and inside out). Scareglow hurls her headlong into those fears, manifesting them around her and forcing her to confront them directly. In this, he is not trying to aid her, rather wishes to parasitically feast on her doubt and dread. She is confronted not only with the avatar of her dead friend and ally, He-Man, but also with a shade of herself; the naïve but steadfast woman she once was. This allows her to see who and what she has become, but also who and what she needs to be in order to do what she came to do, providing the means for her to confront and conquer what has plagued her since Prince Adam's untimely demise.

Likewise, comic-relief character Orko is presented with a vision of his home-dimension Trolla, in which he was regarded as little more than a joke: born to a species that is naturally magical, Orko became a disgrace to his parents and family name when he couldn't even master basic conjurations without them going -often spectacularly- awry. This is the fundamental fear that Scareglow confronts him with: his own lack of self-worth, his embarassment at being one of the few Trollans that can't master magic and be as his parents demanded (as Evil Lyn puts it in one of her more heartfelt moments: “...that sounds like your parents talking.”).

Of course, this being a new adaptation of a much-beloved 1980s kid's toy franchise and cartoon, none of the imagery presented is overtly horrific, though the trek through Subternia and the various nightmare-scapes Scareglow conjures are framed in such a manner that they are meant to elicit dread and fear.

Rather, they stand as an example of how the tropes, themes and subjects classically redolent of horror can be found anywhere and in almost any medium. Masters of the Universe: Revelations is in no way unique in this regard; any number of children's cartoons and toy franchises -both classic and recent- boast similar qualities. Take, for example, the 1990s show Mighty Max, a cartoon based on the toy line of the same name, whose episodes generally drew inspiration from numerous horror, mythological and science fiction archetypes, from vampire stories -notably gruesome, for its era- to brain-eating aliens from outer-space B-movie fodder. Or, in more recent examples, the various Nickleodeon adaptations of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles franchise, which boast various homages to horror, ranging from Cronenberg's The Fly to Carpenter's Big Trouble in Little China.

What makes the Scareglow sequences in Masters of the Universe: Revelations notable is not only their deftness and significance to the overarcing story, but the manner in which they encapsulate what horror manifests at its most ideal:

Here, fear is used as a meditation upon itself: Scareglow might seek to induce dread and despair for their own sakes, but, for the characters and wider story, those confrontations are necessary for healing and transformation. Protagonist Teela cannot function or put down the baggage of her past without the experiences Scareglow provides; without facing her fears and acknowledging them for what they are, she is doomed to failure. Likewise Orko, a character who -up to this incarnation- has been nothing but comic relief: here, his cartoon-buffoonery is revealed as the source of his despair and lack of self-worth; his dread of ridicule what he ultimately has to assimilate and transcend so that he can fulfil his true potential. This leads to an almost zen-like condition in which he matches his -dubious- magic against that of Scareglow and ultimately wins out, even though it means his self-sacrifice.

These sequences stand as microcosms of what horror can be and do when it is allowed to swell beyond the assumptions of genre and proscription: the experience of dread, fear, repulsion -as induced by art or fiction-, whilst visceral and worthwhile in that regard, also serves to place us in a condition whereby we are more pliable, open and exposed, able to confront and work through what most distresses us in ourselves and the wider world. Through those experiences, we are able to grow beyond assumed contexts, become broader and more comprehensive human beings. Those of us who make a habit of experiencing horror in that manner know this well; we often emerge from our consumptions of disturbing or distressing material shuddered, unsettled but also transformed. We actively seek it out; the fictional experiences that touch the raw nerves, the barely-healed wounds, that dare to violate us in the most intimate and traumatic fashions. Far beyond the assumptions of wider culture, this is not merely a prurient love of the deviant or a momentary thrill (though horror can readily incorporate that experience, too). Rather, it is deeper, more profound and traumatic: an experience that, at its most heady, resonates for days or even weeks after, working its slow metamorphoses in our minds and souls until we emerge newborn on the other side.

Whilst the Scargeglow sequences of Masters of the Universe: Revelation are primary-coloured, cartoon-overt exaggerations of that phenomena, that they are examples at all is noteworthy; evidence of how the show attempts to take the hokey, “saturday morning cartoon” ethos of the original show and reimagine it for an audience that is now in their adulthoods and demands more complex, challenging fare. They serve as a synthesis of the principle that can be found throughout horror in various forms and sub-genres: that what we fear, what we dread, can also be a pathway to transformation, even a kind of redemption (as in Orko's case).

Taken on a purely technical level, the sequences stand out as some of the most brilliantly written, framed and animated in the entire show, the sense of threat Scareglow and the environment of Subternia elicit pronounced and tangible, the character himself a strangely threatening Hades or Pluto-analogue who has a quality of near-omnipotence within his nightmare realm, but is revealed as being akin to a nightmare himself: something that has power over us only insofar as we allow it.

That he is the trial that the protagonists must face before opening the way to Preternia (effectively a form of Paradise or Eden) echoes certain mythological templates and traditions in which it is often the case that heroes must pass through the annealing process of being broken down, brought to states of uktimate disgrace, before they can truly ascend to new heights.

In that, Masters of The Universe: Revelation demonstrates how horrific tropes and subjects are part and parcel of such storytelling traditions; the most fundamental and ancient humanity is able to identify, and which recur throughout our works and media, no matter how far removed or complexified by time and shifting contexts from their original incarnations.

There is a universality to much of the storytelling in the show; a post-modern reimagining of myths we are all familiar with (in this, it echoes the likes of the Marvel super hero films and comic books in general). Nowhere is this more true than in Scareglow, who is one of the principle threats and obstacles the protagonists face during a journey that is as much spiritual as actual.

Beyond a superbly chilling performance by Tony Todd (more than redolent of his Candyman role), some superb design and animation, the reimagining of Scareglow as an avatar of fear itself, a demi-god of dread, is a superb one, and demonstrates how even material as -ostensibly- unlikely as 1980s toy and cartoon franchises can become the basis for deeper and more enduring discussion.