To kick things off, if you haven’t seen The Thing, then… well, you should drop all else and watch it right now. But, just to recap, the film takes place in the snowy and desolate continent of Antarctica. We follow a research crew stationed – or, as the film goes on, stuck – in their base after the arrival of a strange dog and a mumbling Norwegian man who seems to have gone raving mad. After the Norwegian stumbles onto their camp grounds and inadvertently shoots one of the members in the leg whilst trying to kill the evasive husky he’d been pursuing, the guard of the facility shoots him in the head, thus killing him. With the dog saved, our protagonist, pilot J.R. MacReady, heads out via helicopter with doctor Copper to investigate the facility from which the manic Norwegian man came from. As unsavory evidence is uncovered, an ominous air looms over the crew, and a palpable paranoia settles once the dog is found to be a mere imitation, with a grotesque alien life revealing itself from beneath the fur and skin. What’s more, that alien lifeform lives solely to assimilate other lifeforms into its genetic code, and thusly wields the potential to perfectly mimic man and animal alike. Mere contact may be enough to infect anyone with the seeds of this malignant process, and soon enough, nobody can be sure of each other’s – let alone their own – status.

Everything else aside, the writing in this film is nothing short of phenomenal. The entire premise revolves around this alien monster, yet this beast has no true form. The being is essentially ourselves, for it is nothing but an imitation of what it preys upon. So, the central, fear-inducing question becomes: “who is the thing?” Naturally, in order for the plot to avoid slipping into predictability or being overly obvious, this question needs to be nuanced. The way in which the script accomplishes the layering required for such depth is to provide every character with solid motives capable of explaining their actions. By doing this, every instance in which an audience member might say, “oh, well he’s got to be one of them,” can immediately be followed up with a counterpoint – that counterpoint being the alternative and very plausible motivations expected for that specific character. Since the “thing” is able to flawlessly recapture the elements of each lifeform it assimilates, there is always that creeping suspicion that someone is not who they seem. But, with proper characterizations made and clear motivations set in place, there’s always a perfectly legitimate chance that someone is simply acting as they’d be expected to.

This is where I’d like to go off and dissect the film’s characters. Obviously, for a movie concerning a small and isolated group of researchers who are on edge and inflicted with cabin-fever, the interest lies in the dynamics between this diverse cast of men. I find that these characters straddle a line extremely vital to the intensity of the film. While each member of this research team is provided a distinctive enough personality by the script, we are provided nothing more than a surface-level glimpse into their inner-workings. Introducing the crew, each member is represented with different attitudes, mindsets, sympathies, and motivations. Although it’s quite subtle, these character-defining moments are implanted in just the first ten to fifteen minutes of the picture.

When Gary, the guard, kills the Norwegian in defense of his crewmates, he steps outside with a visible look of remorse written all over his visage (thus indicating his broadly empathetic outlook). Once saved from the threat of harm, the husky stands in the snow, and soon thereafter, Clark, seemingly the animal specialist of the crew, comforts and calmly pets it, reassuring the dog of its newfound refuge (indicating his animal-oriented sympathies). These are important aspects of each character worth noting, as they all come into play later on when the crewmates’ trust in each other hits rock-bottom. These introductory actions are utilized in order to establish motivations and character qualities. However, we are only given just enough information to form an appropriate conception of these characters prior to their knee-deep involvement in the subsequently tangled mess which is their predicament. In masterful orchestration, the script intentionally relegates our understanding of each man such that we can fathom their humanity in times of duress, yet such an inference is never definitive. Like chess pieces, each character has moves only they’d make. However, the brilliance of the writing shines through when the alien lifeform is tossed into the mix, defensive measures are taken, and, through these added elements, the motivations are subsequently thrown into question; since, after all, we don’t know these men well enough to ever plant our full trust in them.

