1 Apocalyptic Dread, Kierkegaard, and the Cultural Landscape of the Millennium AHUGE METEOR IS ON A COLLISION course with earth. A giant radioac- tive creature threatens Manhattan as Godzilla goes on a rampage. Volcanoes spew lava and huge tidal waves threaten cities. Out- breaks of the Ebola virus spread through the United States. The devil has come to town and it is the end of days. In the last decade of the twentieth century, a new cycle of Hollywood disaster movies from Independence Day to Godzilla, and from Deep Impact to Volcano, depicted crisis on a global scale. Survivalist groups began stockpiling supplies, businesses anxiously evaluated their computer systems in light of the Millennium (or Y2K) bug,1 and unknown to the public, the Clinton administration arrested a series of individuals who had been plotting to blow up Los Angeles and New York in the “Millennium plot.” As the marker of a new year, decade, and millennium drew closer, long-standing apocalyptic anxieties about the overdetermined year 2000 became evident in American popular cul- ture, public policy, and journalism. This anxiety about the future and about the end of the world drew upon long-standing eschatological proph- ecies about Armageddon drawn from Revelations, Daniel, and other Christian and Jewish apocalyptic texts. I will argue that these social anxieties, fears, and ambivalence about global catastrophe, which I call apocalyptic dread, took explicit narrative form in American cinema of the late nineties and continued into the first 1 © 2007 State University of New York Press, Albany 2 Apocalyptic Dread years of the twenty-first century. Furthermore, this dread was a new manifestation of a long-standing American apocalyptic tradition. A blend of providential and messianic elements in Puritan Calvinism, this tradi- tion first became apparent in the science-fiction cinema of the cold war, reemerged in the seventies with separate cycles of science-fiction and demonic films, gained further prominence under a turn to social conser- vatism under Reagan in the eighties, and reached a hysterical peak in the nineties in a cycle of horror, disaster, and science-fiction films explicitly focused on the approaching millennium. After 9/11, this dread took new forms with anxieties about the rise of Islamic fundamentalism and terror- ism from within. From the demonic dread in the family emblematized by the seven- ties’ horror films Carrie, The Omen, and The Exorcist, to more recent science fiction like Strange Days and End of Days, in which the turn of the millennium became an explicit narrative focus, Hollywood repeatedly cre- ates fantasies about the end of the world. Fredric Jameson suggests that science-fiction’s affinity for the dystopian is symptomatic of the genre’s “deepest vocation...to demonstrate and dramatize our incapacity to imagine the future,” and that this failure of imagination is not individual but rather collective and ideological (246–7). Constance Penley suggests “we can imagine the future, but we cannot conceive the kind of collective political strategies necessary to change or ensure that future,” and that, as a result, science-fiction films repeatedly replay resistance to alien inva- sions in the form of romanticized messiahs or small guerilla groups, rather than through systemic political change (64). Geoff King and Tanya Krzywinska suggest that this failure of imagination leads to representa- tions of “the present or future [that] are sometimes shaped in the mould of supernatural terrors from the past” and that bring “the millenial fear of Judgement Day into the hi-tech present.” (53) Although apocalyptic dread is most explicitly evident in the science- fiction and disaster films of the last decade (1995–2005), this dread per- meates well beyond these traditional genres. An unexamined component of dread that my book seizes on can be found in nineties’ cinema within the horror/crime hybrid. Unlike science fiction or the disaster film, the horror hybrid turns to the family under threat—not (merely) from aster- oids, aliens, or replicants, but rather from the internal conflicts and trau- mas that my case studies explore. Apocalyptic Dread examines a particular and historically situated set of horror relations within the family, in both its past and present formations, and between the family and workplace, and family and society. In particular, I suggest that in the nineties, hybrid crime/horror films are consumed with apocalyptic dread, or a free-floating anxiety and ambivalence about the future that is displaced onto the specific © 2007 State University of New York Press, Albany Apocalyptic Dread, Kierkegaard, and the Cultural Landscape 3 dread embodied by each film’s monster, and