Dr. Steve Jones Talks About His Book Torture Porn: Popular Horror After Saw

Dr. Steve Jones has written a book on a subject few people have examined in depth, though the press and critics have vilified it to no end. It’s a subject that generates enormous commentary but little critical analysis. Jones aims to change that with his recently published first book Torture Porn: Popular Horror Cinema After Saw.

Jones is a senior lecturer in media and cultural theory at Northumbria University in the United Kingdom. His essays and articles on film have appeared in numerous journals and anthologies, including Feminist Media Studies, Literature Interpretation, Animation Journal, and Sexualities. His views on “torture porn” may surprise you.

The term “torture porn” conjures up certain images and ideas, none of them very pleasant. It’s a phrase used by lazy film critics and journalists who don’t want to delve into a movie. When I first heard about Jones’ book through director Shane Ryan (Amateur Porn Star Killer, Romance Road Killers), I thought it would be a project from another journalist who wasn’t going to treat the films with any respect. After reading this very intelligent and well-reasoned book, I realized I was wrong and contacted Jones for an interview. The very first thing I wanted to know (and assumed others did, as well) was why write a book about “torture porn,” and what did he discover was meant by this term?

“When I first heard the term ‘torture porn,’ I was quite indifferent to what it implied about the films themselves. I felt that it was a clumsy attempt to broadly describe a trend in an overly simplistic, sensationalistic, attention-grabbing way,” Jones states. “It reminded me of previous derogatory labels such as ‘video nasty’ and ‘slasher film,’ both of which were eventually recouped by fans. As I saw it, ‘torture porn’ was just another one of those tags. One aspect that did immediately concern me is specific to the [United Kingdom] context. At the time, the Government [was] pushing to pass a piece of legislation known as the Dangerous Pictures Bill. Its ostensible aim was to render some forms of violent pornography illegal (necrophiliac porn, asphyxiation porn, and so forth). The wording of that legislation – which was eventually passed into law – is vague. In the early drafting stages, the terms were so broad that the Bill could have encompassed virtually every fictional film containing sexual or sexualized violence. In that climate, ‘torture porn’ sounded like a rallying cry to ban or censor mainstream horror, especially given the associations some journalists were making between ‘torture porn’ and misogyny. So, while I was indifferent to how horror fans and critics might use the label on the one hand, I was concerned by how ‘torture porn’ might be interpreted in the broader legal context.”

Jones continues, explaining how he came to write a book on the controversial subject. “The real trigger for the book was meeting with a commissioning editor from Palgrave Macmillan [the book’s publisher] at a conference. While I was telling her what I had been writing about, she asked if I liked torture porn. I had not previously considered writing a book on the subgenre, but as soon as she said it I realized two things. First, I like many of the films that have been dubbed ‘torture porn.’ I had not previously considered myself a ‘torture porn’ fan, but I had found films such as Hostel and Wolf Creek rich and interesting in ways that were not being accounted for in the press. Second, much of my work up until that point had already been about torture porn films. I had just published an article on Saw, for example. Because I had written-off ‘torture porn’ as press sensationalism, I had not reflected on the term when writing about the films. That conversation highlighted that there was a gap I needed to fill in my own thought process. As it transpired, it was also a gap that existed in the field, presumably because the label has been used to dismiss these films out of hand.”

Jones discovered that the dismissal that accompanied the term “torture porn” had real effects on how critics and society looked at those films. “From my perspective,” Jones explains, “that [dismissal] is the most significant meaning of ‘torture porn.’ The label is a way of disparaging a group of films, fans, and directors in a way that does not require substantiation or justification. ‘Torture porn’ is so powerful because its elements – ‘torture’ and ‘porn’ – encapsulate a host of negative connotations [that have to do] with cruelty, misogyny, degradation, harm and so forth. Those connotations have a long political history. ‘Torture porn’ points directly towards a body of contemporary films, which are characterized as if they epitomize social ills. However, ‘torture porn’ implicitly draws on much broader contexts. Those contexts range from 1970s anti-porn feminism to the Abu Ghraib scandal; from the history of critical attitudes towards popular culture to contemporary concerns about Internet porn and sexualization; from centuries of philosophical thought regarding ethical behavior to long-standing social-psychological attitudes about the body and its baseness. My approach to ‘torture porn’ aims to unpack some of those inherent contextual relationships. Once those contexts are made apparent, it is more difficult to dismiss these films as ‘trash.’ Ultimately, my argument is that the films themselves have cultural, political and philosophical value. Paradoxically, although ‘torture porn’ has been commonly used to denigrate these films, that pejorative label can provide ways of accessing these films’ inherent and very serious value.”