This idea, the notion that there are always two plausible reasons behind the actions of any one character, is what drives home the hard-hitting paranoia embedding so much of the film. A perfect microcosm encapsulating this dynamic is Blaire’s decision to sabotage both the camp communication equipment and vehicles. This act of destruction came after he discovered the true graveness of the crew’s dilemma. Blaire, at this point, understands better than anyone else the dire circumstances, as his research reveals a high likelihood that at least one crewmate had already been assimilated and mimicked by the alien. Moreover, in the event that the infection spreads to the rest of civilization, Blaire finds that it would only be a matter of time until the total assimilation of Earth’s population. In what would appear an impulse of rash selflessness, Blaire hides his discovery from the rest of the crew, opting instead to go ahead with his acts of sabotage. Given these basic facts, Blaire’s intentions seem perfectly pure, as he appears to be placing the greater good above his – or any of the crew’s – own self-preservation. However, we seriously don’t have any due cause to label Blaire as that philanthropic of a person. He’s a doctor, a fact-oriented man, who doesn’t do a whole lot up until this point other than serve as a voice of objective science, as he is the one to explain the anatomy of the amalgamated alien-dog carcass to the crew. Even then, the information pertaining to the cellular activity of this monster, alongside the probability of crewmate infection, is given to both Blaire and the audience via a computer, a neutral middle-man – or rather, machine – with no emotional undertones. Equally absent an emotional layer is Blaire’s reaction to this discovery, as he simply gives the screen a sagged stare before reaching into his desk for a gun. There’s nothing to prove Blaire’s intent one way or the other, and given his rather strangely altered demeanor later on, there is this tinge of doubt that I, and I’m sure many others, harbor in relation to Blaire’s actual goal in smashing up the camp equipment. While Blaire's intentions may have been pure and his capricious actions those of a truly selfless man looking to preserve the rest of Earth's uninfected population, it is an equally valid interpretation to infer that he was assimilated at this point and does all of this simply to cut off communication with the outside world and therefore trap his prey. Just as every coin has two sides, so many actions and lines of dialogue in this film can be viewed as the candid expressions of a human stricken with exhaustion, fear, and cabin-fever or the malignant subversions of a façade veiling a monster, and either viewpoint is entirely plausible.

Just as the film abstains from ever giving the audience the entire picture concerning any one character’s background or deep-seated motivations, the scenes are constructed in a way such that we are never treated to the full details with any one camera shot. A tactic which is prevalent throughout The Thing is one I’d consider concealing a hand. There is no hurry on the film’s part to shove everything in the audience’s face – thus throwing all of its cards onto the table –, yet it also doesn’t look to push everything as far out of sight as possible. Often times, and in a thematically appropriate fashion, there are crucial aspects of a scenario which are left unbeknownst to the viewer for a time (out of sight, out of mind). There are many scenes in which a game-changing element lingers just out of frame – or perhaps in frame, though hidden by darkness –, yet, extreme filmmaking restraint ensures that these things are intentionally blocked off. Once such an element is unveiled, say, through a simple change in camera perspective or through its illumination by flashlight, there is a moment of shock, as not only has something salient just been unmasked by the filmmaker, but there is also an element of caution that is implanted into the viewer’s subconscious. By formulating a visual sequence of events that maintains a relatively steady beat only to immediately respell the scene through newly introduced imagery, the audience is informed that there is always the potential for something awry to linger by the wayside. Visually, this magnificently inculcates the viewer with paranoia, as the camera through which they are being shown all information is often times hiding elements until its proper cue, hoarding a key piece of the puzzle just out of sight.

Just as the cinematography frequently omits key evidence in a scene – such that its reveal is all the more impactful –, the audience is pretty much never fed the full, dirty details of any one inciting incident in the film’s plot. The Thing’s intensity hinges on the ability of the filmmakers to keep the audience guessing. Obviously, there is an immediate excitement that viewers are exposed to at the commencement of a mystery, and this helps keep the film fresh and the audience engaged. However, this is a prevalent tactic in many pieces of noteworthy cinema; The Thing is by no means particularly special for simply asking more questions than it provides answers. What sets this film apart is how it predicates that tension on a mystery with no definite answers – or rather, with multiple equally plausible answers – and basks in that unknowing until the bitter end, offering no shiny bow to wrap everything up.

