Sign of the Librarian in the Cinema of Horror: an Exploration of Filmic Function Antoinette G

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2010 Sign of the Librarian in the Cinema of Horror: An Exploration of Filmic Function Antoinette G. Graham

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COLLEGE OF COMMUNICATION AND INFORMATION

SIGN OF THE LIBRARIAN IN THE CINEMA OF HORROR:

AN EXPLORATION OF FILMIC FUNCTION

ANTOINETTE G. GRAHAM

A Dissertation submitted to the School of Library and Information Studies in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

Degree Awarded: Fall Semester, 2010

______Gary Burnett Professor Directing Dissertation

______Valliere Richard Auzenne University Representative

______Lisa Tripp Committee Member

______Eliza T. Dresang Committee Member

Approved:

______Larry Dennis, Dean College of Communication & Information

______Corinne Jörgensen, Director School of Library & Information Studies

The Graduate School has verified and approved the above-named committee members.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Abstract ...... v

Preamble ...... vii

1. INTRODUCTION ...... 1 1.1 Statement of the Problem ...... 2 1.2 Background of the Problem ...... 4 1.3 Significance of the Problem ...... 5 1.4 Research Question ...... 6 1.4.1 But Why Horror? ...... 8 1.5 Methodology ...... 10 1.5.1 Value of the Semiotic Lens ...... 11 1.5.2 The Semiotics of Horror ...... 13 1.6 Assumptions ...... 15 1.7 Limitations ...... 16 1.8 Contributions to the Research ...... 17 1.9 Summary ...... 18

2. LITERATURE REVIEW ...... 19 2.1 The Librarian as Cultural Symbol and Stereotype ...... 19 2.1.1 Librarian Stereotypes in Films ...... 21 2.1.2 The Librarian Anti-Stereotype ...... 26 2.1.3 "You can take the librarian out of the library, but …" ...... 28 2.1.4 Conditioned Responses to the Librarian Symbol ...... 29 2.1.5 Nonnarrative Motivations for Filmic Elements ...... 30 2.2 The Icon of Library ...... 31 2.2.1 Library as Institutional Framework ...... 35 2.2.2 Library Tasks as Filmic Elements ...... 38 2.3 The Narrative Realistic Cinematic Structure ...... 39 2.4 Conventional Signifiers of Horror Films ...... 42 2.5 Function of Librarian Characters in Cinema ...... 45 2.5.1 Minor Librarian Roles ...... 47 2.5.2 Major Librarian Roles ...... 50 2.5.3 Librarian Characters as Information Obstructionists ...... 50 2.5.4 The Librarian Symbol as Myth ...... 51 2.5.5 Librarian as Semiotic Sign ...... 52 2.5.6 Librarian as Icon, as Index, as Symbol ...... 54 2.5.7 Cinema and the Communication of Meaning ...... 55 2.6 A Semiotic Approach ...... 57 2.7 Conclusion ...... 58

iii 3. METHODOLOGY ...... 60 3.1 Research Sample ...... 60 3.2 Character Analyses ...... 61 3.3 Sign Systems as Semiotic Process ...... 62 3.4 Esslin's Table of Sign Systems ...... 63 3.4.1 Sign Systems Common to All Dramatic Media ...... 65 3.4.2 Sign Systems Confined to Cinema and Television ...... 66 3.5 The Semiotic Frame and Interpretation ...... 66 3.6 Conclusion ...... 67

4. DATA ANALYSIS ...... 68 4.1 Research Sample and Criteria ...... 68 4.2 Statistical Overview ...... 69 4.3 Data Related to Filmic Function ...... 71 4.4 Character Function as Imposed Design ...... 73 4.4.1 Exposition as Librarian Function ...... 74 4.4.2 Plot Advancement as Librarian Function ...... 77 4.4.3 Humor as Librarian Function ...... 79 4.4.4 Irony as Librarian Function ...... 84 4.4.5 Symbolism as Librarian Function ...... 87 4.5 Character Function Related to Narrative Role ...... 92 4.5.1 Action Hero as Librarian Function ...... 93 4.5.2 Dying as Librarian Function ...... 96 4.5.3 Killing as Librarian Function ...... 99 4.5.4 Victim as Librarian Function ...... 103 4.5.5 Seeker of Knowledge as Librarian Function ...... 107 4.5.6 Information Provider as Librarian Function ...... 109 4.5.7 Information Obstructionist as Librarian Function ...... 112 4.5.8 Maintainer/Violator of Rules as Librarian Function ...... 114 4.5.9 Occupational Status as Librarian Function ...... 116 4.6 Character Function from a Narrative Viewpoint ...... 120 4.6.1 Emotional Support as Librarian Function ...... 121 4.6.2 Lover or Sexual/Asexual Object as Librarian Function ...... 123 4.6.3 Monster as Librarian Function ...... 130

5. CONCLUSION ...... 132 5.1 General Observations ...... 133 5.2 Library Settings in Horror Films ...... 136 5.3 The Bigger Picture ...... 137 5.4 Denouement ...... 139

Appendix: Plot Summaries of Sample Films ...... 141

References ...... 150

Film References ...... 157

Biographical Sketch ...... 164

ABSTRACT

Librarian characters in films have long been the subject of academic study, usually comparing their features with those of the stereotype or real librarians. Little attention is given to the value librarian characters bring to visual narratives. This qualitative research explores contributions of onscreen librarians by identifying role function within a sample of 30 narrative realist horror films. Function relates to how a character's traits, behaviors, and interactions create meaning that advances the story. The horror genre offers popular conventions and a wide variety of librarian character types. Because the term stereotype is too limiting to describe librarian roles in films, an observational framework is applied that interprets data as signs using constructs defined by Charles S. Peirce. A librarian character, when viewed as an indexical sign, is the product of any combination of signifiers culturally associated with the image that will induce recognition of the occupation, e.g., hair bun or bald, young (and naïve) or old (and frigid), male or female, repressed or wild, helpful or obstructive. A semiotic approach permits contradictions and neutralizes emotions vested in the librarian symbol by members of the profession. Using Esslin's Table of Signs System for data collection, librarian character functions fall into 17 categories, with analyses thematically grouped based on the level of communication flow between filmmaker and audience. Data show that most of the sample films include librarians as protagonists or pivotal characters that express multiple functions. A significantly larger percentage of male librarians appear in these horror films than in general cinema or in real life. While features of the negative librarian stereotype are exaggerated in some films, they support narrative purpose and are not gratuitous. Positive aspects of the librarian symbol are strongly represented. Most of the films in the sample include library settings with familiar cultural signifiers that augment librarian functions. While the portrayal of information services within a library setting ground minor roles, more fully-fleshed

v characters fulfill a wide range of functions including murderers, victims, action heroes, sources of humor and irony, emotional support, sexual objects, and other purposes. As working librarians they provide information, obstruct information, enact routine library tasks, maintain library rules—and violate them. Whether on the job or interacting in other narrative settings, librarian characters impact their stories, showing the librarian index to be fertile, expressive and capable of communicating deep narrative meaning. This research successfully argues that librarian roles within the narrative realist horror film genre are relevant and, despite a stodgy stereotype, often support drama and excitement.

PREAMBLE

A movie ticket at the Atlas Theater in Detroit cost a quarter when I was a kid rushing to Saturday afternoon double-feature with my best friends Gayle and Debbie. We saw many wonderful shows, and I recall my consternation when the price increased to 35 cents. The Atlas was where I saw House on Haunted Hill (1959) and was so frightened I've never had the nerve to watch it again, not even on television with commercials every seven minutes. Movie houses had uniformed ushers back then, and my parents met when they were 16 years old and working at the elegant Riviera Theater on Grand River Avenue. Dad loves old movies, all kinds of old movies, and back in the 1950s we watched many hosted by Rita Bell (WXYZ-TV, Detroit) and Bill Kennedy (CKLW, Windsor). Mom took her three girls to drive-ins to see the latest Elvis Presley and Bob Hope/Bing Crosby releases. To this day the whole family can chatter for hours about this movie or that, and we all have collections of our personal favorites. My husband majored in Film and is a walking encyclopedia of arcane movie lore. As a child, my connection to the public library was the Saturday ritual of walking a mile to the branch on Joy Road, arms aching around a pile of books. In middle age I would combine two loves by tracking librarian characters that popped up in movies ... I mean films ... adapted from books, and setting up a webpage that compared them. Eventually I posted any films featuring librarians, and the webpage continues to grow with new titles added as they come along. My dissertation concerns librarian roles in horror films, exploring the reasons why filmmakers would choose this occupational label for one or more of their characters. The horror genre was selected not for personal reasons but practical ones. And I freely admit that if a librarian character had been included in House on Haunted Hill, it would not appear in the research sample because even my research committee can't make me watch that again.

vii

CHAPTER 1

INTRODUCTION

This dissertation seeks to identify and analyze the function of librarian characters in a sample of narrative realist horror films. Hundreds of librarian characters have appeared onscreen since the origin of cinema and have long been credited by the literature for creating and reinforcing a powerful stereotype in the cultural mind that inadequately personifies real librarians and the work they do. Academic attention generally targets descriptors of the stereotype while overlooking those facets of librarianship that contribute to the stories being told onscreen and that would explain the selection of this specific occupation for these roles. Using a semiotic lens following Peirce, with data collection guided by Esslin's Table of Sign Systems, this study examines contributions of the robust sign of librarian to horror films, a genre with a long cinematic history and distinctive signifiers that provides a solid starting point for addressing why librarian characters appear in films, thereby validating the importance to visual storytelling of this familiar occupational symbol. For purposes of this study, any character performing library tasks in an appropriate context is labeled librarian since rarely is the film audience given enough information to discern whether a character is a librarian with a master's degree (a relatively modern requirement), a paraprofessional, student assistant or volunteer (Nilsen & McKechnie, 2002, p. 296; Tevis & Tevis, p. 68; Walker & Lawson, 1993, p. 20). Function relates to a character's purpose within the story, those traits, behaviors, and interactions that advance the plot. The term narrative realist refers to the mainstream film structure most popular in American theatrical releases, the Hollywood movie as opposed to ritual films, postmodernism, and other less commercial styles. As do Tevis and Tevis (2005), following academic convention, the label filmmaker is used as an umbrella term to include all those who participate in the creation of an art that is

"a product of many different forces" (Corrigan, 1997, p. 16), a "complicated, collected effort" especially in Hollywood (Cahir, 2006, p. 88), and includes screenwriters, directors, producers, actors, technicians, and numerous others. (See Sections 1.5.2 and 2.4 for definitional parameters of the horror genre.) Elements in a cinematic work are all the ingredients that comprise a film, including not only obvious ones (characters, costuming, set components, dialogue, special effects) but also less conspicuous features that affect how meaning is perceived (music, sound effects, lighting, opening titles and closing credits, camera angles and movement, editing cuts and transitions, pace, stylistic flourishes, etc.). Every feature that filmmakers use to construct their works is an element assumed to be integrated for a reason. In addition, academics include elements that affect the perception of the story such as a film's publicity and the ambiance of the theaters where presented. In this exploration the term filmic applies to a particular film or comparable films, as opposed to cinematic being the totality of films (Stam, Burgoyne, & Flitterman-Lewis, 1993, p. 34), underscoring this study's focus on a defined subset of motion pictures. Bordwell and Thompson (2001) identify characters as the most important of the many filmic elements in narrative realist cinema (p. 76).