that dramatizes a compulsive eschatological need to perceive and decode signs. This wider mood of dread pervades many genres, and the case studies that follow this chapter will include a melodrama-thriller (Cape Fear), a psychological horror film (Candyman), a melodrama (Dolores Claiborne), a serial-killer film (Se7en), a science-fiction thriller (Signs), and a science-fiction disaster film (War of the Worlds). In these case studies, a monstrous figure, the uncanny double of what the family has repressed, emerges and threatens apocalyptic ven- geance because of the specific crimes for which the family are responsible. Produced by the repression of specific traumas, yet disavowed, these narrative monsters continue to repeat themselves as pathological symp- toms, figured through the uncanny. These traumas are of rape (Cape Fear), lynching and miscegenation (Candyman), domestic violence and incest (Dolores Claiborne), serial murder (Se7en), a husband’s loss of his wife and faith (Signs), and paternal failure (War of the Worlds). But apoca- lyptic dread’s guiding tropes of cataclysmic violence, prophetic revelation, and radical transformation do not exhaust themselves in the familial nar- ratives evident in my case studies; they also link the familial to the public sphere by pointing to broader historical fragmentation and change. Through my readings of Cape Fear (Martin Scorsese, 1991), Candyman (Bernard Rose, 1992), Dolores Claiborne (Taylor Hackford, 1995), Se7en (David Fincher, 1995), Signs (M. Night Shyamalan, 2002), and War of the Worlds (Steven Spielberg, 2005), I will consider the ways in which apocalyptic dread maps the demonic, the eschatological, and the uncanny across the family. I also use these films as indicators of how popular culture negotiates anxieties about the subject, family, and future at this point of historical transition. But before doing so, I want to take a closer look at apocalypticism as a religious, historical, and sociocultural fear formation, as well as at a particular subgenre or fear formation of apoca- lyptic dread that I call millennial dread, and that appeared in the last decade of the old millennium. Apocalypse Now Apocalyptic dread can be defined as that fear and anxiety about the future and about the anticipated end of the world. A transliteration of the Greek word apokalypsis, apocalypse broadly means to “uncover or disclose.” As Mick Broderick has observed, the apocalypse is commonly confused with doomsday, disaster, catastrophe, and terminus. These popular misconcep- tions overlook what Lois Parkinson Zamora calls the apocalypse’s other dialectical meanings—those of revelation, triumph, order, and the mil- lennium (qtd. in Broderick 252)—and it is these other connotations of © 2007 State University of New York Press, Albany 4 Apocalyptic Dread apocalypse that emerge as prominent components of apocalyptic dread’s 1990s twin, millennial dread. They ultimately converge in the belief, visu- alized in many doomsday scenarios, that the average apocalypse isn’t all bad—at the very least, it can teach us a lesson, so long as we’re able to read the signs...In this sense, the millennial and the apocalyptic shall be discussed in close conjunction with one another. Apocalyptic literature consists of those parts of the Bible and other Jewish and Christian books that embody an apocalypse, or revelation, given through a prophetic vision of the future.2 Apocalyptic literature such as Ezekiel and Daniel in the Old Testament and the last book in the New Testament, Revelations, concerns itself with the end of world and the final confrontation between God and the powers of evil. In these narratives, the conflict frequently culminates in a world catastrophe, and with a messianic figure triumphing over evil.3 Nineteenth-century Ameri- can fundamentalism understood history as marked by discrete stages, between which there were abrupt transitions marked by violence, such as the expulsion from the Garden, the Flood, and so on (Strozier 9). Simi- larly the eschatos, or end of the world prophesized in Revelations also has discrete stages, with the Rapture (the time at which saved souls are sud- denly lifted up to heaven), followed by the Time of Tribulation (the seven years when the Antichrist will rule over the world through an interna- tional body) and the battle of Armageddon (the Antichrist fights Christ on the Plains of Jezreel near modern-day Megiddo in Israel). All of them culminate in the Final Day of Judgment and the end of the world, when God triumphs over the Antichrist and rules for a thousand years. In this framework the apocalyptic encompasses the following meanings: the re- velatory (prophecy), the destructive (cataclysm/disaster), the