Super 8 (2011) is one of the first films I remember being scared by. Watching it back now proves just how little I was—the film is a science-fiction thriller and any horror element is minimal.
The film follows a group of teenagers who, when trying to film a zombie movie, witness a freak railroad accident that releases an alien into their small town in Ohio. It was my first taste of fear and monsters, and the excitement of it has always stuck in my memory, while the deeper aspects of grief, love and friendship have always stayed in my heart.
The terror of the film lies in its violence, jumpscares and the alien itself. It has all the supernatural cliches of missing dogs, power outages and untrustworthy military forces which makes the film an enjoyable, exciting thrill, but without the mindless, overdone gore and suffering that you often see in the genre, and the fear that is instilled is perfectly balanced by the overarching theme of connection. This is seen in the friendships, exploration of young love and the parental relationships, threatened by grief and misunderstanding. Even the monster comes to represent this, as it is revealed to have a psychic ability to communicate through touch—the people who have come into contact with it understand its suffering at the hand of humans and desire to go home, rather than reek mindless terror. As is often revealed in supernatural films, the lack of compassion from humans is what stands to be truly monstrous.
I already love this concept, but it’s particularly effective when paired with Super 8’s grounded, authentic characters. Alongside the invasion and terror, the protagonist Joe (Joel Courtney) struggles to reach his father Jack (Kyle Chandler) while dealing with grief. Joe is a quiet, kind boy who initially struggles to use his voice. I like to think that it is his sweet nature that constantly amazes Jack, but without knowing how to praise him, the man pushes his son away. Throughout the film they are presented with a heavy emotional distance between them and they constantly miscommunicate in the rare times they do converse, masking their love for one another.
Jack’s professional title as deputy of the town relies on authority, and this characteristic is used too often on Joe who understandably fails to see the love behind the control. What eventually reunites the father and son at the end of the film, practically and emotionally, is the threat the alien poses. Jack’s fear that he could lose Joe demonstrates the love he has for him, and finally validates our protagonist. The closeness of love and fear is a central dynamic in Super 8, even explored through the alien which despite being the fearful element, is ultimately misunderstood. Though it may not physically belong in our world, the compassion and connection it represents does—especially when this is exactly what the characters in the film need.
Friendships are in focus too. Joe and his friends have incredible chemistry, giving authentic performances which makes it unclear at some points whether their conversations were entirely scripted. They bring the film’s comedic aspect, offering strong distinguishable personalities and reactions to the situation they are in. Charles (Riley Griffiths) in particular is starkly different to Joe, but that makes them a good duo. They share the closest relationship, connected by a passion for filmmaking.
Boyhood is an experience I never had and I have never been particularly mournful of that fact. But when it is presented in this way, the clumsy sentiment of male childhood friendships hidden in a constant stream of ridicule and arguing, it becomes something I feel I’ve missed out on. On a visual level I further adore the camera work, which cleverly, silently informs the audience of unspoken things. For instance, another difference between Charles and Joe is their home life, though it is never explicitly spoken about. During a dinner scene at Charles’ house, for example, we get a window into his hectic, busy family. His parents, over the disruptive commotion of the siblings, both welcome Joe to join their meal, though he politely declines. It is a sequence meant to be seen as overwhelming, and it is, but put next to the following presentation of Joe’s isolated home life it becomes a symbol of familial connection and support. Joe walks into his quiet, dark home and looks for his dad, finding him having an emotional moment. Jack responds by shutting him out, literally and emotionally. In the next scene, the pair eating at an empty diner, Jack tells Joe of a six-week training programme that he is looking at sending him for the summer. The moment is enough to communicate that Jack is overwhelmed by his grief and cannot reach out to his son, while the mise-en-scene leading up to this point is a subtle revelation of how much Joe is lacking in support.
Super 8 is a perfect film to watch when you need to satisfy the craving to be spooked, with stunning visuals and in-depth characters and a brilliant storyline to boot. Amongst the excitement in this strange town there is an emotional exploration of relationships, grief and love which asks for just as much of your attention. One of my favourite examples of this in the film is near the end. Visually we are presented with a boy physically threatened by an alien, which compliments the expectations of a tense supernatural film. But looking further and considering the world the film creates, they are also two lonely beings from different places momentarily understanding and seeing the other, which is exactly what they need. In a way, this boy and the alien fit perfectly together—both harbour the same wish to be seen, a universal desire for something that is perhaps more rare than we think.
Words by India Gwyn-Williams
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