1.1 Statement of the Problem

Society's concept of librarian is expressed in all forms of commercial media, including advertising, television, cartoons, radio plays, video games—and movies. Every year new librarian characters cross the big screen, but the literature has yet to ask "Why a librarian?" Stephen Walker and V. Lonnie Lawson (1993), in their article "The Librarian Stereotype and the Movies," connect the why question with the stereotype but do not elaborate on their claim that "[w]hen reel librarians make an appearance it is because of their traits or their job" (p. 18). Ray Tevis and Brenda Tevis (2005), authors of the seminal book The Image of Librarians in Cinema, 1917-1999, describe in detail who-what-where librarian characters appear in films, but do not touch on the subject of why. Repeatedly they identify films where the librarian label is deemed irrelevant to the narrative: "Betty's occupation is not important to the storyline" (p. 50); "Susan's occupation is not an integral part of the story line of this film" (p. 124);

and "The importance of the occupation of [these library workers], however, is incidental to the development of the story line" (p. 121)—yet each character in every film is specifically designed to fulfill a storytelling purpose (Phillips, 2000, p 18). That librarian characters serve a narrative function is acknowledged when Walker and Lawson (1993) state, "Changing a librarian into, say a lawyer or a doctor, changes the story" (p. 19). What actually changes are audience expectations. No story exists until moviegoers perceive the filmic elements and construct meaning from them, so that when they see a lawyer or a doctor (more accurately, when they see signifiers such as dress, deportment or setting, and thereby recognize lawyer or doctor), they expect the character to behave as would their personal conceptions of a lawyer or a doctor given that film's contextual and generic framework. So too when the audience sees a librarian, they expect librarian-like behaviors. Librarians do not appear in films as matters of happenstance. As McKee (1997) states, "a screenplay is not an accident" (p. 43). The librarian role accomplishes some purpose within the narrative since the maxim "do not include any unnecessary elements" is a basic directive for screenwriters, and occupational designations are a critical element for storytellers in any medium because of the power of labels. Amossy and Heidingsfeld (1984) determined that for their study of stereotypes in fiction, "What is important to examine are the functions attributable to the stereotype by virtue of its essential characteristics" (p. 700, original emphasis). Their viewpoint applies equally well to the study of stereotypic characters in films. Cinematic librarians are designed to perform overt, obvious functions (for instance, providing information to the protagonist), or symbolic functions (the librarian in Philadelphia represents "society" when he tries to segregate a patron with AIDS). As information providers, they can facilitate or obstruct the protagonist's narrative quest. Librarian characters serve a broad range of literary roles such as villain and victim, source of wisdom, sexual titillation, and comic relief. They are never extraneous. Function may also be a product of the story's setting as libraries frequently host character encounters, and librarians as custodians are an extension of the environment. Mark Twain (1897,1996) cites among rules for writers that "the personages in a tale, both dead and alive, shall exhibit a sufficient excuse for being there" (p. 95). This

aspect of librarian representation in films—the justification for "being there"––has not been closely examined in the literature to reveal narrative justifications for why characters such as Betty and Susan are christened librarian by their creators. That Tevis and Tevis (2005) focus on film librarians as they relate to stereotypes, and point out instances where stereotypical features are not depicted, is evidence that they believe such observations are worth noting. Inferring the reasons librarian characters were designated (their purpose and function) is, however, outside of their scope. Tevis and Tevis also do not attempt to be comprehensive, and they omit such genres as historical, science fiction/fantasy and erotica, direct-to-video and made-for-television movies, and films not produced in English-language countries––all segments of cinema that include a significant number of horror films. Despite a large body of work on the topic of librarian representations in media, there remain avenues for expanded study on the topic of librarians in films.

1.2 Background of the Problem

Librarians have long held a small but notable niche in the cinematic world. "During the twentieth century, reel librarians appeared in more than 200 sound motion pictures" (Tevis & Tevis, 2005, p. 16). Librarians serve as stock characters, roles so minor as to be extensions of the setting (McKee, 1997, p. 51), or they are two- dimensional bit parts, small roles played for immediate cognizance by the audience (McKee, 1997, p. 381; see also Brislin, 2000, pp. 205-206). Filmmakers accomplish this by tapping into shared cultural knowledge, using those features of dress, deportment, or actions that are conventionally associated with the librarian stereotype. Traditional librarian imagery works as shorthand "using symbols that are easily understood by a broad audience" (Tobias, 2003, p. 14). For minor roles, these signifiers of stereotype may make up the entire characterization of the part, sufficient to fulfill its librarian-related function before the story moves on. Major librarian roles, however, reveal enough occupational indicators to elicit recognition before individuated flesh that distinguishes the character is added to the role. This is apparent in films such as The Gun in Betty Lou's Handbag (1992), Only Two Can Play (1962) and The Mummy (1999), where librarian-protagonists are introduced performing routine library work tasks before plot

elements draw the action away from their employment, although the audience will filter perception of later events through their understanding that the character is a librarian, and make evaluations accordingly.

1.3 Significance of the Problem

The library literature approaches cinematic librarians as if they were ambassadors for the profession, and not doing a good job of it. The intense interest real librarians show in their cinematic surrogates, as evidenced by countless articles and web pages, is in part defensive since they have long suffered what many consider an unflattering representation based on the stereotype. Characters such as the elderly, stern, and decidedly unhelpful Madame Jocasta Nu in Star Wars, Episode II: Attack of the Clones (2002) impact how society views real librarians (Duncan, 2004, p. 3; Stoddard & Lee, 2005, p. 8). That the common man believes "you don't look like a librarian" to be a compliment demonstrates the pervasiveness of this attitude. American writer Walter Lippmann (1889-1974) contributed to the philosophy of social sciences the term stereotype to describe culturally defined "pictures in our heads" (2004, 1922, p. 1), which he borrowed from the reproductive arts, as a stereotype is a device used in printing presses to ink paper with identical copies of an image. Members of a society learn at a young age descriptors for certain concepts (such as librarian) that stubbornly persist even when reality empirically refutes them, so strong are those pictures in our heads. Librarians as a group are unhappy with what they perceive as negative portrayals in the media because they know that real librarians are more diverse and multi-dimensional than what is communicated through television, movies, and the written word.

I purport that the weakness of studying librarian roles as if they are mirrors to reality is founded on two facts: 1. Onscreen librarians are fictional, although by necessity based on real models so they can be understood (Bordwell, 1989, p. 153), and a semblance of reality is important (p. 58). As components of a storytelling medium, characters are vehicles for creating meaning within a designed context and must appear natural only if necessary for storytelling

purposes "Typically, what a character is or has can be translated into what the character means" (Bordwell, 1989, p. 154, original emphasis). Characters are effective filmmaking tools manipulated for their intended meaning (Friedman & Lyne, 2001, p. 430). McKee (1997) states, "A character is no more a human being than the Venus de Milo is a real woman. A character is a work of art … superior to reality" (p. 375). Critics of film librarians as inaccurate representatives miss this point. A study of function underscores contextual reality, an artistic expression in keeping with the cinematic form. 2. The notion of stereotype is too limiting to comfortably apply to cinematic librarians. Historically stereotypes display rigidity and undifferentiation (Heaton, 1946, p. 328; LaViolette & Silver, 1951, p. 260; MacKie, 1973, p. 433; Saltz, 1960, p. 105). There is no singular librarian type on the big screen. Variety and contradictions abound. Most film librarians are not in fact elderly (Tevis & Tevis, 2005, p. 190; Walker & Lawson, 1993, p. 21), yet an elderly librarian would immediately be labeled a stereotype. The cinematic librarian stereotype is female (Tevis & Tevis, p. 21) but numerous films include male librarian roles readily identified as stereotypic, often exhibiting unmanly traits (Walker & Lawson, p. 22). In actuality, movie librarians are young and old, men and women, sexually repressed and flirtatious, intelligent and ignorant, helpful and obdurate. Friedman and Lyne's (2001) statement "stereotypes need not be uniform or homogeneous" (p. 425) seems oxymoronic considering that the term stereotype derives from a mechanical method for replication without change, but in recent years a more fluid interpretation has allowed for variety and contradictions. Such definitional dilution, however, critically violates the core of the concept. Stereotype as an overarching label is at best ill-fitting for librarian characters. A superior means of examining the librarian symbol in context is utilized in this research that overcomes these analytical weaknesses by incorporating them as a definitional norm, allowing symbols to accrue numerous meanings without discordant limitations.

1.4 Research Question

Research question: What filmic functions are served by librarian characters featured in narrative realist horror films?

Understanding what a role contributes to a filmed story will identify its purpose and show why the character is included in the script. Because this topic of "Why a librarian?" is in its infancy in the literature, a starting point needs to be grasped and defined. The cinema of horror makes a logical ingress because its definitional elements are entrenched in the culture, distinctive from other genres, and long the subject of scholastic examination. Arguably the horror genre hosts the largest body of critical literature within film studies (Jancovich, 2002, p. 1), and most horror films are profitable (Wood, p. 29) "even though ... they are still not quite respectable" (Colavito, 2008, p. 5). Love it or hate it, horror cinema is a cultural force, and where it intersects librarianship is a valid subject for academic interest. A film's other intertextual elements such as setting, costumes, pacing, sound effects, etc., are considered in this study (see Section 3.2, Esslin's Table of Sign Systems), as they compose the narrative world in which characters operate as they weave an intricate and intimate artistic expression where each contributes to form a cogent whole. Each element relates to the characters, and each has distinctive function. "One useful way to grasp the function of an element is to ask … what other elements demand that it be present" (Bordwell, 2001, p. 51). This complex structure means that one element cannot be effectively studied apart from the others in any meaningful way. To date, studies of librarians in the media have sought to extract, describe and catalog every detail of traits and behaviors that can be compared and contrasted to the historical stereotype, and narrative context is generally ignored. Plucking a librarian character from the story in order to tally its components is akin to learning about wild lions by observing one in a cage. Determining character function through observation of interactions between all filmic elements is one way to better understand why librarian roles exist within these artistic works. At its basic level, cinematic function for librarian characters within a library setting often relates to the protagonist's use of library services. The librarian supplies or withholds requested information, provides training on library equipment, gives directions to requested resources, does reader's advisory, or creates a library card. Overt functions are linked to readily observable behaviors related to library work tasks, although a storyline might also endow a peripheral purpose made apparent when an

event is viewed in context. Librarian characters run the full range of roles and can serve purposes not related to their occupational label. Research is needed to determine functions seemingly unrelated to library services that might still be colored by the occupational label, such as the unseen librarian in You, Me and Dupree (2006) who makes a strong impact on the audience by expressing signs of nymphomania (creating irony since the audience "knows" that librarians are sexually repressed). It is important to note that the film industry runs on American capitalistic principles. In order to find a market for their creative properties, filmmakers are known to tailor their works to provide roles to specific popular actors, sometimes at the expense of the narrative. Star-power can misdirect audience perceptions, causing interpretations and expectations to be based on an actor's oeuvre instead of cues from the character. Classic actors Bette Davis, Vincent Price, and Katharine Hepburn wore the mantel of librarian in films made in the waning years of their careers. Such factors unrelated to the narrative must be considered when evaluating filmic function.