grandiose (wild predictions), and the climactic (decisive). Millennialism refers to a specific form of eschatological belief that draws from Judeo-Christian apocalyptic literature and that understands that the end of the world has been both preordained by God and proph- esied in the Bible. Its followers believe one must spiritually and psycho- logically prepare for it. As a specifically Protestant fundamentalist philosophy, premillennialism (also called dispensationialism) understands history in terms of the past (original sin, the first coming of Christ) and the future end-time (the Second Coming, the battle of Armageddon) before the day of Final Judgment. It understands time as measured from the birth of Christ and believes that the year 2000 (or 2001) is the begin- ning of the third millennium. American millennialism has deep roots in the belief systems of the Puritans who, through the sermons of Increase Mather and John Cotton, understood themselves as God’s chosen people, establishing their New World settlements in anticipation of the Second © 2007 State University of New York Press, Albany Apocalyptic Dread, Kierkegaard, and the Cultural Landscape 5 Coming. In Christopher Sharrett’s terms, they understood the nation’s future as “a divinely ordained historical destiny which, when violated or ignored, will cause a cataclysmic retribution” (221). Emerging from the Judeo-Christian apocalyptic tradition and Puritan Providentialism, millennialism was a more specific manifestation of a broader cultural context of dread, and as millennial dread awaited the overdetermined year 2000 in the last decade of the twentieth century. = What shall be the sign of your coming and the end of the world? —Matthew 24.3 As a consciousness of the end of the world, apocalyptic or millennial thinking reflects and depends upon hermeneutics, or the interpretation of signs to predict and prepare for the future. Repeatedly when disaster struck, eschatological thought understood political, social or physical dis- ruption as portents of the beginning of the end of the world; the enor- mous devastation wrought by the bubonic plague in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries and the threat of Islamic invasion in the sixteenth century prompted the return of these anxieties. Similarly, at the end of the second millennium, many fundamentalist, evangelical, or Pentecostal4 groups interpreted geopolitical events (particularly war and unrest in the Middle East) as signs of the coming of the end of the world. Natural disasters (storms, floods, volcanic eruptions, global warming) and man- made crises (monetary collapses, scandals, coups, and revolutions) were the second staple source for eschatological interpretation.5 As Charles Strozier’s research into the psychology of American fundamentalism has demonstrated, its social appeal is closely linked to anxieties about global threats; he says, “I would argue that our historical moment is fraught with a new kind of dread, for we live with the real scientific possibility that either through nuclear warfare, or choking pollution, or vastly increased rates of disease, especially cancer, we could actually end human existence” (158). Biblical prophecy thus offers an overdetermined narrative in which political and cultural change, together with violence, crime, and natural disasters, is retrospectively understood within the comforting terms of God’s plan. In this way then, history is understood as a series of signs (or por- tents) of the end-time, which those who have been given the gifts of prophecy by God can decode. According to Hal Lindsay, author of The © 2007 State University of New York Press, Albany 6 Apocalyptic Dread Late, Great Planet Earth (1970), there will be seven signs signaling the end-time: war, revolution, plague, famine, earthquake, religious decep- tion, and “strange occurrences in space.” The twentieth century has cer- tainly seen no shortage of occurrences that, from a millenarian perspective, fit into these seven sign groups. Political events from the formation of the United Nations and the state of Israel (1948) to more recent battles in the Middle East with the two Gulf Wars (1991, 2003) have been read as signs of the coming of the Antichrist, who it is believed will appear in a time of geopolitical chaos before the second coming of Christ. Religious au- thors such as Lindsay, Pat Robertson (The New World Order), Salem Kirban (666 and 1000), and Larry Burkett (The Illuminati) have offered them- selves as hermeneutic prophets, connecting cryptic passages of apocalyp- tic literature to contemporary events, and warning believers that the end-time is at hand (Melling 88). Robertson’s New World Order (1992), which sold 