Why Lumberjacks Are to Blame for the Devolution of Horror

For too long we've been given the "wink-wink, nudge-nudge" from self-aware, "meta" horror films until our ribs are bruised and our own eyelids are drooping.  But can lumberjacks seriously be the culprits?  Paul Bunyan may be fictional himself, but his legendary shenanigans can be blamed for the infestation of irony that plagues genre films to this day.  John Waters has famously explained the scourge of irony: "Irony ruined everything.... Even the best exploitation movies were never meant to be 'so bad they were good.'  They were not made for the intelligentsia.  They were made to be violent for real, or to be sexy for real.  But now everybody has irony.  Even horror films now are ironic.  Everybody's in on the joke now.  Everybody's hip.  Nobody takes anything at face value anymore."  Here's why John Waters might have pointed a finger high toward Paul Bunyan and the lumberjacks propping up their hero.

Our revelation is courtesy of a cryptid, the Canadian forest spirit or "wood horror" known as the Philamaloo bird (also spelled Fill-ma-loo, Filmaloo, Phylliloo, Flu-fly, and Goofus bird).  I checked in on the latest about this cryptid, as one does, only to be reminded that its earliest oral accounts were first cited in /Paul Bunyan's Natural History/ (1935).  It's described as flying upside down to avoid rheumatism and as laying Grade D eggs.  Four years later in /Fearsome Critters/, it was noted for lacking intellectual curiosity, being indifferent as to where it went, preferring to see where it has been and therefore flying backwards, and building an upside down nest.  You'll have already seen what's up with all this — lumberjacks and their ironic sense of humor.  Their tall tales have made mockeries of all genuine eye-witness cryptid reports.  From the horrors of the Canadian timberlands to the horrors of movie theatres, the so-called "elephant in the room" is actually a giant blue ox called Babe, Paul Bunyan's partner in crime.

In full disclosure, toxic irony has infected my own work, for my horror-comedy series Grave Mood Rings has broken so many fourth walls that to hold all the shards we'd need a dustbin with a million sides (that's called a megagon, apparently; always lookin' stuff up).  Wink-wink — how dreadfully /clever/ it is to be so self-aware — nudge-nudge — isn't it just /hilarious/?  Sigh.  How are we to operate in this post-genuine, pretentious era?  Irony detaches the viewer from authentically engaging in a work.  Irony may break the fourth wall, but it creates another barrier of its own, ensuring that the viewer remains unmoved even if temporarily intellectually tickled.  One thing is certain: without sustainable forestry in which the long-term health, biodiversity, and regeneration of timber resources is managed for the benefit of future generations, our habitats both in and outside of movie theatres will remain seriously threatened.  (Yes, we're here specifically appealing to our lumberjack readers and on behalf of the endangered Filmaloo bird.)  The concept of "selective cutting" (in forests as in editing rooms) may be something to consider.

—Hailed by the art world as the most unusual scholar working today, Craig Conley a.k.a. Prof. Oddfellow fled academia to author Weiser Books' Magic Words: A Dictionary, HarperCollins' One-Letter Words: A Dictionary, and The Young Wizard's Hexopedia.  Esoteric publications include Books of the Dead, Magic Archetypes, The Care and Feeding of a Spirit Board, Seance Parlor Feng Shui, How to Hoodoo Hack a Yearbook, Heirs to the Queen of Hearts, Astrogalomancy, The One-Minute Mystic, and Divination by Punctuation.  He produces, directs, and writes both Grave Mood Rings and Prof. Oddfellow's Penetralia.  His work has been profiled in the New York Post, the New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, The Chicago Tribune, National Public Radio, The Dallas Morning News, Publishers Weekly, The Associated Press, and dozens of others.  His website is MysteryArts.com