1.4.1 But Why Horror?

The choice of horror as the film genre central to this study needs more than an explanation––it requires explicit defense. "Fear, it seems, is not among the refined emotions critics look for in high art" (Colavito, 2008, p. 5). Bordwell (1989) writes, "If the critic's audience will not assume that … a 'slasher' film is an appropriate object of interpretation, the critic must generate arguments" for discussing this despised genre (p. 206). Jason Colavito (2005) observes that the acceptance of horror follows a distinct pattern. At first it is denounced and declared immoral, but its popularity forces academia to study the work and declare it brilliant, and years later it becomes part of the canon. "There is nothing inherently unliterary about horror" but it is perceived as "an inferior species of film" (p. 410). Horror adapts, creates mythologies, and remains relevant as an art form for the masses. Robin Wood, author of "The American Nightmare: Horror in the 1970s" (2002), states: The horror film has consistently been one of the most popular and, at the same time, the most disreputable of Hollywood genres. The popularity itself has a

peculiar characteristic that sets it apart from other genres: it is restricted to aficionados and complemented by total rejection, people tending to go to horror films either obsessively or not at all. They are dismissed with contempt by the majority of reviewer-critics, or simply ignored. (pp. 29-30) Jancovich (2002) writes that expressing a taste for horror may be considered "deeply problematic." He explains: For example, when people claim not to like horror, this is not simply a neutral claim. Often it also involves other, more implicit, claims: that horror is moronic, sick and worrying; that any person who derives pleasure from the genre is moronic, sick and potentially dangerous; that the person who is making the claim is reasonable and healthy .... (p. 18) A penchant for horror is founded on personal reasons. Colavito states simply, "Horror is what we want it to be" (p. 410). The choice of the horror genre for this study is aligned mostly with practical reasons. Horror films (and horror sequences in blended genres) are more identifiable than other styles, their signs more distinctive, and some of the librarian characters unique in the cinema. An example of compare-and-contrast across genres serves this point. Librarians rally around the spunky character of Mary in the comedy Party Girl (1995), intrigued to watch her dance her way through library duties. Every librarian in the audience laughs when hearing Mary challenge a young male patron she sees thoughtlessly shove a book onto the shelf: Mary: I guess you didn't know we have a system for putting books away here. No, I'm curious. You were just randomly putting that book on the shelf, is that it? You've just given us a great idea. I mean, why are we wasting our time with the Dewey Decimal System when your system is so much easier? Much easier! (shouting) We'll just put the books anywhere. Hear that, everybody? Our friend here has given us a great idea! We'll just put the books any damn place we choose! We don't care, right?! Isn't that right?

Certainly Mary is an interesting character, always at the top of any list of cinematic librarians, yet her personality pales in comparison to Sally Diamon, the librarian protagonist in Chainsaw Sally (2004), who carries out the following conversation with a patron she has caught after chasing her through the woods:

Sally: I've been looking for you. Waiting, waiting … you never came back. Why, Tina? Tina: Why? I don't know what you're talking about. Sally: Don't pretend you don't know. Tina: Please! I have no idea what you're talking about! Sally: No idea? No idea? Is it not true that in June of last year you checked out a book from the public library? Is it not true that you, Tina Gray, checked out Atkins for Life by the late Robert C. Atkins? (shouting) And is it not true that since then that book has not been able to be checked out by any other patron of the Porterville Public Library? Is it? Tina: (sobbing) Yes! I guess so! Sally: And why is that, Tina? Why is that, Tina?! Tina: Because! I never brought it back! Sally: That's right. You never did. And now your fine is in the double digits. But, Tina, you only live four blocks away. I sent notices. I sent letters. What the fuck is wrong with you, girly girl? Now there are a bunch of freakin' fat asses waddling around Porterville, and it's all thanks to your complete and utter lack of responsibility! Sally's values are so extreme as to prove alarming, and in her way she acts out what is only fantasy for those librarians who daily lament the loss of expensive library materials. Horror film librarians also enjoy pornography (The Tell-Tale Heart, 1960), turn into a demon and commit rape (The Church, 1989), and wear the same purple houndstooth dress every day to work (The Off Season, 2004). While librarian characters in horror movies may differ little from their counterparts in other genres, there is appeal to understanding what these quiet and cerebral bookworms contribute to a genre steeped in darkness and danger.

1.5 Methodology

Thirty films labeled horror or blended horror (horror combined with other genres) provide the research sample for this qualitative study. They span the years 1944 to 2005, with three filmed in black and white. Eight of the 30 are foreign productions (5 United Kingdom, 1 Canada, 2 Italy), and were produced in English or dubbed. Each film features at least one character identified as a librarian according to the end credits or made evident within the context of the story. Each film was viewed multiple times for the purpose of extracting data. (See Appendix for brief summaries of subject films.)

As the most important element in narrative films, characters are a common topic for film analysis. This qualitative probe of librarian characters in horror films • applies a semiotic schema (Esslin's Table of Sign Systems) to guide the data- gathering process; • observes, records, and make inferences based on character appearance, relationships, actions and interactions within the filmic environment; • analyzes their impact on protagonists, events, and overall narrative context; • compares their alignment with horror conventions; and • compares functions related to librarians across the sample. Verbal and nonverbal expressions are examined, especially those that mimic realistic library exchanges such as the reference interview since institutional discourse provides a frame that stands as an independent element because it evokes distinct expectations in viewers able to judge what is normal or abnormal under such social circumstances. Viewers watching Grave of the Vampire (1974), for example, know that Professor Lockwood asking the librarian to allow him to check out a reference book falls within the realm of a natural library question. When she refuses and he draws fangs to drain her blood, viewers recognize both that this is an unnatural library encounter, but a solid horror film convention. One expectation is violated, another confirmed in this clash of cultural symbols. Close scrutiny of film characters allows for the extraction of data to identify patterns that show, for instance, which functions assigned to librarian roles by horror filmmakers are most widely used and how they relate to work tasks or personality or other factors. Metaphorical and symbolic uses serve to demonstrate creative applications of the librarian symbol by individual filmmakers.

1.5.1 Value of the Semiotic Lens

This research borrows its analytical perspective from the school of semiotics developed by American philosopher, logician, and mathematician Charles Sanders Peirce (pronounced "purse," 1839-1914), who sought to explain how thought processes occur. "For Peirce, semeiotic [Peirce's preferred spelling] is a formal study of signs used as mediums of communication" (Joswick, 1996, p. 95). Peirce (1998) identified

the sign as the basic unit of semiotics, "a thing which serves to convey knowledge of some other thing, which it is said to stand for or represent" (p. 13, original emphasis). He wrote, "We think only in signs" (p. 10). Peirce divided the sign into three categories, icon, index, and symbol, all of which neatly apply to librarian characters in the cinema and are more closely examined in later chapters. Character analysis in film studies is inherently subjective, but semiotics provides a robust vocabulary and conceptual foundation that grounds the viewpoint in an established philosophy. Peirce did not restrict his theory of signs to reality. "For Peirce, a fictional world was as much an object of thought as the 'real' world" (Joswick, 1996, p. 96). The advantage of applying a Peircean lens is that relationships and processes are clarified while emotional reactions to elements are neutralized. Considering the past century of exasperation expressed by information professionals whenever the media depicted unflattering librarian stereotypes, this is an important advancement. Elliot Gaines (2001), on the subject of semiotics applied to the study of myth, observes that a "sign system carries assumptions that appear natural but are actually historical" (The Historical Nature of Myth section, para. 3). Cognitively, the process of recognizing hair in a bun as an occupational indicator pointing to the sign of librarian is based on years of cultural indoctrination that creates habits of thought stronger than the knowledge that few modern day librarians routinely sport this hairstyle. The linkage remains socially entrenched, however, and its reinforcement by the media continues because of the usefulness of this particular symbol for the intentional communication of meaning. Exploring how these semiotic indicators are used in the horror genre illustrates the literary value of the occupational symbol rather than diminishing an entire profession by the routine rubber-stamping of "stereotype" on librarian portrayals in the cinema, as the literature of media representation is wont to do. The semiotic viewpoint is superior to the increasingly ambiguous term stereotype, as it offers three primary strengths: 1. The signified librarian is allowed a menu of indexical signs culturally associated with the image, any combination of which is sufficient to elicit recognition and engender meaning even if the specifics of meaning vary among perceivers.

2. Indexical signs can be openly contradictory, as they relate only to the signified and not each other. 3. Because film librarians as artistic creations are not mirrors of their human models, semiotics as a research method removes the temptation to compare the two. Any intrinsic meaning expressed through character traits and actions becomes an integral part of the narrative, which is a complex, goal-oriented system distinct from real life.