In this way, the cinematography and story converge, as the camera presents us with a certain group doing certain activities, and, almost like some con-artists in cahoots, the story continues to deviously unfold elsewhere while the camera distracts the viewer, feeding us merely the breadcrumbs of a bygone trespass. This is perhaps the soul of The Thing and precisely what makes it so engaging and unnerving. We, as humans, are designed to want understanding. That which confuses, disorients, and/or obfuscates is innately unpleasant on the surface, yet the drive to unearth the underlying truth buried beneath it all is what keeps us going regardless. But The Thing disallows any concrete comprehension of its own events, opting only to feed, as I said, the breadcrumbs of a trail. These bits and pieces manage to satiate the viewer’s momentary desire for plot movement and clue excavation, yet they are red-herrings, as it’s all discovered a bit too late. MacReady finds the smashed-up mechanisms of the camp vehicle only after Blaire has had his way with it; doctor Copper thinks up his blood-test only after the prior untampered blood bags have been slashed up by one of the crew; to bring it all back to the genesis of this entire predicament, the replication abilities of the creature itself are only realized after it had time to freely wander around the camp for a day as a dog – thereby already sowing its seeds. Even then, there is no concrete hypothesis which can explain away the “who,” “how,” or “why” of anything. Though there are explanations as to how a particular act of sabotage occurred, the “who” aspect is left floating in a pool of trepidation. Conversely, information pertaining to the “who” of a situation might be noticeably unaccompanied by anything which wholly informs the viewer of the “why.” In the case of Blaire’s computer disclosing the assimilatory powers of the alien life, there is an explanation as to how, yet this serves the primary purpose of inflicting the audience with the tickling question of "who.” Really, nothing which is learned by any character in this film is necessarily uncovering a grand mystery (as the mystery has no all-encompassing answer). Rather, each bit of evidence is not a piece in the puzzle, but a discarded shovelful of dirt indicating the further descent down an inescapable hole. Even more accurate, each discovery is akin to finding a set of footprints leading down a dirt path. Though, these prints are that of a large group, and these impressions in the soil are circling. 

An aspect of The Thing’s production that I find apropos at this point is the immensely secretive nature of the operation under which the monster itself was created. John Carpenter and his special effects team were particularly sensitive to the idea of having photographers capture the alien creature’s appearance prior to The Thing’s theatrical release. Fearful of having their hard-work shown to the public eye prematurely, Carpenter disallowed all still-photographs of the creature entirely. After The Thing’s release, film critics spouted mouthfuls of dissatisfaction with the characters, plot, and tone, though one aspect that received a large amount of praise, despite equal parts derision, was the special effects work. Although the film didn’t garner many accolades at the time of its release, and film critics had a grocery list of critiques for the picture, Carpenter’s aversion to the monster’s publicity pre-release appeared to have paid some dividends after all. Though it took critical reexamination in the years following its release for film critics to conclude that The Thing is an undisputed icon of horror cinema, the grotesque and hideously amalgamated creature has always – to varying degrees – been understood as a preeminent and haunting hallmark of special effects work. It does, however, feel a tad bit strange to so emphatically laud something that is... well, indiscernible. Conversely from many cantankerous critics in 1982, most cinephiles today would likely gush about The Thing if given the chance. However, if you asked any of those same people - or even the converted critics - to classify the film’s now forty-year-old monster, they’d likely stumble over their words a bit more. Despite time’s abilities to affect the outlook of film critics towards Carpenter’s beloved flick, I’m not so sure that even a century of elapsed time could shed any new light on what exactly the thing itself is.

I find it fitting that this end-product, which had been so heavily shielded from public view, was such a nebulous concoction that it became no more identifiable after its unveiling than it had been whilst under wraps. Staying in line with the film’s entire approach to horror, the monster’s introduction to initial audiences of The Thing presented a reveal which spelled out nothing definitively, leaving a shape-shifting parasite to unload its own crisis of identity onto a fictional research crew and an unsuspecting audience. Forty years later, and the thing itself still poses perhaps the biggest question which remains unanswered by the film.