As argued in the Introduction and Literature Review, twenty-first century TV drama has seen a marked shift in the graphic imagery of certain forms of horror, moving away from traditional TV horror effects, visuals and aesthetics (Abbott 2013:vii-viii, Subramanian 2013:112-3).
Consequently, by aiming not to legitimate certain types of television while neglecting others (Hills 2006b:19, Creeber 2006d:85, McCabe et al 2011:108, Cardwell 2006:75-6), I have chosen various case studies (Woods 2016:5, Abbott 2016b:155), analysing a number of aspects of TV. Firstly, I locate TV horror within different industry positions that bid for quality in varying ways, and I also account for differing political economies and their constraints. Chapter 1 operates between the PSB of the BBC, the niche status of the youth channel BBC3, and its marked opposition to US youth TV (Woods 2016:29). Chapter 2 explores how US franchise TV horror uses transmedia to engage with quality by providing an expansive hyperdiegesis that means the storyworld is perpetually open for audiences to consume narratively (Hills 2002a:137), fostering ongoing character development (Gray 2009:235). In effect, AMC use graphic horror to shift its basic cable position towards ‘premium’ quality whilst still targeting a mass audience remit (Jowett and Abbott 2013:12-3, Ambrosius and Valenzano III 2016:70).
Lastly, Chapter 3’s focus on premium subscription TV addresses the filmic visual and thematic freedom bestowed on such content as symbolically ‘non-TV’ (Jowett and Abbott 2013:11), but also non-Western in its construction of Japanese TV horror.
Secondly, the increased focus on the abject body in all three case studies means that I take Horror Studies’ propensity for using Kristeva’s work (Austin 2012:100-1) and apply it to the specifics of television. Each Chapter illustrates a different way of using abjection theory to understand the ideological embodiment of the monstrous within the respective text(s), locating the abject threat within wider cultural contexts. Chapter 1’s examination of the English north
(Elliott-Smith 2016:175-6) in ITF considers both social realist aesthetics and a cultural climate that marginalise the abject Other. However, the series takes an unconventional position of presenting abject subjectivity through its I-zombie narrativisation (Abbott 2016a:163), reading the Other in a sympathetic manner. Chapter 2’s study of a US post-apocalyptic environment that features in extensive transmedia shows how TWD creates an abject landscape that perpetuates masculinity-in-crisis as a ‘tentpole’ TV theme (Clarke 2013:63). Yet, while gender scripts create existential turmoil for male leads across TWD’s franchise, their relation to wider cultural anxieties shifts from post-9/11 themes to fear of the State as we move from TWD to its spin-off TV series Fear the Walking Dead. Lastly, Chapter 3’s analysis of MOH’s Japanese female monsters locates abject threats in transcultural contexts. While Kristeva uses anthropology to culturally ground abjection she does not consider how transcultural relationships can affect such dynamics. However, using abjection’s ambiguity (Kristeva 1982:9) provides shifting readings of how abjection can be (re)coded: from the exotic Other to victims of patriarchy.
Whilst each case study serves to stress diversity in the aesthetic value of graphic TV horror, in cultural constructions of the monstrous, and in abjection as a robust reading model (Connelly 2003:10), the scope of the thesis restricts me from looking at all twenty-first century TV horror.
Therefore, I deliberately make certain omissions either because my case studies address key arguments sufficiently or because other examples do not fall within twenty-first century TV horror as I have defined it. This includes my decision to deliberately exclude mainstream TV horror (e.g. BBC1 and US network television) that ‘openly mingles on our screens with the staple genres of television’ (Jowett and Abbott 2013:17). This is not to claim that such TV horror is of any less quality, especially considering the loyal fans who enjoy such content.
However, this form of TV horror adheres to the aesthetic restraint and suggestion dominant in twentieth century TV horror seeking mass audiences (Hills 2010b:24, 28, Tunstall 2015:112).