In Torture Porn, I mention, Jones dissects the term in much the same way Noam Chomsky tackles a New York Times series of articles. “Thank you for your very kind comparison!” Jones says. “My approach was the result of taking on such a vast amount of material. When I started writing, I did not realize just how widely ‘torture porn’ had been used in the press; I read over 1,200 articles, interviews, and reviews to build a picture of ‘torture porn’s’ meanings. The chapters on press responses had to be relatively short, so I knew I had to condense an enormous amount of information into a limited space. Although that means I have volumes of information that did not make it into the book, the approach forced me to identify indicative patterns and to articulate the points as succinctly as I could. The same goes for the films. I mention more than 270 films in the book, but I watched many more during the research stage. I would have loved to have engaged with more films in more depth than the space permitted.”

Jones came away from all that research with some very specific feelings about the movies. “Given the sheer quantity of films,” he states, “many of them are inevitably mediocre; many suffer from poor writing or acting, for example. That said, the subgenre is surprisingly strong as a whole. I make this comparison in the book, but I find torture porn more consistent than the slasher cycle. Torture porn benefits from its ‘locked-box’ scenarios. From a practical perspective, the films can be made relatively cheaply because they can be set in one location (i.e., torture porn plots typically revolve around protagonists who are confined). These limits have a positive impact on the narratives. Limiting the protagonists’ movements provides greater opportunity to probe the characters’ relationships and amplify their conflicts. In contrast to the slasher film’s episodic killings – which usually happen away from the group, when individuals or couples are isolated – torture porn’s characters cannot withhold their reactions from one another when faced with extraordinary pressures. The circumstances underline social conflicts, and the plots are punctuated by ethical dilemmas.”

These thematic limitations have led some critics to believe that “torture porn” will eventually disappear. Jones feels otherwise. “Now that it has been established, torture porn is likely to remain a continuing staple of the horror genre. Moreover, I also expect that torture porn’s most prosperous period (around 2003-2010) will eventually be regarded in the same way that the slasher boom of the late 1970s-early 1980s is now: as a significant period in horror’s development. Before that can happen, the press furor over ‘torture porn’ and the label’s pejorative connotations need to be laid to rest. Again, I expect that ‘torture porn’ will follow the same pattern as the term ‘slasher’ in that respect. The meaning of ‘torture porn’ will eventually shift as press critics’ anger dies down. Instead of being associated with misogyny and sadism (exactly as the term ‘slasher’ was in the early 1980s), in time ‘torture porn’ will come to stand for a set of tropes. That is, it is likely that ‘torture porn’ will eventually be used by fans when describing horror films about confinement. At present, many horror fans are following the lead of critics and referring to horror films that they dislike as ‘torture porn.’ I am hopeful that the pattern will eventually shift. If my book contributes to that change, so much the better.”

Torture Porn is reminiscent of another book called Killing for Culture, which examined the myth of the snuff film. Both books take a serious look at things thoroughly misunderstood by society and other film journalists. In reading both books, it seems that the criticism of the films they cover says a lot about the journalist (sometimes more than the films themselves), and oddly enough, this window into the writer’s personality doesn’t carry over into, say, a critique of a film like Eat Pray Love, where a critic seems able to write a review without revealing much of his or her biases in the piece. I asked Jones what he thought about this.

“Again, that is a very kind comparison. Killing for Culture is a fantastic work. Of course, I am now wondering what exactly Torture Porn reveals about me …” Jones goes on to say, “I certainly agree that these discussions of film reveal more about the author than the films. To use another example, I would rather read Stephen Thrower’s enthused responses in Nightmare USA than watch some of the films he is so passionate about. Thrower is quite open about his disproportionate enthusiasm for generic slasher films, for example, and tries to articulate his position in a way that most authors avoid. His personal anecdotes about watching films ‘under the influence’ epitomize how personally invested he is in the subject matter. Thrower’s approach is at the opposite end of the scale to most serious reviews of ‘legit’ films – such reviews typically pertain to objectivity. However, we have every reason to treat a serious critique of Eat Pray Love (to use your example) with suspicion if we cannot locate or identify anything about the author. If such a discussion is presented as if it is non-subjective, that tone is a rhetorical trick designed to mask the author’s biases.”

