Cinema
Arachnaphobia (PG', Odeon Leicester Square)
Eight legs good
Mark Amory
In newspapers in 1963 the unexplained statement appeared, 'The Birds is Com- ing'. Well, the spiders is here. Their threat is similar: a species that had always been neutral, in spite of casual murders by man, suddenly turns on a country community somewhere near San Francisco.
The Birds' aggression was unexplained and ceased as inexplicably, which encour- aged Alfred Hitchcock fanciers to see whatever depths they wanted. Arach- naphobia really belongs to a more recent cycle of films initiated by the success of Jaws. For some reason it was thought that if the title rhymed a little of the financial magic might spread, so they were called Paws (bears), Roars (lions) and so on. I am uncertain how much I am making up and how much I remember. Was there really one about rabbits (Gnaws?) in which the sound-track had thunderous thumping and there were close-ups of supposedly terrify- ing bunnies munching? Bores may have been not penetrating termites nor wild pigs but critical reaction. Surely the unrhyming Sheep (Cut to close-up of an old lady's face. There is a sinister clicking noise, the camera pans down to her hands, which are . . . knitting) was a parody.
Arachnaphobia has an explanation. The whole thing is the fault of an Englishman, who goes deeper into a sunless South American valley than man has been be- fore; a master-mind spider cleverly hitches a ride out. It also has a brief scientific lecture, the only dull moment and a mistake anyway for, like the titles men- tioned, this is hokum, intended only to be scary at the time and making no other attempt to convince. Nor is it about arach- naphobia. I would have preferred a vague suggestion that the spiders particularly sought out those that feared them, as cats are said to be drawn to those with an antipathy; but that is not the film that has been made.
It is true that the nice young doctor hero is frightened, but that is as far as that goes. He has a nice family to match and has just moved out of the city. Soon we are guessing who will go next: the old doctor, who has changed his mind about retiring, the friendly schoolmistress, the hostile young policeman, the cat, surely not the children? Some do, and we are skilfully manipulated so that we enjoy it. Either we do not like the victim or we do not know them very well or, in one case, it is economically signalled that she is sad and lonely so it does not matter too much.
The usual rules are that you should not see too much too clearly to start with, so that mystery, fear and curiosity are pre- served together, but that there should be something horrible early on that leaves the audience shaken and apprehensive. They are not fully obeyed here but it is all right because this is less of a horror film nothing absolutely disgusting happens ever, give or take a corpse that has been sucked dry — and there is plenty of pleasant, laconic humour and charm to relax you.
Arachnaphobia has not been the ex- pected huge success in America and there is a problem that may sink it everywhere. How scary is it meant to be; how scary it? It is just right for me and I am about average on spiders: that is, I can get one out of the bath alive but with a towel and providing it is not enormous; there is no question of picking up anything at all sizeable in my fingers. But I am not in the same league as the reader who rang up The Spectator to ask if there were any spider cartoons in the next issue because if so he could not possibly read it. My heart was beating a little faster than usual as we were first swept up a South American river, and any glimpse of a web caused a distinct increase. It's the scuttling: when they bit or jumped they might give you a jolt but just as any run-of-the-mill monster might. The biggest, slower-moving ones were almost lovable. So for some the film may be too mild, for some unbearable, for me a pleasure.
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