Thus, it does not illustrate the marked shift in graphic horror visuals and TV abjection that I am specifically analysing. Similarly, I omit children’s/family TV horror for the same reason (Wheatley 2006:86-7, Jowett and Abbott 2013:26-30) (see Table 1):
Table 1 – Examples of mainstream and children’s TV horror Mainstream TV Horror
The Originals (The CW) Urban Gothic (Channel 5)
Children’s/Family TV Horror
The Simpsons: Tree House of Horror (Fox) Primeval (ITV)
Buffy the Vampire Slayer (The WB/ UPN)
I also omit contemporary post-TV horror (see Table 2). Post-TV drama subverts key aspects of TV’s ontology since ‘[n]ew technological and industrial practices have introduced radical changes in technological aspects of television, its use, and its consequent cultural significance’
(Lotz 2014b:35), encouraging the ‘broader blurring of media formats’ (Sim 2016:204) via internet portals rather than TV channels (Lotz 2017:8-9). This centres on subverting linear broadcast (Arnold 2016:50), shifts in consumption patterns/habits (McCormack 2016:101, Sim 2016:2110-1, Strangelove 2015:10-11), and changes in textual construction (Lotz 2014b:74, Bisen 2016:133). The serial nature of a TV series, disseminated with systematic breaks in the narrative (e.g. weekly broadcasts), is frequently altered by post-TV, meaning that audiences have access to the entire new series ready for consumption. However, whilst these developments may bid for ‘quality’ status by offering something that traditional TV previously has not, my approach to graphic twenty-first TV horror centres on how textual content employs televisual discourse alongside its abject imagery, and also how the serial nature of television shapes audiences’ practices – e.g. informal downloading as part of ‘just-in-time’ fandom in Chapter 4 – and the affective meaning of texts, e.g. ITF fans’ relationships with the text during broadcast, in-between series, and when it becomes a ‘post-object’ text. This is defined by Rebecca Williams as when ‘original fan objects cease to offer any new instalments… [and the]
fan moves into a period of post-object fandom’ (2011b:269) – it is something that I discuss throughout Part II.
Furthermore, Post-TV includes both post-network television and original content on the web (Newman 2014:73-4, 86, Lotz 2014b:153, Nicholas 2006:158, Stein 2015:15). Likewise, while Netflix ‘stands as the biggest success story in this transition away from traditional television
media’ (Lindsey 2016:173), TV streaming services are highly disparate (ibid:176-7, Smith-Rowsey 2016:69). Differences in visual style, aesthetics, and technological platforms (McDonald and Smith-Rowsey 2016:5) prove too vast, conceptually unstable, and are too insecurely articulated within discourses of ‘television’, for examination within the scope of this research.
Moreover, while I discuss streaming platforms in relation to informal Only-Click practices in Chapter 4, post-TV platforming also presents issues, e.g. some TV horror is both post-TV and traditional TV. For instance, Scream was broadcast on MTV in the US, but streamed on Netflix in all other regions. Conversely, while frequently offering series in their entirety there are still instances where streaming platforms disseminate episodes on a weekly basis, thus adhering to more traditional TV formatting, flow, and audience relationships (Steigler 2016:243).
Furthermore, over-the-top TV services can also distribute network TV horror after its initial broadcast in a post-TV format. For instance, in the UK Amazon Prime offers entire earlier series of TWD, whilst Netflix offers i-Zombie, blurring the distinction between linear and non-linear TV horror. And Hulu’s The Handmaid’s Tale has been broadcast by Channel 4 in the UK as Hulu is not available in this region (Ward 2016:224). Lastly, post-TV is predominantly US-based and oriented (Stiegler 2016:243), thus running the risk of reinforcing quality TV discourse as inherently North American. Therefore, I omit post-TV horror as a case study, however, I do consider it as a possibility for future research in the Conclusion.
Table 2 – examples of post-TV horror Hemlock Grove (Netflix)
When Evil Calls (mobile phone series)
Fight of the Living Dead (YouTube Original) Stranger Things (Netflix)
The Handmaid’s Tale (Hulu) Freakish (Hulu)
Finally, in noting how the genre’s use of monsters (Bordwell and Thompson 1996:58) is central to the rise in graphic twenty-first century TV horror, my case studies break away from the cycle of gothic television and telefantasy that has been a dominant form in TV horror and, understandably, its academic study (Wheatley 2006, Johnson 2005, Kamisnky and Mahan 1985:115-33, Hills 2005a:113-4,2010d:116-7, Hand 2010, Abbott 2010d). Gothic TV and
telefantasy have sometimes stood in for television horror tout court (Hills 2005a:112), and remain very popular today (Hassler-Forest 2016). Whilst no texts are genre-pure (Mittell 2004:156-7), I furthermore do not include related TV genres such as science fiction or fantasy (see Table 3).