Jones continues with his explanation, stating that there are “several reasons” why books such as his own and Killing for Culture may reveal quite a bit more about their authors as opposed to “earnest critiques of more ‘acceptable’ films.” “First,” he says, “criticism of ‘legit’ films has a longer history and is more widely practiced: the rhetorical devices used to obscure the author’s personal biases are more established in those areas of criticism. Second, authors who write on specialized subgenres tend to be fans. Since the resultant criticism originates from personal investment, the author’s own view may shine through (regardless of their intentions). Third, since such works are commonly pitched to other fans, a level of personal understanding is in operation: the target audience is receptive to where the author is coming from. There is a kind of intimacy that stems from sharing knowledge about ‘clandestine’ objects with like-minded folk. The critic of ‘legit’ films does not have that same connection to their audience, possibly because the target audience is far broader. Fourth, authors who write seriously about derided niche genres are more or less alone in the field, at least compared with the number of people writing on ‘acceptable’ films. I found writing against the majority opinion of torture porn quite an isolating experience – very few authors agree with my stance. Taking on the majority view in that way intrinsically results in personally invested writing simply because my point of view was my main source for the argument. Finally, because many of the films discussed in books like Killing for Culture strike at a personal level – inciting physical and emotional, as well as cerebral reactions – they demand some kind of subjective response. The critic of Eat Pray Love may find it easier to treat viewership as a purely intellectual exercise. The kinds of horror we are dealing with here are less easy to divorce oneself from.”

In his book, Jones also did something that few critics and even fewer books have done. He gave films like Hostel respect. I was curious if Jones had received negative feedback from his readers and students because he viewed these films as more than mere “torture porn.”

“Not yet,” he answers. “So far, people have been intrigued more than appalled. I have had some very positive responses from other scholars, many of whom have wanted to read a book about torture porn, but did not want to be the one to write a book about the subgenre. I am sure it is the kind of book that would not receive any attention in the mainstream press. If it did, I would expect a hostile reception given the conclusions I reach in the first few chapters. In terms of other readers, I guess that the format will help. Since it is a book, it requires a degree of commitment (time and money) that means only interested parties will engage with the content. It is likely that anyone who responds negatively to torture porn would also avoid my book. I am quite upfront in the cover blurb that the book mounts a defense of the subgenre’s films, so anyone who has an aversion to torture porn is probably predisposed to dislike my book anyway. If I can change anyone’s mind about torture porn, then that is a bonus. If anyone offers negative feedback without reading what I have to say, simply because I have written a book about these films… well, let’s say I am unlikely to pay much attention. Obviously that kind of negative feedback is vastly different to disagreement among those who have read it. I am hoping that the book will stimulate debate, since that kind of response entails engaging with ‘torture porn’s’ various meanings. I am certainly not claiming that my book is the last word on torture porn, rather I hope it will stimulate richer discussions about the films.”

That’s not to say he hasn’t run into resistance. Surprisingly, it comes from the film industry itself.

“I contacted several companies to ask for permissions to use advertising images in the book, but those requests were ignored. I also asked one person involved in the making of a very high-profile torture porn film if they would be willing to offer a comment for the book jacket, but that person (who I won’t name) did not return my message. I guess that all of these parties were suspicious of my motives given the book’s title (even though I made it clear that the book defends the films in question). On the plus side, Tom Six and Laurence Harvey (of Human Centipede 2) both re-Tweeted my book cover when they found out about it. Hopefully some other filmmakers I discuss might discover the book and find it interesting.”

Jones also touches upon the media’s reaction to horror films throughout the decades. He spotlights something that is missing in a lot of horror film criticism – a sense of history. I asked Jones if he thought the reason this was lacking in much of today’s film criticism is due to the fact that horror films don’t generally attract a “scholarly” audience.