1.5.2 The Semiotics of Horror

The horror genre has a strong semantic base in a culture where toddlers happily pull sheets over their heads to play "ghost." The definition of horror, however, seems to depend on who is asked. Rather than field a discussion on the many historical points of views that carve out academic and critical distinctions based on human emotions, scientific knowledge, abstract or real monsters, social evolution, or sexual and psychological angst––or discount distinctions at all, classifying horror as a subset of fantasy and science fiction (Colavito, 2008, p. 13)––this research follows the tried and true understanding that one recognizes horror when one sees it based on familiar signs and time-hardened conventions that trigger fear. "[I]t is the feeling of fear that most clearly defines what we mean when we talk of 'horror' stories" (Colavito, p. 13). "Genre conventions are specific settings, roles, events, and values that define individual genres and their subgenres" (McKee, 1997, p. 87, original emphasis). Horror is a conservative genre that recycles its icons and ideas (Colavito, 2005, p. 413) until they are deeply rooted in the cultural psyche, alerting viewers to a psychological assault: howling wolves, full moon, creaking doors, foggy night, whistling wind, graveyards, skeletons, torches, etc. (See Section 2.4, Conventional Signifiers of Horror Films.) Emotions are manipulated by distinctive music, and creepy organ strains are synonymous with the genre. Horror audiences know that when the innocent young girl slowly opens the door, something bloody or bloodthirsty will be behind it. They know the basement holds a coffin for the sleeping vampire, that zombies will dig themselves out of graves, and that the house being rented is haunted. Horror as a genre has

sharper boundaries than, for instance, comedy, thriller or suspense, as these film categories manifest generic qualities but speak more to style rather than context and rarely stand alone as cinematic types. The many evolving subcategories of the horror genre are not relevant to this initial study, as the definitional core remains consistent. Within the narrative realist cinema most modern films mix generic formulas. Blended formats can, for example, be accomplished by taking the framework of one genre and placing it into an environment normally associated with another genre. The layering of indexical codes from different genres upon a variety of possible filmic elements allows for endless choices for filmmakers. Colavito (2008) observes that H.G. Wells' The War of the Worlds (novel 1896, film 1953) "takes the form of science fiction but is imbued with the spirit of horror" (pp. 176-177, 267). Stephen King's It (1990) is both horror and mystery, and the Star Trek films are science fiction with elements borrowed from westerns (Solow & Justman, 1996, p. 15). A science fiction film can be created by simply taking plot descriptors of another genre and adding "in space" to make clear to viewers what they can expect to witness. The Alien franchise erupted in 1979 and continues to this day, made up of traditional monster movies set "in space" and otherwise follows a classic horror formula. Other genres use horror elements and camera techniques because they add excitement, power, high emotion, and tension without contaminating the base genre's definitional elements. Horror scenes within blended films are easy to identify because they include familiar generic symbols and stylistic components as they ravage human sensibilities. Colavito states that "horror can occur in almost any type of art" (pp. 15-16). Context is especially important when examining horror films because conventions of style (subdued lighting, eerie music, frightening sound effects) will likely impact character behaviors (Boggs, 1978, p. 68). Librarian characters can find themselves in situations not seen in more realistic films, as when a librarian turns into a wolf every month (Wilderness, 1996), is killed by a vampire (Grave of the Vampire, 1974), or slashes the throat of an obnoxious patron (Chainsaw Sally, 2004). "Each fictional world creates a unique cosmology and makes its own 'rules' for how and why things happen within it" (McKee, 1997, p. 70). Internal cohesion is critical although the cinema does not mirror life. Communicated concepts draw from real life since text-

world correspondence is necessary in order to derive meaning (Bordwell, 1989, pp. 133, 135). The realms of cinematic fantasy and imagination offer a fertile milieu for librarian characters and exploration of their filmic function. Horror films provide parameters for this study not because this genre is superior in any way, but in part because its long cinematic history provides a large body of work from which to draw a research sample. Some horror films become major motion pictures, while others appear amateurish in their production values, but low budget is also a horror convention (Bordwell & Thompson, 2001, p. 103) that does not detract from the value of their contributions to the genre. Horror is also favored for exploration by academicians trying to discern reasons for its continued popularity (Bordwell & Thompson, 2001, p. 104), and the idea that a large segment of the population seeks out horror films despite being repulsed (Carroll, 2002, p. 34) only adds to its interest as an object of research. As a cinematic microcosm, the horror genre offers a wide variety of librarian types so no stretch is needed to find outliers for the research sample. This fact alone speaks well of filmmakers who feel free to mold their librarian characters to best fit artistic purposes for which they are created.

1.6 Assumptions

• It is assumed, for purposes of exploring librarian role function, that films created decades apart are still comparable. Although popular cinema has entertained audiences for more than a century, elements of the librarian symbol have proven immune to change (Tevis & Tevis, 2005, p. 1; Walker & Lawson, 1993, p. 26). While horror films have evolved in reaction to social and cultural stressors, the basic format remains consistent. (See Colavito's Knowing Fear, 2008.)

• Because effective communication relies on mutual understanding, it is assumed that, without evidence to the contrary, librarian characters, filmmakers, and target audiences share the same cultural plane.

1.7 Limitations

• This exploration of the function of librarian characters in horror films cannot be completely stripped of bias because a librarian is at the helm. Phillips (2000) contends that "from an academic point of view it has been important for film studies to establish a cool, clinical distance between the critical analyst and the [film] character in question" (p. 63), but Boggs (1978), writing on the subjectivity of film evaluation, states that art cannot be reduced to reason, and reactions to film are complex: [W]e know that much of art is intuitive, emotional, and personal. Thus our reaction to it will include strong feelings, prejudices, and biases. It will be colored by our own experiences in life, by our moral and social conditioning, our degree of sophistication, our age, the time and place in which we live, and by every other unique aspect of our personality. (p. 243) As a librarian, I observe librarian characters differently than will a general audience. With the possible exceptions of Party Girl (1995) and Chainsaw Sally (2004), two films that share librarianship as a major theme, librarians are not a targeted audience for Hollywood filmmakers. As previously noted, onscreen librarians cannot be judged with a yardstick of realism because filmmakers aim only for plausibility and do not, for example, include professional jargon or insider knowledge unless integral to the story. Considering that violence and gore are basic horror conventions, librarian characters who appear wholly natural might be hard to find, but effective filmmakers will make them credible within the narrative frame.

• In the study of cinema, a disconnect exists between the actor and the character he portrays, and each visage is capable of communicating discrete signs to be interpreted by moviegoers. Acting "entails a two-fold distinction between real action and fictional action" (Rozik, 2002, pp. 110-111). Current focus is only on meaning expressed by narrative film characters in context (the "fictional action") since consideration of the layers of semiotic complexity caused by viewing the actor within is beyond the scope of this research. The impact of the actor on the communication

of meaning for both filmmaker and audience is, however, acknowledged, and is discussed when relevant during film analysis.

• Peirce has a reputation among scholars for writing in a style difficult to comprehend. It is not always easy to understand Peirce. He never regretted the fact that most people found it hard to follow his ideas. He deliberately chose that most of his researches should be concerned with highly technical topics and should be secure from the intrusion of the uncalled. (Royce & Kernan, 1916, p. 707) Because his works were fragmentary and produced over a long lifespan, and in later years he contradicted earlier conclusions, and because Peircean scholars even now struggle to come to grips with the man's complex philosophies and scientific knowledge, secondary sources are used to aid in interpretation of those parts of Peirce's works that apply to this research.

1.8 Contributions to the Research

For the literature of information science to have a well-rounded sense of what the librarian image contributes to the culture through popular cinema, an exploration is needed as to why roles are designed around librarian features and what they contribute to onscreen narratives. A gap exists in the professional knowledge perhaps because the issue of stereotyping overshadows a deeper consideration of purpose and the communication of meaning. This research examines the function of librarian characters within a narrow slice of media, the horror film, and while results cannot be generalized, this is a starting point that could open doors for future research into other genres and other occupational symbols. This research is intended to supplement important works such as Tevis and Tevis' (2005) invaluable descriptive overview of "reel" librarians in the twentieth century so that eventually filmic functions of librarian characters can be accepted as cinematic functions. A second contribution to the literature is the application of a semiotic perspective that reduces the viewing experience to signs, relationships, and processes without sacrificing meaning, as is a weakness of content analysis that reduces discourse to discrete parts distilled from content. Conversational analysis is one step better as it considers content of the discourse under study, but pays no heed to cultural or social

context that adds interpretive depth. Peirce's semiotics succeeds in viewing the component parts of a text while still immersed in context so that subtext, perception and interpretation mesh together to create and communicate meaning. In doing so, the robust model of the librarian sign is multi-dimensional and alive with potentialities. Definitional contradictions and emotional investment inherent in the librarian stereotype have no reality when librarian is viewed as a Peircean sign.

1.9 Summary

Popular films are culturally significant, both reflecting and generating values (Friedman & Lyne, 2001, p. 433). The occupational symbol of librarian remains strong and continues to be of interest to an evolving profession despite, or because of, its unflattering perception. Research that reveals the way librarian characters contribute to visual storytelling underscores positive aspects of the enduring librarian image even if expressed in a negative manner. A semiotic approach, while not objective, grounds analysis with an established vocabulary and a fresh means of depersonalizing observations of familiar signs, and draws meaning related to function from the narrative structure. The horror genre provides familiar conventions for framing character analyses, and offers a span of librarian roles and character types that reveal an interesting variety of storytelling functions. Future research could expand to other film genres and nonnarrative productions until the profession has a firmer sense of why librarians lay claim to a distinctive niche within popular media.

CHAPTER 2

LITERATURE REVIEW

The literature historically views media representations of librarians through the lens of stereotype and damns perceived exploitation of the profession's symbol (especially in advertising) because of failure to accurately reflect real librarians. Little consideration is given to the usefulness of librarian images for communication or any justifications for their appearance in artistic works such as the cinema where the librarian symbol functions to express meaning, where the symbol serves a purpose, and that purpose indicates relevancy. Before the function of librarian roles in films can be addressed, however, groundwork must be laid that identifies those aspects of the librarian image that filmmakers find useful for building their narratives. The librarian stereotype that has developed within our culture is discussed, followed by a brief review of the iconic library since the cinematic function of these two constructs are intimately entwined. Narrative realist cinema and genre films are then reviewed, in particular the cinema of horror from which this study draws exemplar films featuring librarian characters. Next, support is proffered for the semiotic approach used in this study, viewing horror films as text and librarian characters as signs communicating meaning within a socially recognized cinematic frame, grounding an analysis of filmic function. Semiotics as an analytical lens is discussed in more depth in Chapter Three: Methodology.