500,000 copies on its release and spent weeks on the New York Times best-seller list, was but a part of a commercial spike in sales of prophecy literature, which together with popular sermons and calls to religious hotlines reflected a belief that the first Gulf War was a fulfillment of prophetic literature and a sign that the end-time approached.6 This fascination with overdetermined narratives, paranoid conspiracies, and hermeneutic decoding continues with the enormous financial success of a more recent novel, Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code (2003), which is now a Hollywood movie (Ron Howard, 2006). After all, as Peter and Paul Lalonde suggest in The Mark of the Beast, “If you’re not paranoid, it’s because you’re not paying close enough attention to the imminence of evil in the last days” (qtd. in Melling 91). For fundamentalist Christians, September 11, 2001, seemed to augur the end of days, and sales of proph- ecy literature increased by 71% in the weeks immediately following the disaster, including huge sales for the apocalyptic Left Behind series, whose authors, Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins, had already displaced John Grisham as the top adult-fiction writers of the nineties.7 But again, the reason these apocalyptic fantasies emerged was not that they filled a vacuum left by world history. They have supplemented—and consistently alluded to or explicitly drawn on—the real-life history of the world, peppered as it is with all kinds of disasters and apocalyptic moments. Historical Context of Apocalyptic Dread Rupturing the first half of the twentieth century, the two World Wars and the Holocaust were cataclysmic events; indeed as Nancy Ammerman has noted, World War I prompted an increase in interest in all things apoca- lyptic, giving rise to three international prophecy conferences between © 2007 State University of New York Press, Albany Apocalyptic Dread, Kierkegaard, and the Cultural Landscape 7 1914 and 1918 (77). The Second World War and especially the Holo- caust have also been described as “the revelatory, traumatic, apocalyptic fulcrum of the twentieth century” (Berger 391). After 1945, decolonization in Africa, Asia, and the Pacific began, as the world divided into two poles during the cold war, and in the United States rising paranoia about Com- munism and fears about atomic power and the H-bomb took displaced form in the invasion narratives of science-fiction cinema. In the second half of the century, the battle for civil rights in the United States intensified, and American cities began to burn after the murder of Martin Luther King, Jr. in 1968. In the seventies the trauma of Watergate and the Vietnam War, together with the energy crisis and recession, split the country and gave rise to a culture of paranoia that was acted out on television, in tabloids, and on movie screens.8 In response to rapid sociocultural changes over the last forty years, an increased cultural conservatism and (re)turn to fundamentalist reli- gions (which could be termed another “New Awakening” in American history) has become increasingly prominent, and is a key dimension of what I call apocalyptic dread. In 1976, which Time declared to be “The Year of the Evangelical,” Jimmy Carter became the first Southern Baptist to be elected president, and three years later Jerry Falwell formed the Moral Majority. Although membership in mainline churches has fallen in the last thirty years, membership in fundamentalist and evangelical churches (Jehovah’s Witnesses, Church of God in Christ, and Assemblies of God, among others) continued to grow exponentially through the eighties and nineties. Anxieties about the changing role of women in the wake of the feminist movement of the seventies, and about the gay-rights movement after Stonewall, led to conservative political campaigns that decried sexual promiscuity, pornography, any form of birth control, premarital sex, and public “immorality.” By the eighties, Christian conservatism was now flexing its political muscle as a voting bloc. Under Reagan it became an increasingly important part of the Republican base, with the political wing of the conservative movement led by organizations like Jerry Falwell’s Moral Majority, James Dobson’s Focus on the Family, Ralph Reed’s Christian Coalition, and Gary Bauer’s American Values. A “religion gap” or political difference in voting patterns between the secular and the faithful first became evident with Nixon’s election in 1972. This gap widened under Reagan and both Bushes and largely favored the Repub- lican Party, which has attracted the fundamentalist religious voter (with certain exceptions) (Page 2004). Today it is estimated that there are more