Table 3 – examples of science fiction and fantasy TV Helix (Syfy)
Doctor Who (BBC) Game of Thrones (HBO)
Masters of Science Fiction (ABC) The Strain (FX)
The Leftovers (HBO) Jekyll (BBC)
Frankenstein (ITV) Torchwood (BBC) The X-Files (Fox)
Whilst the use of monsters and abjection theory remain relevant to these genres, their longevity in TV history, compared to my examples, means they have already received sustained analysis.
However, this thesis explores more fledgling versions of graphic TV horror, previously read as incompatible with television, understood alongside Kristeva’s discussion of horror (1982:140).
In choosing three case studies, I had the potential to pick from an ever-growing corpus of graphic twenty-first century TV horror that could have served to address certain textual, aesthetic, and abject aspects. For instance, other social (sur)realist TV horror includes Misfits, The Fades, or Carnivále (see Woods 2015, Jowett and Abbott 2013:172). The former two series would have also offered examples of PSB horror. However, ITF was chosen to elaborate on the I-abject model, its sympathetic zombie, and its negotiation of sexuality as monstrous.
Similarly, a text such as Hannibal with its artistic graphic style, transmedia remit, and cult fan following (Casey 2015, Napoli and Kosterich 2017:407) could also have served Chapter 2’s focus on commercial US transmedia/franchise TV that ‘exhibits many of the features commonly associated with “quality TV” programming’ (Brinker 2014:a). However, in already addressing sexuality I did not want to repeat aspects of Chapter 1. I also wanted to explore abjection as geographically-based. I could have used other apocalyptic zombie texts such as Dead Set or Z-Nation. However, I also wanted to consider how transmedia relates to abjection
theory. Thus, TWD was a suitable choice. Lastly, Chapter 3’s highly cinematic TV horror could have analysed other MOH episodes, or other premium cable texts such Bates Motel, True Blood, Penny Dreadful or Ash vs. Evil Dead. Yet, picking another US-produced (rather than co-produced) text runs the risk of over-stressing graphic quality TV horror as solely American.
Likewise, I have avoided vampire horror TV due to the expansive academic work already undertaken on it (e.g. Abbott (ed) 2005, 2007, 2010c, Jowett 2010b, Cherry 2012, Kaveney (ed) 2001, Molly 2003, Hammond 2004). Given these requirements, ‘Imprint’ and ‘Dream Cruise’ made for significant examples which also allowed me to discuss transcultural fandom.
However, the examples presented here further stress how graphic TV horror has become more common across different sections of the television industry.
But whilst abjection is used to read texts, I do not use abjection theory to project horror’s affect onto ideal or imagined audiences (Hartley 1992:11,14). As Jenkins writes, ‘you cannot write…
about horror without a theory of fear and dread… [But] work which writes about someone else’s feelings is apt to distort the nature of what it is describing in relation to popular culture, to be dismissive and simplistic’ (2011c). Moreover, as a straight white British male aged 30, I would question whether I could adequately speak for female, gay, and/or audiences of colour, and their responses to screen imagery (Hartley 2002:32). Rather, I take an audience-based approach to analyse how individuals and communities read and responded to my case studies in developing my abject spectrum model.
Offline spaces and cultures hold a prominent position in forming fan knowledge (Lewis 2006:305, Hargreaves and Thomas 2002:103), practices (Booth and Kelly 2013:57, Lamerichs 2013:155, Hills 2010f, Bayout 2013), and interactions (Chin 2014, Jones 2014b, Kohnen 2014:75-6). However, due to the transmedial nature of these case studies’ narrative content, as well as ‘Only-Click’ dissemination, and Web 2.0 fan discussion/image cultures, audience engagement largely involves online media platforms, and hence the thesis analyses audiences using netnography.
3.1. Utilising Netnography, Self-Reflecting on Scholar-Fandom, and Considering