2.1 The Librarian as Cultural Symbol and Stereotype Rachel Singer Gordon (2004) asks, "Is there another profession that spends as much time worrying about its outward image as ours?" (p. 52). Librarians have long been concerned about negative public perceptions (Gordon, 2004, p. 52; Tevis & Tevis, 2005, p. 191), and evidence that librarians are "painfully aware of the discrepancies

between what they do and what the public thinks they do" (Stoddart & Lee, 2005, p. 6) is the growing number of web pages, blogs, articles, and publications devoted to the subject of librarian image and media representation. According to Kornelia Tancheva (2005), this "plethora of print and online publications" has made the subject a distinct discourse of librarianship today, and she notes, "Most of the works [in the literature] that focus on popular culture deal primarily with the image of the librarian and explore its representation vis-à-vis a perceived stereotype" (p. 530). Librarian as a cultural artifact can be dissected and evaluated from various academic viewpoints: as a persistent and unflattering stereotype, an enduring professional symbol, an icon that does or does not correlate with reality, a rich index of conventional attributes and behaviors, or even a colorful object of myth. However perceived, the construct of librarian has symbolic meaning, a symbol defined as "a sign that is understood only through a shared knowledge of cultural convention" (Gaines, 2001, Toward Extending Hjelmslev's Methodology section, para. 5), a process called symbolic convergence (Phillips, 2000, p. 68). An interest in the interpretation and social impact of stereotypes crosses disciplines, with shades of definitional differences and research approaches. This study maintains Hayakawa's (1949) definition of stereotypes as "traditional and familiar symbol clusters, expressing a more or less complex idea in a convenient way" (p. 155), as it conforms neatly with Peirce's semiotic concept of index, one type of sign that is applied in this research to librarian representations in horror cinema, as discussed in more depth in Section 2.5.6. Tancheva (2005) states that the majority of researchers of the library image in popular culture "argue that the representation of the librarian, be it male or female, is overwhelmingly stereotypical and emphasizes negative features such as lack of imagination, dowdy appearance, excessive orderliness, indecisiveness, and, generally, a 'mousy' character" (p. 530). Duncan (2004) believes that such images affect how society understands the profession: "Clearly, in the view of the general public at least, all librarians do is sit around all day reading books, checking books in and out of the library, drinking coffee and shushing patrons who dare to speak above a whisper" (p. 3). Dick Kaser (2007) observes that librarians are generally viewed by society as "shushers, shelvers, and shy about everything except collecting fines on overdue

books" (p. 14). Brown-Syed and Sands (1997) define a negative librarian portrayal as one that over emphasizes undesirable traits or practices (p. 19). Librarian as stereotype is a specific type of symbol, one that stubbornly adheres to social and cultural definitions historically deigned and accepted as accurate. The librarian stereotype draws strong reaction from information professionals who express distain for media representations that hold with stale descriptors believed to denigrate and devalue librarians and the services they provide.

2.1.1 Librarian Stereotypes in Films

Librarian characters in films go largely unnoticed except by members of the profession (Fialkoff, 2007, p. 8), and Boggs (1978) observes that movie viewers with inside knowledge "are often unable to enjoy the film" because they notice what is opaque to others (p. 232). In light of all that is expressed by librarians in reaction to their representations in the media, these statements ring true. Tevis and Tevis (2005) credit actress Mignon Anderson with playing the first onscreen librarian in the American film A Wife on Trial (1917), and since then hundreds of actors have enacted "librarian" by mimicking their understanding of appropriate work behaviors (pp. 16, 3). Early films are blamed by Tevis and Tevis for personifying the librarian symbol: By emphasizing a minimal number of visual characteristics and occupational tasks that filmmakers observed daily at their local library, actors portraying reel librarians throughout the twentieth century created and formalized an image, a stereotype, of librarians which continues unabated into the twentieth-first century. (pp. 16-17) They note that filmmakers explicitly emphasize the visual characteristics of librarians (p. 2), and identify four facets of the image common to cinematic portrayals, any one or more of which will prompt the audience to label a character librarian: age (elderly), hairstyle (bun or bald), reading glasses, and conservative clothing (p. 16). "We learn professional iconography early" writes Tobias (2003, p. 13). An example of the cultural strength of the librarian symbol is offered by Sharon A. Nardelli (1990) when she reported that actors hoping to fill roles in five public service announcements designed to

counter negative stereotypes of school librarians arrived at the audition "portrayed as the stereotypical librarian: top-knotted, bespeckled, high-collared, conservatively dressed" (p. 26). These actors reflected what they "knew" about librarians without regard to accuracy. Duncan (2004) concurs that the mostly unflattering mental image evoked by the pervasive occupational symbol of librarian has changed very little since cinema became a popular medium (p. 3). As early as 1949, Hayakawa observed that "moving pictures play endlessly upon … stereotypes" (p. 155). Filmmakers express meaning through their films, and use those positive and negative nuances of occupational stereotypes that best communicate with the targeted public (Friedman & Lyne, 2001, p. 432). "Occupational stereotypes are common and pervasive" in society (Nilsen & McKechnie, 2002, p. 303), and are internalized from "novels, magazines, plays, television, movies, and in discussions with our peers" (Burgett, 1998, para. 4). A reflexive phenomenon occurs where the cinema and other media blamed for creating the librarian symbol are also charged with mirroring stereotypical images. "Representatives of society in fictional writing, television, drama, and movies often reflect social life through occupational stereotypes" (Thielbar & Feldman, 1969, p. 67). Why and how a society is receptive to visual images of occupations in the media is beyond the scope of this research, but why filmmakers choose to cast their works with occupational symbols is apparent when the usefulness of these symbols is examined. Stereotypes have "functional validity" even if the images are not factual (Nilsen & McKechnie, 2002, p. 303). Occupational stereotypes facilitate the interpretation of meaning by providing quick identification of a character's role within the scene. Richard Brislin (2000) states that stereotyping is a normal cognitive process of categorization, and (in reference to television advertising) quick images "are supposed to lead to automatic reaction" (p. 205). He explains: "Applied to stereotypes, automatic processing occurs when (a) people have an immediate, thought-free reaction while observing a member of another group, and (b) that reaction involves a characteristic of the other group widely shared within a culture" (p. 206). Peirce uses the term "habit" to describe this cognitive phenomenon. Kunda and Sinclair (1999) write, "When an applicable stereotype supports their desired impression of an individual, motivation can

lead [perceivers] to activate this stereotype, if they have not already activated it spontaneously" (p. 12). Filmmakers cannot stop the action to introduce and explain the background and purpose of every character, so they design a role using features, often stereotypic, that will motivate the viewer to recognize a character's occupation and thereby understand its narrative relevance. Tevis and Tevis (2005) suggest, "Filmmakers … appear to retreat to the stereotype because it is so easy to fashion, thereby requiring a minimal creative effort, and so easy for filmgoers to recognize" (p. 133). Symbols that evoke the stereotype of the librarian relate to appearance (hair in a bun, eyeglasses, conservative clothing), behaviors (shushing, rubber-stamping) and work environment (bookshelves, reference desk). Together these symbols comprise a schema—a network of associations (Renn & Calvert, 1993, p. 449)—that aid in decoding the referent and building up expectations. "Many jobs are defined in our collective mind by symbols like these," writes Jenny Tobias (2003, p. 13). Perception of identical character codes, however, does not assure identical interpretations. One reason that a notion as rigid as stereotype exhibits fluidity in its execution is because individuals will see what they expect to see or desire to see, or meaning is filtered through their personal knowledge systems. "People pick and choose among the many stereotypes applicable to an individual, activating those that support their desired impression of this individual and inhibiting those that interfere with it" (Kunda & Sinclair, 1999, p. 12). Brown-Syed and Sands (1997) write: We have come to think of the librarians of fiction as possibly clever, but probably officious, obsessively methodical, pedantic, stodgy, and old-maidish. … What is more, whether or not this is the predominant media image, we ourselves have come to believe it to be. (p. 18) In a cinematic witch-hunt, real librarians scrutinize the media to identify negative examples of their professional image—and they will likely find what they seek (Fein, von Hippel & Spencer, 1999, p. 49; Kunda & Sinclair, 1999, p. 12). Even within the profession, onscreen enactments of librarian do not necessarily evoke a universal interpretation. For example, in the film Philadelphia (1993), members of the information community disagreed as to whether the librarian character was too harsh when trying to segregate an AIDS victim from other patrons in the library. A general audience would

interpret this librarian's actions as rude and hurtful, traits inherent in the librarian stereotype and therefore plausible. Librarians watching that same scene, however, see the event from a librarian point-of-view, which weighs the sensibilities of other patrons exposed to the loud coughing and obvious distress of the film's protagonist. How better to handle this situation was a lively topic of discussion among real librarians after the film's release, where concerns were more focused on the role's portrayal than on the scene's function within the context of the story, where the encounter is clearly a small taste of what the ill patron could expect to experience from society once his condition is made public. Whether the librarian portrayal is realistic or not, or an exploitative recreation of an intolerant librarian stereotype, is irrelevant in light of the character's narrative function, which on all levels is successfully and powerfully rendered. Librarian Maura Seale (2008) writes that "representations of librarians promulgated by the mass media tend to focus on the character of the individual librarian" (The Connection Between Media Representations and Public Perceptions section, para. 1). Seale combined the findings of several writers on the subject and devised categories for mass media librarian images: 1. The old maid librarian: Although usually "young maid" in actual age, this type is bookish, repressed, introverted, prim, old fashioned, uncool, and sexless— regardless of gender. 2. The policeman librarian: orderly, rational, with the power to discipline and punish, ever vigilant and eager to humiliate patrons. 3. The librarian as parody: Plays off patron fears to an absurd extent; exaggerates features of the stereotype or anti-stereotype. 4. The inept librarian: Withdrawn, lives vicariously through books, socially awkward, unhelpful, ineffective, befuddled, and unaware of the modern world. 5 The hero/ine librarian: Intelligent, knowledgeable, well-read, with research and analytic skills, useful, important—although displaying some less positive stereotypic descriptors. (Mass Media Representations of Librarians section) Tancheva (2005) also notices frequent use of the library policeman image in films, with the Nazi librarian as the extreme, and is concerned about the negative impact of showing librarian characters obstructing information access and humiliating patrons (p.

530) (see also Radford and Radford's "Libraries, Librarians, and the Discourse of Fear," 2001). This crossing of the fictional border and relating characters and make-believe events to the viewer's reality is a major weakness in the scrutinizing of Hollywood films as social mirrors instead of artistic expressions. Once again any relevant purpose for the librarian role goes unremarked even though the above categories are designed to incorporate these specific features for their usefulness within a story. Duncan (2004) acknowledges that the librarian stereotype serves a communicative purpose. "While it may never be clear just where and when the stereotype came to be, it is clear that the popular media enjoys promoting the stereotype and using it to its advantage" (p. 3). The librarian label provides basic information to the audience about a character's predictable appearance, behaviors, intelligence, and social status. For example, film librarians seem natural when they are modest both in temperament and worldly means (e.g., The Attic, 1980, The Blot, 1921, and The Off Season, 2004). Audience expectations are fulfilled when a minor librarian character provides professional information services to the protagonist and then the story moves on without them (The Forgotten, 2004, and Summer of the Monkeys, 1998). "Many of these scenes … are only seconds in length; inattentive filmgoers may miss the entire scene" (Tevis & Tevis, 2005, p. 136). Provision of information is often a librarian role's only obvious (overt) function, although withholding information may be the purpose of the role (Big Bully, 2000, and The Emperor's Club, 2002). The symbol is so strong, however, that if function is not obvious, viewers will look for it, as in You, Me and Dupree (2006), where the librarian is never clearly seen, but the audience is led to believe she will be a dull blind date based on nothing more than her job title. Her nymphomaniacal behaviors are all the more humorous because she so energetically violates audience expectations. Of course multiple functions usually exist, as when an interview with a helpful librarian also provides humor (The Big Sleep, 1946; Harry and the Hendersons, 1987) or demonstrates authority (Citizen Kane, 1941; Christine, 1983), or establishes the protagonist's credentials (Deadly Dreams, 1988). Although convention dictates that the librarian symbol be female, and librarianship has been a women's occupation for more than a century, the traits and behaviors incorporated in the symbol also apply to male librarian roles. In the film Only