than 60 million born-again Christians (Hendershot 177). In 1992 at the Republican National Convention, Pat Buchanan’s keynote address decried social changes relating to sexuality, the family, © 2007 State University of New York Press, Albany 8 Apocalyptic Dread and society, declaring that America was now in a “culture war” over social values. Divorce rates of 50%, the rise of single-parent families, extended family parenting, and gay civil partnerships and adoptions are all ex- amples of challenges to traditional notions of the nuclear family. In fact, the conventional understanding of the nuclear family as consisting of a male breadwinner, female homemaker, and several children is based on a historical model of relatively brief duration, beginning in the 1920s and reaching its highpoint in the 1950s (Mintz 352–62). In the 1980s, the reassertion of “family values” as a political slogan by the Republican Party was a marker of conservative anxiety about these social changes. The principal targets of this conservative reaction were feminists, liberals, and homosexuals. In 1989, Jerry Falwell claimed that American society was corrupted from within by an unholy trinity of Communists, feminists, and homosexuals. From Pat Robertson’s prediction in 1998 that a meteor and tornadoes would destroy Orlando and Disneyland for holding an unofficial “Gay Day,” to Stan Craig, a pastor at the Choice Hills Baptist Church in Greenville, South Carolina, who described gays “as a stench in the nostrils of God,” incremental victories in gay civil rights have mobi- lized increased right-wing political and social activism. Much of the lan- guage of opposition of the religious Right was expressed in apocalyptic terms, as when Robertson made a series of prophecies on May 27, 1998, on The 700 Club, the Christian Broadcasting Network talk show, in which he urged, “I would warn Orlando that you’re right in the way of some serious hurricanes, and I don’t think I’d be waving those flags in God’s face if I were you.” Robertson also warned that the widespread practice of homosexuality “will bring about terrorist bombs, it’ll bring earthquakes, tornadoes and possibly a meteor” and that his warning “is not a message of hate. This is a message of redemption” (Robertson, 700 Club). Indeed, after the fall of Communism in 1991 and the rise of “postfeminism,” it became the third leg of Falwell’s unholy triad—homosexuals—who in- creasingly bore the burden of millennial meaning. More recently, Stephen Bennett, an evangelical writer for the American Family Association, de- scribed May 17, 2004, when gay same-sex marriage licenses began to be issued in Massachusetts, in telling terms as “the day the earth stood still.” Speaking in characteristically apocalyptic terms, he said America was “a nation awaiting the Almighty’s response. We know the days are short and evil, so let us redeem the time doing what we were called to do—winning the lost to Christ.” With the election of George W. Bush, whose political father is the culturally conservative Ronald Reagan rather than the former president George H. W. Bush (1988–92), the relationship between Christian con- servatives and the Republican Party became ever closer. Continuing © 2007 State University of New York Press, Albany Apocalyptic Dread, Kierkegaard, and the Cultural Landscape 9 Reagan’s focus on social values, and taking up a phrase by the equally conservative pope John Paul II (1978–2005), the Christian wing of the Republican Party argued that their policies were part of a “culture of life.” Policy struggles between the Republican administration, the judi- ciary, and local and state governments were central in debates about abor- tion, stem cell technology, gay marriage (in 2004), and euthanasia and medical technology in end-of-life issues, the latter foregrounded in 2005 by the Terri Schiavo case.9 Echoing the Scopes trial of 1925, battles over the teaching of evolution in schools returned through the late nineties in local school-board elections in Ohio, Oklahoma, and Kansas, as conser- vative Christian groups were increasingly successful in arguing that so- called intelligent design (a fictive cover for creationism) should be given equal time with evolution in science classrooms.10 Most recently, Chris- tian conservative activism has even led to a dozen IMAX theaters in the South (a number of which were in science museums) refusing to show the film Volcanoes in 2005, because of its brief references to evolution.11 The defeat of John Kerry in the 2004 presidential election and the public debate over exit polls, in which self-identified “morals” voters referred to social issues as a compelling factor in their election of George W. Bush continue to foreground