The first seal, the first sign, the first horseman of
the apocalypse; widely regarded as Pestilence. Translate, if
you will, the embodiment of this sign into celluloid structure
and what are you given? Initially, and without err, one
might apply the breaking of the first seal quite literally. Films
such as Outbreak, riding upon the disease panic of the
eighties and early nineties, fit nicely. But it also reveals itself
in a slightly more stylish sense.

The word pestilence refers to that which is both
destructive to life and morality. As I'm sure most mothers
shall concur, there would hardly be a better application of
the definition than to the heroin chicness and psychedelic
cool that has prevailed itself upon the silver screen within the
last decade. | imagine a bow in the hand of William S.
Burroughs as he murders his wife (Naked Lunch). | imagine
Trainspotting's Renton, sitting astride a gaunt and steaming
steed, bearing down on Hunter S. Thompson and _ his
Samoan lawyer (Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas) as they
drive through an ether-encrusted haze towards American
glory. | imagine a crown on the head of Pulp Fiction's
Vincent as he thrusts a needle into the chest of Mrs. Mia
Wallace.

"And there went out another horse that was red: and power
was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the
earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was
given unto him a great sword."

And so we are given War, the second horseman of
the apocalypse.

Thematically, war is always popular within the
realm of cinema, but in the last decade there have been
some features which have been so powerful that they thrust
themselves, supernally, into the collective human conscious-
ness as enduringly definitive.

It began with the painful juggernaut that was the
prophet Spielberg's Schindler's List, a film which existed in a
solitary state, forcing viewers to finally recognize the unde-
niable and utter emotional loss inherent in the last great war.
It continued with Richard III and The Thin Red Line. And it
ended, fittingly enough voiced again by the Speilberg
prophet, with Saving Private Ryan. A sword in the shaking
hand of the schoolteacher captain which he plunges it into
the hearts of his company.

"And | beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him
had a pair of balances in his hand. And | heard a voice in
the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of wheat for a
penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see
thou hurt not the oil and the wine."

@ 14

So enters the third horseman, Famine.

Almost predictably, an examination of the third seal
leads one to a discussion of emotional emptiness and long-
ing as the definition of famine condenses itself to "destruc-
tive absence". Thus were the scales in the hands of Kubrick
as he designed his finale, Eyes Wide Shut. And so, too, were
they with Coppola, Cronenberg, and Egoyan while they
fashioned Dracula, Crash, and The Sweet Hereafter, respec-
tively.

"And | looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that
sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him."

The horror genre, similar to war, has always been
popular. But never before has it enjoyed such a lucrative
swelling in widespread demand. It was Craven, with Scream,
who prophesied the macabre resurgence of a form thought
dead. Upon his equus pale an army forms about him; his
generals are wealthy producers, his cavalry b-list directors,
his foot soldiers schlock actors, his victims teenage boys try-
ing to scare their dates into snuggling.

The crackling earth has split asunder to reveal the
raging fires of infernally cheap gore-effects while the spindly
arms of the underworld reach up to lead school-aged youth
towards the vile temptations of blood-soaked breasts and
swift decapitations. A devil rises up, and showing on his
wings are the soldiers' efforts: | Know What You Did Last
Summer, Urban Legend, Event Horizon, | Still Know What
You Did Last Summer, The Haunting, Stir Of Echoes, and
The Blair Witch Project. And all the while Craven rides,
bringing us forth into a horrifying future.

"And when he had opened the fifth seal, | saw, under the
altar the souls of them that were slain for the word of God,
and for the testimony which they held: And they cried with
a loud voice, saying, O Lord, holy and true, dost thou not
judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the
earth? And white robes were given unto every one of them;
and it was said unto them that they should rest yet for a lit-
tle season, until their fellowservants also and their brethren,
that should be killed as they were, should be fulfilled."

The blood of the mar-
tyrs flows strong and black
in the post-grunge, post-
gen X, pre-millennial quag-
mire of angst.

Tyler Durden (Fight Club) soaks a flag in his own plasma
and waves it high overhead, and a thunderous response
beats itself off of cineplex walls, popcorn machines trem-
bling. His battle-cry echoes from the mouth of the flat-acted
hacker (The Matrix), a leather longcoat peeling back to
reveal blood-stained robes. | can hear the straining of the
disparate, desperate fathers (American Beauty, Life Is

The first seal, the first sign, the first horseman of
the apocalypse; widely regarded as Pestilence. Translate, if
you will, the embodiment of this sign into celluloid structure
and what are you given? Initially, and without err, one
might apply the breaking of the first seal quite literally. Films
such as Outbreak, riding upon the disease panic of the
eighties and early nineties, fit nicely. But it also reveals itself
ina slightly more stylish sense.