Two Can Play (1962), Peters Sellers portrays a socially awkward librarian so his profession seems a natural fit, as this is one of the elements of the male librarian stereotype (Piper & Collamer, 2001, p. 409; Seale, 2008, The Inept Librarian section; Tevis & Tevis, 2005, p. 136). When a profession was needed for the guilt-ridden killer in the 1960 film adaptation of Edgar Allan Poe's The Tell-Tale Heart, "Chief Research Librarian" convincingly explained why Poe's narrator was "petrified" around women, and how emotional immaturity lead to the murder of his best friend. Despite these examples of cinematic exploitation, male librarians overall have a more positive image than their female counterparts (Piper & Collamer, 2001, p. 409). This dichotomy explains why male librarians onscreen also conform to their public image when intelligence, caring and dedication are exhibited, as in Stephen King's It (1990) as Mike Hanlon materially contributes to the conquest of horrors enveloping his town. Vieira and Kelly (1981) do caution that a single indicator does not necessarily brand a character as stereotype: All too easily we assume that an author is using a stereotype because the character has a trait associated with a certain group. If we automatically place characters into a predetermined slot then we, and not the author, are guilty of using stereotypes. (p. 20) The stereotype "is necessarily reliant on an aesthetics of reception" according to Amossy and Heidingsfeld (1984, p. 690). What a filmmaker intends to communicate, what the work seems to communicate, means little against what the audience actually perceives. While audience reception is outside the scope of this research, a theoretical or targeted audience is the elephant in the room when a critic examines film as the product of artistic creation, motivation, and structured meaning, since viewers hold the final point in a chain of communication that this study taps midway for the collection of data.

2.1.2 The Librarian Anti-Stereotype

How a character will be interpreted by the audience depends on its dramatic context (Eco, 1998, 1977, p. 285). As a form of cultural subversion, filmmakers occasionally show librarian characters that contradict the stodgy stereotype in extreme

and bizarre ways. "Irony of character may … be present when a character violates our stereotyped view of him" (Boggs, 1978, p. 65). A stereotypical role that flaunts nonstereotypical features, as does the sultry, purring blond librarian in The Big Sleep (1946), will communicate irony (she doesn't look like a librarian) from which the viewer draws meaning (even librarians react to sexy Philip Marlowe). Young, attractive librarians in real life are often told, "You don't look like a librarian," and that attitude is conscripted by filmmakers when doing so adds in some measure to narrative meaning. The anti-stereotype trend in films is paralleled by websites that publicize real librarians whose lifestyles counter popular misconceptions. "[Y]oung librarians are saying, 'We are librarians and we like punk rock; we like sex; we like motorcycles; we like bellydancing; we have tattoos; if we are geeks then maybe we're the ones who made it cool to be a geek'" ("On the Wild Librarian," 2002, para. 2). Not everyone in the profession applauds these variations on a theme: All we ever learned about the work done by the lady with her hair in a bun is that she checked out books and frequently said 'Sshhhh' to library users. We learn even less about what these attractive, 'cool,' new-image librarians do. (Berry, 2001, p. 6) Some believe that an anti-stereotype acts as a confirmation of the stereotype. "[T]here is the risk of trading one set of negative images (priggish spinster) for another (unserious but apparently employed slacker)" ("On the Wild Librarian," para. 3). "When frozen models are only inverted, stereotypicality still triumphs" (Amossy & Heidingsfeld, 1984, p. 696). Librarians as sex symbols or vamps are common enough in films, e.g. Tomcats (2001) and Grave of the Vampire (1974). One of the strongest maverick librarian characters is the title role of Mary in Party Girl (1995), the story of a young, free-spirited New Yorker who discovers her inner-librarian and cultivates a new career. Duncan (2004) writes, "Unfortunately, Mary shifts too far to the right and starts to become more like the stereotype we are all familiar with" (p. 3). He observes that the librarian in films "has to be either a prim and proper stereotype or a loose, party loving, butt kicking dynamo. She can be anything but normal" (p. 4). One supposes that if normalcy was characteristic of the librarian symbol, it would be less useful for filmmakers. Berry (2001) agrees that the wild librarian is "a stereotype just as phony as

the old maid librarian with her hair in a bun" and fails to inform society as to what these new librarians believe (p. 6). Real librarians, of course, have no uniform appearance and cannot be captured in a single image, but this doesn't stop filmmakers from making capital of misconceptions deeply ingrained in our culture.

2.1.3 "You can take the librarian out of the library, but …"

Numerous films feature librarian characters away from their worksites, but public image is a mantle not easily shed in the world of cinema where the audience assumes that the librarian symbol is a whole-person descriptor. The character is expected to look and behave "like a librarian" at all hours, but if this notion is not played out in the narrative, if social knowledge is challenged, Boggs' irony of character applies. Dissonance caused by filmic irony is not based on what viewers expect from real people who work in libraries, but from the contrast between their understanding of the librarian symbol and the behaviors viewed onscreen. Bordwell and Thompson (2001) write, "It is not always fruitful to judge an actor's performance by what would be likely behavior [of the character] in the world outside the movie theater" (p. 170). For instance, when a film librarian's designated characterization calls for expressive sexuality in her off hours, the irony must be recognized (a librarian with sexual urges!) or the character's function could be lost or at best diluted. The humor in two exemplar comedies is dependent on moviegoers applying sexual repression as a signifier of librarian: In the film Tomcats (2001), the leather-clad sadomasochistic librarians are a young woman and her grandmother, and in You, Me & Dupree (2006), the unwelcomed houseguest and an unseen librarian enjoy sexual frolic with a stick of butter. This irony also applies when the librarian is evil (Chainsaw Sally, 2004; Weird Woman, 1944), ignorant (The Last Supper, 1995), or heroic (Idiocracy, 2006; The Mummy, 1999). As storytellers, filmmakers are fully aware of the impact characters have on viewers, and design them accordingly (Phillips, 2000, p. 53). This is not to suggest that all viewers believe that real librarians are so two-dimensional, but within a story such details as occupational label are meaningful and therefore critically (and unconsciously) examined for relevance within the film's defined world even in scenes set outside the workplace.

2.1.4 Conditioned Responses to the Librarian Symbol

The library literature suggests that even minor librarian portrayals can have lasting effects on the professional symbol. Stoddart and Lee (2005) believe that the flagrant display of negative library stereotypes such as the rigid and argumentative Madame Jocasta Nu (Star Wars, Episode II: Attack of the Clones, 2002) influence how the public views librarians (p. 8). Nilsen and McKechnie (2002) believe one popular family film, The Music Man (1962)—with the lovely, lonely, straight-laced Marian the Librarian—continues to influence public opinion (p. 302). Tevis and Tevis (2005) blame some of librarianship's image woes on one ubiquitous film that has made venomous use of the librarian symbol since 1946, writing, "The impact of Capra's It's a Wonderful Life (1946) in maintaining and perpetuating the stereotype is monumental." They observe: Mary Bailey is a very crafty cinematic depiction of librarians. Visually she reinforces the negative characteristics of the stereotype, but as a woman, Mary poses a dichotomy that is a devastating indictment of the image of librarians. When married to George, Mary is vibrant, a very capable woman, the quintessence of womanhood; without George, she is an impoverished woman, a meek, mild librarian, the failure of womanhood. (p. 58) The filmmaker could have endowed this wretched character with any one of hundreds of job titles, but selected librarian because of the culturally imbued "knowledge" each audience member brings to the viewing that completes the communication of the film's intended message; indeed, this is the function of the designation. "If it is true, as Gombrich (1960) has shown for the plastic arts, that all vision is conditioned by preexisting schemas, it is just as obvious that the literary text relies heavily on accredited models" (Amossy & Heidingsfeld, 1984, p. 689). The scene would completely lose its impact if the audience didn't recognize the subtext (Mary's doom) communicated through the accredited model that is the librarian symbol. If Mary Bailey were shown to be, sans George, a dog groomer or a wine taster, the message would be ambiguous. If she is a successful author or the bride of royalty, the narrative point capsizes. The librarian label fulfills its function with George's first horrified recognition of Mary's potential fate, and the impact of this scene on viewers relies on Peirce's notion of

cognitive habit whereby meaning is immediately and automatically triggered by recognition of the symbol.

2.1.5 Nonnarrative Motivations for Filmic Elements

An element's narrative purpose is not always as transparent as Mary's role in It's a Wonderful Life (1946), especially when function does not relate to the storyline or plot. Film creation is an expensive art, and market-driven economics will on occasion trump the narrative for motivating the design of specific filmic elements. Profit is the primary motivation for Hollywood projects (Phillips, p. 93; Cahir, 2006, p. 75), and this is apparent in films where the script is written to bank on actor popularity. For example, William Marchant's comedic play The Desk Set (1956) was altered when adapted for the big screen to serve as a vehicle for two popular but waning Hollywood stars, Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn. Librarians have crowned Desk Set (1957) a classic, although the comedic and romantic interplay between the film's two leads eclipses the issue most germane to the play, that of the threat of computer technology replacing reference librarians. The uncooperative archivist in Scream 3 (2000) is played by Carrie Fisher (the actress who played Princess Leia in the Star Wars series), and the film's protagonist recognizes her and quizzes her on the resemblance, creating a humorous moment for the audience as they smugly recognize the reference. In early Hollywood films, actors—rather than characters—often showcased their talents by stepping out of the narrative flow of events, e.g., Dean Martin singing in the Martin and Lewis comedies, musical interludes in the Marx Brothers films, W.C. Fields juggling, and Charlie Chaplin roller skating. Product placements can also dictate the choice of props, as when a specific brand of candy ("Reese's Pieces") was prominently featured in Steven Spielberg's E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial (1982): "The script had called for E.T., a little alien, to follow a trail of the Mars Company's M&M's, but the publicity-shy company declined to participate" (Newell, Salmon & Chang, 2006, p. 12). Cahir (2006) observes that film composition can be influenced by the need to attract investments (p. 76). Star power has a structural function in the film From a Whisper to a Scream (1987), where horror legend Vincent Price (age 76) serves as the narrator in the guise of a librarian-historian in a mini-movie that frames four discrete horror

productions of marginal quality. This celebrity-based function was a technique for wringing profit from cinematic projects that might otherwise have found no audience, by hiring an actor whose face (a symbol of the horror genre) served to flag the film for the target market. Price's librarian portrayal is obvious artifice but performs as designed. The clash between the aesthetics of art and the need for project underwriting must be taken into account by film critics exploring the purpose and function of filmic elements.