the social significance of the close alliance be- tween the religious Right and the Republican Party. In this sense, those who were puzzled by Bush’s victory, and in their minds kept going over the previous six months in search of early signs of their own doomsday, may want to consider that the writing was, in fact, on the wall by April 2004. However, the proverbial wall that is of interest here is not the primaries or any state or national poll, but the American movie box-office. Mel Gibson’s The Passion of the Christ, an eschatological tale of the first order, had by then become the box-office sensation of the year. But the film’s gargantuan success was hardly due to any crossover appeal—quite the opposite. The movie, whose dark sectarian revisionism fueled its violent spectacle to brutalizing effect, would surely have with- ered on the vine, had it not been for the droves of religious fundamen- talists who worshipped at this movie’s altar. Meanwhile, evangelical Christian–produced media broke out of its market niche and began to influence popular culture and mainstream thinking. In the seventies, evan- gelical cinema like Donald W. Thompson’s prophecy series A Thief in the Night (1972), Distant Thunder (1978), Image of the Beast (1981), and The Prodigal Planet (1983) were produced and distributed on 16 mm to a specialty market of church audiences. By the turn of the new millennium, evangelical cinema adopted a new approach, using stars and high produc- tion values in The Omega Code (Robert Marcarelli, 1999) and its sequel Megiddo: The Omega Code 2 (Brian Trenchard-Smith, 2001). Funded by © 2007 State University of New York Press, Albany 10 Apocalyptic Dread the Trinity Broadcasting Network, these films became the first evangeli- cally produced films to receive a wide theatrical release to general audi- ences. As part of their strategy of mainstream appeal, they appropriated the generic conventions of the horror, science-fiction, and Hollywood action blockbuster, blending them with an apocalyptic narrative.12 The Omega Code and its sequel integrated conservative and isolationist anxi- eties about the United Nations into narratives by showing the Antichrist character, Stone Alexander (Michael York), becoming a political leader of a UN-like body. Just as Damien Thorn’s global corporation provided political cover for his secret identity as the Antichrist in Omen 3: The Final Conflict (Graham Baker, 1981), so The Omega Code’s narrative fictionalized contemporary geopolitical events in the Middle East and reflected conservative hostility to the United Nations, by depicting it as instrumental to the rule of the Antichrist. In fact, The Omega Code sug- gests that the Antichrist is the United Nations, and not only threatens American sovereignty, but—literally—signifies the end of the world. Heather Hendershot’s important recent study Shaking the World for Jesus traces the enormous productivity of the evangelical media industry, which in recent decades has expanded its market, selling everything from Christian rock music to rapture videos and feature films (179–80). Reli- gious broadcasting on television and radio have also increased, as have sales of religious paraphernalia (from $1 billion in 1980 to $4 billion in 1996). From book publishing to direct-to-video productions, religious media is a multimillion-dollar industry (Shorto 60–61). Shrewdly adopt- ing mainstream genres and aesthetic conventions, whether in publishing, cinema, videos, or rock music, Christian media’s representational strate- gies made Jesus the new action hero. Timothy Weber, president of the Memphis Theological Seminary, explained the enormous commercial popularity of the Left Behind apocalyptic fiction series (which has since been adapted to film) in these terms: “The culture war fits into the pre- millennialists’ expectation of the end of history—the decline of civiliza- tion, the breakdown of morality, a general breakdown of order. The warrior Jesus returns to set everything right again” (qtd. in Kirkpatrick, “Return” A6). The commercial success of apocalyptic literature and films were echoed in the enormous grosses of The Passion of the Christ, which led ABC to broadcast a previously shelved film, Judas, in March 2004, and it has already led Hollywood to reevaluate theological themes as an impor- tant untapped market (Waxman, “Hollywood” B5). The release of C. S. Lewis’s The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe (Andrew Adamson, 2005), together with accompanying Christian and secu- lar soundtracks, continues this trend. Unsurprisingly, Mel Gibson’s new film Apocalypto (2006) frames its story of Mayan decline in eschatological © 2007 State University of New York Press, Albany