“There are a host of differences between types of criticism that I should account for in answering the question,” Jones replies. “The starkest contrasts are between print journalism on one hand and scholarship on the other. The nature of journalism is that it is reactive to the present. That is the main reason print journalists have failed to spot that they commonly replicate established discursive narratives when vilifying horror. Placing reviews in the context of ‘new’ underlines a focus on contemporary films and present contexts. Press critics are also under pressure to turn over material in short spaces of time. Greater chance to reflect on historical patterns would benefit many of the reactions I read when consulting reviews of torture porn films. Moreover, journalists are faced with the reality that in the age of digital journalism, dramatic stories and amplified positions sell newspapers to a public that is largely not loyal to one brand of newspaper. Those conditions are distinct from the circumstances under which scholarship and fan criticism (blog reviews and so forth) are produced. Fan writing and scholarly writing both involve devoting time to and specializing in knowledge about (in this case) a particular genre. There are crossovers between scholarship and fandom in that regard. For example, I consider myself a genre fan. My scholarly interest in horror stems from my fandom, which long predates my entry into the academy.”

Jones goes on to explain, “Horror scholarship is still in its infancy because the genre has traditionally not been seen as worthy of critical attention. That attitude has been slowly changing since the 1980s thanks to works such as Carol Clover’s Men, Women, and Chainsaws which treated the slasher cycle very seriously. The field has certainly grown in the last few decades. Intellect’s Horror Studies journal attests to the growth of horror scholarship in recent years and establishes a claim that ‘horror studies’ is a legitimate field. I am fortunate enough to work in a department with several other scholars who study horror. There also seems to be more young scholars writing PhDs on horror at the moment, possibly because horror production increased in the last decade.”

In Torture Porn, Jones not only writes about films critics have demonized, he also delves into films often described as “extreme” or “hardcore.” Jones managed to find worth in them, something sorely lacking in any scant mention these films may have received in the press. I wondered if there was any film that he felt went too far, or that he had a hard time finding any value or worth in.

“Many of these films have been ignored precisely because ‘hardcore’ is widely perceived as a synonym for ‘artless’ or even ‘worthless,'” Jones first explains. “I find that equation problematic. In fact, many films that are reputedly ‘extreme’ are only thought of as such because they provoke reactions. Rather than feeling sickened or scared, for example, my strongest reactions stem from being politically and emotionally challenged by films. Even then, I would not classify the film as worthless since doing so would suggest failure on my part – a failure to examine the sources of my own offence. The only films I struggle to find worth in are those that are lazily thrown together, whether they are ‘hardcore’ or not. The worst crime a film can commit is failing to interest on any level. If a film offends my sensibilities, so be it. I would rather be angry or upset than bored.”

But are there films that have gone too far?

“There are some films that have gone ‘too far’ for my tastes. In fact, there are some fictional films that I wish I had not seen. I have been asked by many people in various contexts to name those films, but I will not. There is a culture surrounding ‘extremity’ that some curious viewers use a system of recommendation or even a kind of ‘dare.’ I refuse to name the films that I consider to have gone too far because my response should not be taken as a recommendation. I do not want anyone to watch those films on the basis of my mentioning them. Another problem is that such comments are sometimes used as a kind of yardstick. When I say I wish I could un-see a film, it may just be that it struck me on a personal level or that it offended my personal politics in some way. ‘Too far’ by my standards might be very disappointing to others.”

One film that has been accused of going too far (and that is also covered in Jones’ book) is Shane Ryan’s Amateur Porn Star Killer. Ryan’s film, which I found to have considerable artistic merit, was one of many of the more extreme films that has received a lot of negative press and elicited some very visceral reactions. That negativity was also aimed at people such as myself who publicly praised the film. I asked Jones why he thought that happened. After all, there are many films in other genres that have explored some of the same themes (murder, child abduction, etc.), but once those themes are approached in a genre movie, it seems that all artistic value goes out the window in the eyes of film critics and many audiences.

“Genres such as horror and pornography,” he responds, “are the most vilified forms of entertainment because they are seen to provoke bodily responses and revolve around graphic depictions of the body. The prejudice surrounding body genres finds its origin in a problem that has haunted western culture for centuries. Bodies are associated with mortality, physical vulnerability, messy processes (defecating, sweating, bleeding, and so forth), uncontrollable reactions (crying, blushing, startled jolts, unwanted erections, etc.), and so on. These processes are reminders that humans are ultimately just biological organisms like any other animals. To support our position as the planet’s dominant species, we have a justificatory narrative: of civility, rationality, autonomy, selfhood, and so on. These traits are associated with the mind and are characterized as distinct from the body. Furthermore, these elements are characterized as ways of overcoming our animalism. Rationality involves a claim that we can control our bodies. Civility entails masking bodily processes (urination, etc.) and desires (sexual pleasure and so forth). Selfhood means treating one’s own existence as significant, and so on. These justifications are tied into the core of our identities; they are intertwined with how we conceive of ourselves and the world. They are also expressed in culture. Consequently, those elements of culture associated with the mind in any one epoch are typically valorized over those associated with the body.