2.2 The Icon of Library As evidenced by the nomenclature, librarian is an occupational label associated in the cultural mind with a building. "Indeed, the term librarian as currently defined by Oxford English Dictionary (Online) is simply a 'keeper or custodian of the library'" (Stoddart & Lee, 2005, p. 9). Despite society's rush to embrace digital technologies, librarians in films still emphasize books (Walker & Lawson, 1993, p. 18) and the facilities that house them. The concept of library carries cultural meaning such that filmmakers reasonably expect moviegoers to recognize a library setting, although viewers draw on personal understanding of perceived indicators to extract meaning specific to their knowledge and experience. As with librarian, the concept of library can be viewed as a semiotic sign, an icon, an index, or a symbol. In semiotics, an icon is a sign that resembles in some way the concept it represents (Wollen, 1972, p. 122). Icons "serve to convey ideas of the things they represent simply by imitating them" (Peirce, 1998, p. 5). The icon of library is one that appears often in films where the establishing shot shows a building's exterior featuring pedestrians carrying books, or signage, or even lion statues flanking the entrance. As indexical codes, bookshelves, a counter, or a card catalog cognitively point to the object of a library setting. As a symbol, library offers filmmakers a wide range of abstract, culturally imbued interpretations to weave through their works. Among many other functions, the library in films serves as: • Shelter/refuge (Black Mask, 1996; The Day After Tomorrow, 2004; The Pagemaster, 1994; The Neverending Story III: Escape from Fantasia, 1994) • Sanctum (Se7en, 1995; With Honors, 1994)

• Seat of knowledge (The Name of the Rose, 1986; What Dreams May Come, 1998) • First meeting place (The Blot, 1921; Good News, 1947; Love Story, 1970; Mad Love, 1995; Navy Blues, 1937) • Psychological cocoon (The Attic, 1980; Something Wicked This Way Comes, 1983) • Place of confinement (The Breakfast Club, 1985; Revelation, 2001) • Boring worksite (Dungeons & Dragons, 2000; Idiocracy, 2006; No Man of Her Own, 1932; A Simple Plan 1998) • Symbol of empire (Citizen Kane, 1941; Welcome to Mooseport, 2004) • Dropsite (Bookies, 2003; The Thief, 1952) Ann Seidl, director-producer of the documentary The Hollywood Librarian: A Look at Librarians Through Film1 (2007), observes in her narration that: Over and over again in the movies, especially in science fiction films, a crumbling or destroyed library is synonymous with the end of civilization itself––where human life is reduced to animal survival. In these movies, the light of words has dimmed––words like life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. As a symbol, library has proven to have a broad and versatile usefulness for filmmakers. A film's setting, according to Boggs (1978), can be a powerful and essential cinematic element that serves as more than a backdrop for the plot (pp. 56-57). In film productions such as With Honors (1994) and The Day after Tomorrow (2004), the library is such a powerful component of the story that its filmic function parallels that of a character. The medieval library in the historical mystery The Name of the Rose (1986) is such a dramatic and dangerous setting at the core of the film's narrative quest that it takes on descriptors of an antagonist. Bordwell and Thompson (2001) observe that a setting can take on an active role and "need not be only a container for human events, but can dynamically enter the narrative action" (p. 159). A film's setting can also shape

1 The title of this documentary is misleading, as film clips are used to showcase movie librarians but they are not the focus of the film or even a point of serious discussion. Primarily the film highlights positive aspects of librarianship through interviews with a series of dedicated librarians.

the roles and provide the audience with a better understanding of the characters (Boggs, 1978, p. 56). In the film With Honors, for example, the homeless man living in the boiler room of the Widener Library on the Harvard campus observes, "This library is like a church, isn't it?" The notion of library-as-church pervades the movie and is an example of a building being party to an emotional relationship without human agents. The lack of librarian characters that might distract from the spiritual one-on-one by introducing authoritative proprietorship is likely unnoticed except by librarians. The semiotic icon of library sufficiently informs audience expectations such that librarian characters may actually be extraneous. "It is not at all unusual to have characters in movies use libraries to find information.… However, the librarians are often not shown in those films" (Burgett, 1998, What Do You Think? section, para. 1). A protagonist seeking information can browse the stacks without assistance, and while a librarian presence may be inferred due to the nature of the setting, no appearance is necessary to complete the designated function of information provision (e.g., Se7en, 1995; That Darn Cat, 1997). Libraries featured in novels, as seen in their screen adaptations, can even defend themselves without librarians present, as is evident in the Harry Potter series where restricted books scream when opened, and in The Name of the Rose (1986) where lethal traps await intruders in the labyrinthine library. Boggs (1978) states that for film settings a semblance of reality is important (p. 58), but a scene need not be filmed in an actual library as long as enough indexical signs of place are present to elicit identification by viewers, as when a movie's library set features nothing more than a shelf of books and a ladder (e.g., As Young as You Feel, 1951), or a desk and a book cart (Miranda, 2002), or a desk and utilitarian shelving in what looks in actuality to be a two-car garage (The Pink Chiquitas, 1987). "[F]ilmgoers easily recognize a reel library when only a minimal number of visual characteristics or occupational tasks are displayed" (Tevis & Tevis, 2005, p. 16). Massive card catalogs—the traditional symbol of library—have mostly given way to computer carrels in real libraries, yet they continue to dominate library sets on the big screen (Tevis & Tevis, 2005, p. 189). Filmed narratives have not kept abreast of technological advancements in the profession, and tools that have mostly faded from libraries (rubber stamps, book pockets, card catalogs) still appear in films. Such

traditional symbols ground the locale at a glance. Symbolic function trumps authenticity. Just as librarians bear a reputation for being unexciting for the purposes of storytelling "and do not capture the popular imagination as readily as doctors, lawyers, or spies," libraries "lack the immediate dramatic appeal of the hospital or police station" (Brown-Syed & Sands, 1997, p. 18). At the same time, according to Tobias (2003), the library symbol being unremarkable makes it easy to manipulate for the purpose of eliciting surprise (p. 14). Boggs (1978) notes that irony of setting "occurs when an event takes place in a setting which is exactly the opposite of the expected, normal, or usual setting for such an event" (p. 65). Bordwell and Thompson (2001) write: "In general, surprise is a result of an expectation that is revealed to be incorrect" (p. 42). Filmmakers use this element of surprise for dramatic and comedic effect, and preconceived notions of library are easy to dramatically rupture. Movies that feature libraries as locations for excitement, suspense, or violence are: Black Mask (1996), Collateral (2004), Dungeons and Dragons (2000), The Dunwich Horror (1970), Stephen King's It (1990), The Church (1989), The Name of the Rose (1986), Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983), and many others. Library books and furnishings (indexical codes for library) provide unlikely props when employed as weapons, an extreme breach of library etiquette, in The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (2003), The Substitute (1996), and Shanghai Knights (2003). Although books usually inflict damage as projectiles, in The Name of the Rose the pages in a rare volume are poisonous and kill by touch and, ultimately, ingestion. The diary of the librarian's father in Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983) is used by villain Mr. Dark to torture Charles Halloway, as he shortens the old man's life by one year with every page he rips out. Fictional monsters come to life from the pages of two books in I, Madman (1989). On a more positive note, in All the Queen's Men (2001), librarian Romy uses book titles to quietly warn her friends when the Gestapo invade the building. The overt functions of these library-related elements counter public expectations and are direct evidence of narrative purpose designed to achieve specific effects. Any study of the librarian symbol in films needs to include the profession's traditional workplace. As a cultural institution and mark of human civilization, the library

traces back millennia. Libraries have a more positive public image than their librarians (Burgett, 1998, What Do You Think? section, para. 1), but in the cinematic world they often work in tandem with their custodians for the communication of narrative meaning.

2.2.1 Library as Institutional Framework

The library is a social institution and rituals are followed in the solicitation and delivery of services. Any study that takes place within such a setting—even a fictional one as found in a film—must consider the function of the behavior being studied, as an institutional setting brings with it a framework that impacts how people behave according to social conventions. The task structure between participants—the goal they intend to attain, their motivation for specific behaviors—is in part dictated by the social situation in which they find themselves (Scherer & Wallbott, 1985, p. 202). When people speak to each other, especially in a formal social setting, their language and speaking style normally adapt to their perception of that which is dictated by cultural propriety (Fowler, 1977, p. 78). "[I]nstitutions produce types of discourse with specific characteristics" (Le, 2003, para. 2). Filmmakers, in scenes designed to appear natural, likewise have their characters follow social conventions, and for this reason conversations in films, especially those that follow ritualistic patterns such as a library service interview, can be examined and understood within context even though they are fictional. Within a library setting, society views a reference interview or a shushing librarian as normal. Film librarians are frequently shown on the job when first approached by the protagonist (see As Young as You Feel, 1951; Forever Young, 1992; The Forgotten, 2004, and many, many more). Libraries amass knowledge, and librarians are the human face for this resource, and as such many of their film surrogates are written into scripts for the primary, often sole, function of providing to the protagonist a conduit to needed information. That filmmakers would have their characters consult libraries and librarians is not surprising considering that in traditional narratives, as previously noted, characters navigate by information: their actions and decisions are based on what they learn. Bordwell and Thompson (2001) write:

Most patterns of plot development depend heavily upon the ways that causes and effects create a change in a character's situation. The most common general pattern is a change in knowledge. Very often, a character learns something in the course of the action, with the most crucial knowledge coming at the final turning point of the plot. (p. 68, original emphasis) Libraries are a public source of knowledge, recognized even by those who do not use their services, and film characters consulting librarians for information is completely natural. Library scenes that recreate service encounters generally follow the familiar routine of the traditional reference interview. A service encounter is a "task-oriented dialogue" with "a definite goal for the agents to accomplish 'external' to the conversation. Conversation is only a means for an end, a task" (Korta, 1995, p. 27). Tyckoson (2001) believes that library patrons associate librarians with question-answer services. "For many library users, this remains the most visible image of the reference librarian today" (p. 186). Student librarians are taught how to conduct this basic fact- finding exchange in order to provide quality service, and a model interview provides a template that allows for judging character behaviors in films against a standard of plausibility. "Conversation is a kind of collective action" (Korta, 1995, p. 2). Two conversers in a service encounter negotiate until they reach a mutual understanding, a common purpose. The frame of the library setting abbreviates some of the exchange since each party understands the position of the other. Behaviors outside of this standard institutional exchange will muddy the conversation, evoke a re-negotiation, and delay a meeting of the minds. Out of miscommunication, however, comes drama. Although a scripted conversation is not natural as an object of discursive research, film dialogue being more formal and less messy than real life, it is not necessarily artificial or unrealistic (Scherer & Wallbott, 1985, p. 223). Filmmakers generally strive for a life-like tableau if only to avoid distracting the perceiver with anomalies or anachronisms. Of course onscreen library services are not always in the form of reference interviews. An example of a directional question is seen in The Philadelphia Story (1940), when Jimmy Stewart's character asks the Quaker librarian (with a twinkle in his eye), "Dost thou have a washroom? Thank thee." Film characters also inquire about

