REVISITING HALLORANN: THE DOUBLE KILLING OF DICK HALLORANN IN STANLEY KUBRICK’S THE SHINING

1/11/2022

If you are going to kill the man, fine, drive that ax through his heart. But Kubrick first stripped him of his wit and wisdom, made him care about this white family more than he cared about his own (whom we never seem to learn about), and had him sacrifice himself without hesitation.

Revisiting Hallorann: The double killing of Dick Hallorann in Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining

By Tamika Thompson

The first time I watched Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining with its on-screen killing of Dick Hallorann, I felt deeply offended. So offended I shouted at the screen, “Give me a break,” as I sat cross-legged in my dark living room.

The 1980 adaptation of Stephen King’s novel by the same name is regarded as a classic of American cinema as well as a masterful horror story. It follows the disintegration of the Torrance family—Jack (Jack Nicholson), Wendy (Shelley Duvall), and son Danny (Danny Lloyd)—at an isolated Colorado hotel. Jack, a recovering alcoholic and aspiring writer becomes the off-season caretaker of the Overlook Hotel and settles in with his wife and supernaturally gifted son for the winter. Jack learns of the hotel’s previous caretaker who slaughtered his wife and daughters before taking his own life, and Danny makes a connection with the hotel’s chef, Richard “Dick” Hallorann (Scatman Crothers), who shares the same psychic and telepathic gifts, and introduces the concept of “The Shine” before heading to Florida for the season. As the hotel’s evil spirits slowly mesmerize Jack, and Danny’s premonitions go from unsettling visions to violent paranormal attacks, Danny telepathically sends for Hallorann. Traversing snow-packed terrain in freezing temperatures, Hallorann is undeterred in his quest to help. Meanwhile, the family splinters into hunter and hunted. With Jack determined to kill Wendy and Danny, the pair desperately attempts to escape the snowed-in resort.

As many horror lovers, I came to the film before I arrived at the text upon which it is based. Stanley Kubrick was a celebrated director, producer, and screenwriter, regarded as one of the greatest American filmmakers, and his version of The Shining has held a higher place in the cultural zeitgeist than its source material. It remains the most popular adaptation of the story, and justifiably so. It is visually stunning and disturbing, as are many of Kubrick’s films like 2001: A Space Odyssey, A Clockwork Orange, and Full Metal Jacket. In Kubrick’s hands, the evil forces possessing the very walls of the lodgings are well rendered and frightening.

But as much as I enjoy the spooky girls at the end of the hall, blood gushing from elevator doors, and Wendy discovering that Jack has been writing “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy” repeatedly for the seemingly endless weeks she’s seen him tapping away on his typewriter, the on-screen killing of Hallorann in the hallway of The Overlook shortly after he is telepathically called back has always been an assault to my senses and not in a way that I enjoy when watching horror films.

The “Magical Negro”

In the early 2000s, acclaimed film director Spike Lee, well known for Do the Right Thing and Malcolm X among other celebrated films, popularized the term “magical negro,” thereby calling out Hollywood’s misuse of black characters. Lee explains that magical negroes often possess supernatural abilities and sentimental or obsequious personalities, and their sole purpose is to help the white characters.

The magical negro is a plot device, not a full-fledged person, and can be found throughout American cinema and television. From Morpheus and The Oracle in The Matrix, Bagger Vance in The Legend of Bagger Vance, to more recently Anthony Mackie’s Steve in Synchronic, these characters are useful only inasmuch as they are compassionate, patient, and eager to inexplicably sacrifice their safety, well being, time, and resources to provide opportunities for the white characters—the “real” characters—to survive or become actualized.

Many have argued that Stephen King has this blind spot as well, as several of his book’s black characters, including Hallorann, fall into this category--The Green Mile’s John Coffey, and The Stand’s Mother Abigail, come to mind.

“The Black Guy Dies First”

In addition to the magical negro, there is a trope specific to the horror genre sometimes referred to as “black guy dies first” in which a black character is introduced and killed off for the purpose of establishing the high stakes for the white characters. Think Glynn Turman’s Roy Hanson in Gremlins.

Whether they are offed early or halfway through the film, the insult is not necessarily that they are killed. For a horror movie, kills are among the features audiences tune in for, and white supporting characters die as well. The problem is that black characters are flat and underdeveloped compared to the white characters, and, until recently, supporting roles were typically the only parts available to black actors.

Kubrick’s Dick Hallorann embodies both of these tropes, and the ill feelings about how he is rendered are exacerbated by the fact that—Spoiler Alert!—Hallorann survives in the book and becomes a father-figure to Danny. Not only does Dick Hallorann survive, but he also appears in the sequel, Doctor Sleep, very much alive.

Which brings me to my biggest complaint.

Kubrick’s Hallorann is really killed twice

In both the text and film, Hallorann is well aware of the evil forces at The Overlook. He is the person who firmly warns Danny to stay away from Room 237 (Room 217 in the book). So, when he arrives to help Danny, he knows the danger, not only because he has “The Shine,” but also because the man, a military veteran, who when he was young could hold entire conversations with his grandmother without ever opening his mouth, has common sense.

Yet Hallorann’s appearance during this suspenseful scene is illogical. He clomps through the empty hallway unarmed, calling out, “Anybody here! Hello!” repeatedly. Notice his bow-legged gait, parted lips, open, limp palms, arms dangling at his sides, his broad back in that winter coat. Listen to his accent as he shouts. He is the fourth main character in the film, and yet he is apart. He is an “other.” And apparently foolish. By his own admission, he can see the hotel’s past and future. He knows about the hotel’s homicides. He is aware that Danny is distressed.