“It might seem like I have diverged away from your question, but my point is that the bias you refer to is deeply entrenched in centuries of social, political and cultural history. There are pleasures to be had in indulging in cultures of the body, and some of those pleasures may well be rooted in their impropriety. Culture is one area where established, dominant ideas about the body are contested. Some of Jonathan Swift’s poetry offers such a challenge, for instance. To my mind, a horror-porn film such as Doug Sakmann’s Evil Head is another, equally valid example.”

Ironically, these aversions have, as Jones writes in his book, led to what the author calls “hardcore horror.” He shows that filmmakers created in “hardcore horror” what critics were falsely reporting as being depicted in “torture porn.” Has this happened before in this history of horror film?

“Yes, I think it is a staple feature of horror film and culture more broadly. Whatever is happening in the most commercially dominant sector of an industry is responded to in various ways by those working on the peripheries of that industry. In the case of torture porn, we have relatively successful hits such as Saw, Captivity and Hostel – the kinds of films that made it into the multiplex and were reviewed by the popular press. Some micro-budget filmmakers have sought to replicate the same themes and tropes found in those films, possibly in the hope of being picked up for distribution and so forth. Other filmmakers seem to have sought to differentiate their products by doing what their bigger-budget counterparts cannot, making films that could not be shown in the multiplex (because they contain explicit sex, for example). Exactly the same happens in pornography, in metal and punk music, and so forth. The relationship is not just one-way: for example, torture porn was said to have become more ‘extreme’ because those torture porn films incorporated elements established in prior lesser-known, lower-budget films. The relationships between the cultural center and the peripheries are not fixed, but rather they continually fluctuate back and forth. There are also many people working in-between those poles: the moderate-budget producers making direct-to-DVD movies, for example. Although the trends discussed in the book are not new, they have been amplified by digital technology. It is now easier to create and sell movies than it ever had been, so technology has certainly helped to diversify cultural production and movement.”

With that answer, it seems like the only thing left is for fans and critics of so-called “torture porn” to read his book. As for Jones, he has plenty of projects in the works.

“I’m currently co-editing a book about zombies, sex and sexuality (called Necrosexuality) which will be published by McFarland early next year,” Jones says. “I have a chapter in that volume about rationality and the upcoming film Pretty Dead. The book also includes essays about all kinds of zombie texts, from The Walking Dead to Warm Bodies, Bruce LaBruce’s zombie porn to Zombie Jesus memes. I have a host of chapters coming out in other books. I have a chapter on zombies, strip-clubs, and the economic crisis coming out in a volume called Thinking Dead (edited by Murali Balaji), and a chapter on Amateur Porn Star Killer and selfhood in a really exciting volume called Snuff: Real Death and Screen Media (edited by Shaun Kimber, Johnny Walker, Tom Watson and Neil Jackson). I have just submitted a piece on surveillance in torture porn films for a collection called Digital Nightmares (edited by Linnie Blake and Xavier Aldana Reyes), and an article on revenge and moral philosophy in the remake of I Spit on Your Grave, which is currently under consideration by an academic journal. Beyond that, I have a half-written article on abortion themes in survival horror to finish – I will submit to another academic journal – and a potential chapter on neo-grindhouse films which is under consideration for a volume on grindhouse film (edited by Austin Fisher and Johnny Walker). I also have a chapter to write for an anthology on slasher films (edited by Wickham Clayton) in which I am comparing the slasher heroines from the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Halloween, Friday the 13th, and A Nightmare on Elm Street with their counterparts in the remakes. Most of my published articles and chapters are available to read via my website www.drstevejones.co.uk.”

All of this and teaching, too. One could never accuse Jones of taking it easy, and if any of those pieces coming out are even half as interesting or extensive as Torture Porn, we will all be in for a treat.