The word pestilence refers to that which is both
destructive to life and morality. As I'm sure most mothers
shall concur, there would hardly be a better application of
the definition than to the heroin chicness and psychedelic
cool that has prevailed itself upon the silver screen within the
last decade. | imagine a bow in the hand of William
Burroughs as he murders his wife (Naked Lunch). | imagine
Trainspotting's Renton, sitting astride a gaunt and steaming
steed, bearing down on Hunter S. Thompson and his
Samoan lawyer (Fear And Loathing In Las Vegas) as they
drive through an ether-encrusted haze towards American
glory. | imagine a crown on the head of Pulp Fiction’s
Vincent as he thrusts a needle into the chest of Mrs. Mia
Wallace.

"And there went out another horse that was red: and power
was given to him that sat thereon to take peace from the
earth, and that they should kill one another: and there was
given unto him a great sword."

‘And so we are given War, the second horseman of
the apocalypse.

Thematically, war is always popular within the
realm of cinema, but in the last decade there have been
some features which have been so powerful that they thrust
themselves, supernally, into the collective human conscious-
ness as enduringly definitive.

It began with the painful juggernaut that was the
prophet Spielberg's Schindler's List, a film which existed in a
solitary state, forcing viewers to finally recognize the unde-
niable and utter emotional loss inherent in the last great war.
It continued with Richard Ill and The Thin Red Line. And it
ended, fittingly enough voiced again by the Speilberg
prophet, with Saving Private Ryan. A sword in the shaking,
hand of the schoolteacher captain which he plunges it into,
the hearts of his company.

“And | beheld, and lo a black horse; and he that sat on him
had a pair of balances in his hand. And | heard a voice in
the midst of the four beasts say, A measure of wheat for a
penny, and three measures of barley for a penny; and see
thou hurt not the oil and the wine."

@4

So enters the third horseman, Famine.

Almost predictably, an examination of the third seal
leads one to a discussion of emotional emptiness and long-
ing as the definition of famine condenses itself to “destruc-
tive absence”. Thus were the scales in the hands of Kubrick
as he designed his finale, Eyes Wide Shut. And so, too, were
they with Coppola, Cronenberg, and Egoyan while they
fashioned Dracula, Crash, and The Sweet Hereafter, respec-
tively.

“And | looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that
sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him."

The horror genre, similar to war, has always been
Popular. But never before has it enjoyed such a lucrative
swelling in widespread demand. It was Craven, with Scream,
who prophesied the macabre resurgence of a form thought
dead. Upon his equus pale an army forms about him; his
generals are wealthy producers, his cavalry b-list directors,
his foot soldiers schlock actors, his victims teenage boys try-
ing to scare their dates into snuggling.

The crackling earth has split asunder to reveal the
raging fires of infernally cheap gore-effects while the spindly
arms of the underworld reach up to lead school-aged youth
towards the vile temptations of blood-soaked breasts and
swift decapitations. A devil rises up, and showing on his
wings are the soldiers’ efforts: / Know What You Did Last
Summer, Urban Legend, Event Horizon, | Still Know What
You Did Last Summer, The Haunting, Stir Of Echoes, and
The Blair Witch Project. And all the while Craven tides,
bringing us forth into a horrifying future.

“And when he had opened the fifth seal, | saw, under the
altar the souls of them that were slain for the word of God,
and for the testimony which they held: And they cried with
a loud voice, saying, O Lord, holy and true, dost thou not
judge and avenge our blood on them that dwell on the
earth? And white robes were given unto every one of them;
and it was said unto them that they should rest yet for a lit-
tle season, until their fellowservants also and their brethren,
that should be killed as they were, should be fulfilled."

The blood of the mar-
tyrs flows strong and black
in the post-grunge, post-
gen X, pre-millennial quag-
mire of angst.

Tyler Durden (Fight Club) soaks a flag in his own plasma
and waves it high overhead, and a thunderous response
beats itself off of cineplex walls, popcom machines trem-
bling. His battle-cry echoes from the mouth of the flat-acted
hacker (The Matrix), a leather longcoat peeling back to
reveal blood-stained robes. | can hear the straining of the
disparate, desperate fathers (American Beauty, Life Is