Compare the death of Hallorann to that of Sheriff Buster in Rob Reiner’s Misery (1990), also adapted from a King novel. The premise is that bestselling author Paul Sheldon (James Caan) gets into a serious car accident and is rescued by his self-proclaimed biggest fan, Annie Wilkes (Kathy Bates), who holds him hostage inside her home and forces him to rewrite the final novel in his series to keep the main character Misery Chastain alive. To the outside world, Sheldon is missing.

The supporting character of Sheriff Buster (Richard Farnsworth) is a small-town officer whose banter with his wife Virginia, Sheldon’s New York agent, and other characters in rural Sidewinder, Colorado, endears him to the audience. He is tasked with finding Sheldon, becomes suspicious of Wilkes, and arrives at her home to poke around. During the search of her home, he never lets down his guard. It is a tense nine-minute sequence as he peeks around corners, ventures upstairs to check a bedroom, and refuses the cocoa she prepares for him. She has a ready answer for each of his questions, and he doesn’t find Sheldon in the home.

After leaving, and while descending her front steps, Buster hears a loud noise inside the house he’s just left. He turns and runs back inside, but the thing that makes it clear he’s no bumbling fool is that he shouts, “Ms. Wilkes? Ms. Wilkes? Are you all right?” Which is why when he rushes back in and doesn’t draw his gun, it makes total sense. He doesn’t think he’ll find Paul Sheldon. He thinks Ms. Wilkes is hurt. The audience knows the truth—that Sheldon has been drugged, hidden in the basement, and has just come to—but we can still fill in the thoughts in Buster’s mind: Perhaps she’s tumbled down the stairs? Perhaps she tripped and bumped her head? When he is caught off-guard inside and shot to death from behind, it is shocking, and the audience feels for him because he was a smart character outwitted by a calculating evil.

That’s why I yelled, “Give me a break,” on my initial viewing of the Hallorann death scene. If you are going to kill the man, fine, drive that ax through his heart. But Kubrick first stripped him of his wit and wisdom, made him care about this white family more than he cared about his own (whom we never seem to learn about), and had him sacrifice himself without hesitation.

“Magical negro” and “black guy dies first” tropes aside, this removal of Hallorann’s common sense and agency is the first killing of the character. And Hallorann’s double killing is not an oversight. It is deliberate. Seen through the lens of modern horror cinema, with centralized black characters in Jordan Peele’s Oscar-winning film Get Out, this moment in which Hallorann is caught flat-footed in the hallway, where Jack can spring from the shadows and surprise him—surprise a psychic man—remains an offense, an unforgivable one at that.

A future for Hallorann?

There might be a way for Hollywood to make amends. To me, at least. I’ve always felt King’s character would make for a great film or television lead. And it seemed for a while the production would happen, with Doctor Sleep director Mike Flanagan at the helm of a prequel and spinoff centering Hallorann. The plans were reportedly scrapped, but I remain hopeful the production will be resurrected, and that I will one day see Hallorann’s back story, his future story, his untold story. A film or series with Hallorann fully rendered, and wielding all of his natural and supernatural abilities just might be magical. But this time, I’m here for it.

Tamika Thompson

Tamika Thompson is a writer, producer, and journalist. She is the author of Unshod, Cackling, and Naked (Unnerving Books, 2023) and Salamander Justice (Madness Heart Press, 2022). She is co-creator of the artist collective POC United and fiction editor for the group’s award-winning anthology, Graffiti.

Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in several speculative fiction anthologies as well as in Interzone, Prairie Schooner, The New York Times, and the Los Angeles Review of Books, among others. Thompson also has producing credits at Clear Channel Media and Entertainment, as well as with NBC and ABC News.

She received a Bachelor of Arts in Political Science from Columbia
University and a Master of Arts in Journalism from the University of Southern California. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area. Find her
online at www.tamikathompson.com.

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Salamander Justice

Veda is a successful public relations director who recently relocated to Kauai where she is grieving the murder of her ex-boyfriend Michael. Sam is a self-proclaimed vegan-pacifist who is searching for his life’s purpose despite being supported by his wealthy family. The salamanders that populate the Hawaiian island, that sneak into homes, and scurry across footpaths are simply an afterthought.

Believing that Veda is “the one,” Sam introduces her to his family in the hopes that he can turn their friendship into something more, but his plan is thwarted when Veda becomes smitten with his older brother Adam. Strange occurrences befall the trio on the anniversary of Michael’s murder, and as Veda chooses Adam, and as Sam becomes increasingly resentful, the love triangle spirals into a jealousy and anger so strong they begin to question reality.

Is the human-like salamander that Veda sees real or imagined? Is the leathery, yellow stripe growing on Sam's chest just in his head? Salamander Justice asks, Which creatures deserve to live? The answer will prove to be deadly.

Unshod, Cackling, and Naked.

A beauty pageant veteran appeases her mother by competing for one final crown, only to find herself trapped in a hand-sewn gown that cuts into her flesh. A journalist falls deeply in love with a mysterious woman but discovers his beloved can vanish and reappear hours later in the same spot, as if no time has passed at all. A cash-strapped college student agrees to work in a shop window as a mannequin but quickly learns she’s not free to break her pose. And what happens when the family pet decides it no longer wants to have “owners?”

In the grim and often horrific thirteen tales collected here, beauty is violent, and love and hate are the same feeling, laid bare by unbridled obsession. Entering worlds both strange and quotidian, and spanning horror landscapes both speculative and real, Unshod, Cackling, and Naked asks who among us is worthy of love and who deserves to die?