library equipment (e.g., Forever Young, 2005; Public Access, 1993), or where a particular book or subject is located (Harry & the Hendersons, 1987; MirrorMask, 2005; The Misadventures of Merlin Jones, 1964). Ventola (2005) observes that real-life service encounters are so routine as to be noticeable "[o]nly when they start going on the wrong track" (p. 20), and in film scenes where librarians act distinctively counter to societal expectations, the resulting dissonance can be palpable. Two poignant examples are Philadelphia (1993) where an AIDS patient is urged by the librarian to leave the public area of the library, and Sophie's Choice (1982) where the immigrant patron is scorned and humiliated by the librarian she approaches for help. Library patron roles can also violate expectations and create drama, as when Holly Golightly urges Fred to autograph the library's copy of his book but the librarian becomes alarmed at the imminent defacement (Breakfast at Tiffany's, 1961), or when the patron in Prick Up Your Ears (1987) cuts up library books to make collages. Whenever there is a violation of normalcy in a scene, or viewers experience dissonance-by-design, it will speak to function in order to justify its presence. Even the most outrageous events involving librarian characters can appear plausible within the context of the story. Skillful filmmakers establish "normal" quite convincingly even when painting highly imaginative narrative circumstances, thereby allowing viewers to suspend disbelief. For example, the sterile society of the future is perfectly served by an ideologically sterilized library collection and a vapid library clerk in Rollerball (1975). Vox, the librarian hologram in The Time Machine (2002), still functions 800,000 years into the future when all has crumbled to dust around him, and why not? The animated librarian in the surreal dreamworld of MirrorMask (2005) is such an oddly designed creature as to defy coherent description, but fits right in with the story's other fantasy characters. He does direct the young protagonist to the section where she can find the "really useful book" she requests, which happens to be titled A Very Useful Book. In The Day After Tomorrow (2004), the New York Public Library is engulfed with icy water after cataclysmic global warming, and staff scramble for their lives and later argue about which books to burn for warmth––"normal" reactions given the circumstances. That ghosts from the past would set a librarian on fire as revenge for sins of his ancestors (The Fog, 2005) does not seem inexcusable once the audience

is privy to the atrocities committed hundreds of years before. Creative filmmakers can effect dramatic results with the staid occupational symbol of librarian without diminishing the communication of meaning because of the knowledge brought to the experience by audience members.

2.2.2 Library Tasks as Filmic Elements

Jindřich Honzl (1998, 1940) writes that "the fundamental nature of an actor does not consist in the fact that he is a person speaking and moving about the stage but that he represents someone, that he signifies a role" (p. 270, original emphasis). In the cinematic arts, when required by the narrative, actors replicate library work by using those behaviors and tools familiar to audiences because they are visible to patrons in real libraries and therefore prompt occupational recognition. Tevis and Tevis (2005) identify common librarian work behaviors in films as "standing or sitting behind a desk, stamping a book, standing on a ladder, holding or shelving a book, picking up a book from a table, pushing a booktruck, and turning out the lights" (p.18). Authentic mimicry is not necessary as long as library mannerisms are recognized. For example, every cliché library convention is exploited in the "Marian the Librarian" dance sequence from The Music Man (1962) as work behaviors are broadly pantomimed to elicit humor and draw emphasis to Marian's occupation because it is important to the story. The depiction of library work can also serve a narrative function unrelated to librarianship (Walker & Lawson, 1993, p. 18), as seen in Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade (1989) when the noise made by a rubber-stamping librarian masks the sounds of surreptitious excavation. The rubber stamp is a dominant indexical code for librarian (Tevis & Tevis, 2005, pp. 8, 13), an immediate occupational identifier found in such films as Big Bully (1996), Deadly Dreams (1988), Drop Dead Gorgeous (1999), A Merry War (1997), and Party Girl (1995). Other workplace indicators are library ladders (e.g., An Extremely Goofy Movie, 2000; As Young as You Feel, 1951; Escape from Alcatraz, 1979; Maxie, 1985; The Mummy, 1999; No Man of Her Own, 1932; and Twisted Nerve, 1968), and shelving units that topple like dominoes (The Misadventures of Merlin Jones, 1964; The Incubus, 1982; Goldeneye, 1995; The Mummy,1999).

Isolating function from a librarian character in a narrative film means examining a complex field of relationships beyond a simple occupational symbol and its signifiers. A film's inferred meaning is the product of cultural recognition, narrative interplay, and symbolic relevance. These contextual factors are too often overlooked in the literature that concentrates on the librarian stereotype as a mirror to public image, with little regard to its scripted environment and almost none to narrative purpose. The usefulness of the librarian symbol, icon and index is better revealed with a basic understanding of cinematic storytelling as an art.

2.3 The Narrative Realist Cinematic Structure

"[F]ilms are rule-based meaning structures that attempt to represent aspects of the real world" (Phillips, 2000, p. 89). The narrative realist film structure, or popular cinema, is the classic Hollywood style that now dominates worldwide (Bordwell & Thompson, 2001, p. 76). A three-act format borrowed from eighteenth-century theater, popular cinema has a beginning, middle, and end (Phillips, pp. 19-20). A cinematic story typically starts with introductions and a problem and builds as the protagonist takes action, then comes together in a meaningful resolution (Jancovich, 2002, p. 9). Countless variations play out this basic format. McKee (1997) observes, "All stories take the form of a quest" (p. 196) as the protagonist seeks an "object of desire beyond his reach" (p. 147). The characters, through their actions and interplay, serve as causal agents that drive the narrative, motivated by the protagonist's desire (Bordwell & Thompson, 2001, p. 76). "For example, the desire to know often appears in the story as a set of enigmas posed, delayed and resolved," such as the identification of "rosebud" in Citizen Kane (1941) (Branigan, 1984, pp. 12, 35). Characters serve the story by being subject to its forces, advancing or being thwarted as desires are followed. "One might go further and postulate that the classic text marshals desires and then moves to satisfy them" (Branigan, 1984, p. 12). Ultimately the narrative's ending should satisfy the audience. When designing a stimulating story for targeted viewers, a filmmaker makes cognitive choices for countless elements related to characters, setting, plot, music, etc., and "awareness of the bond between the teller, the tale and its audience is very

important" (Phillips, 2000, p. 50). Characters "must seem real, understandable, and worth caring about" (Boggs, 1978, p. 43). Realism, as noted earlier, is contextual. Certain details may not be plausible, but must seem realistic within the context of the story in order to be convincing (Phillips, 2000, p. 26). Bordwell and Thompson (2001) observe that the perception of cinematic realism changes, that what was realistic in its day may later seem stylistic, such as the perennial favorite Casablanca (1942) (p. 171). While interpreting the discourse that is film, "the experience happens less on the screen than in our heads" (Phillips, p. 7). Awareness of audience perception and interpretation is necessary when exploring film characters. While the narrative realist film structure provides overarching rules, filmmakers have the option of packaging their stories under generic umbrellas with distinct substructures efficacious to the communication of different types of fiction. Corrigan (1997) defines genre as "a category for classifying films in terms of common patterns of form and content" (p. 82). "[P]articular genres have their own more specific discourses" (Phillips, 2000, p. 48). Jancovich (2002) writes that when viewed as a procedure, a genre is seen as an object that is composed of a collection of films that are related to one another through their common possession of an essentially invariant narrative pattern in which we all know ‘how it will end' … (p. 11) Each genre evolved from conventions that rang with moviegoers and attracted box office revenues (Bordwell & Thompson, 2001, p. 94)—and filmmakers pay attention since profit is the driving motivation for creating movies (Phillips, p. 93). Film devotees seek out those particular genres (romance, adventure, war, intrigue, fantasy, science fiction, etc.) that most appeal to their viewing tastes. Each genre, by its very label on a film, identifies the style, content, tone, and in some cases formulaic resolution, and expectations must be met to elicit viewer satisfaction with the cinematic experience (Phillips, p. 55). Romances often end with a wedding. Cowboys in westerns ride off into the sunset. Detective films end with a mystery solved and perpetrator identified. Horror films vanquish the monster or at least run it to ground temporarily, and crime films find justice however defined by the story. Knowing the genre of a film makes the action comfortably predictable for viewers and thereby reinforces internal realism. Bordwell and Thompson (2001) state, "No genre can be defined in a single hard and

fast way" (p. 95), and subgenres and films that straddle genres or share themes are now the norm in cinema. Because both filmmakers and their audiences are familiar with the structure and elements of horror films, narratives are designed accordingly. "In fact, so familiar are genre conventions that significant amounts of story can be missed out of the plot altogether" (Phillips, 2000, p. 23). The reason that a family occupies a haunted house is of little interest, as is a rational explanation for the presence of a demon in the basement. (Currently popular slasher films dispense with back story altogether.) Violations of conventions can leave viewers dissatisfied, or even irritated. It is not unknown for filmmakers to prescreen their works and then rush back into production to film a more marketable ending (e.g., Fatal Attraction (1987), where the villain committed suicide in the original, and The Forgotten (2004), where viewers generally preferred the DVD's sad but less fantastical alternate ending). Generic filmmakers are known to use codes and "inside jokes" in their films that might not be recognized except by audience members familiar with the genre, such as the Scary Movie series of parodies where humor relies on knowledge of the horror conventions being spoofed. One example of an embedded referent is seen in Invasion of the Body Snatchers where the protagonist of the 1956 original version (Dr. Miles J. Bennell, played by Kevin McCarthy) has a minor role in the 1978 remake but is likely unrecognized by most viewers. The 1960 British version of The Tell-Tale Heart is constructed as a subtle story-within-a-story, with the assumption that the viewer is familiar with both Edgar Allan Poe and his original tale. The film opens with actor Laurence Payne playing Mr. Poe, but as the story advances he morphs into Edgar Marsh (a librarian) without explanation until the final scene. Films have also been examined as vehicles for social issues or cultural interests occurring at the time of their productions (Colavito, 2005, p. 406; Bordwell & Thompson, 2001, p. 100; Tancheva, 2005, p. 532). Horror films, while adhering to distinctive styles and themes, generally conform to the narrative realist structure. Noel Carroll (2002) observes, "Horror stories are often protracted series of discoveries" (p. 35). As such, action is motivated by the

protagonist's search for and acquisition of knowledge, the "desire to know." Carroll explains that, to a large extent, the horror story is driven explicitly by curiosity. It engages its audience by being involved in processes of disclosure, discovery, proof, explanation, hypothesis, and confirmation. (p. 35) In its broadest term, information. Colavito (2008) correlates horror with the search for knowledge and progression of scientific discovery added to fear generated by the unknown. One interesting example of this influence is the 2008 remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still that substituted environmental conservation concerns for the 1951 original's struggle with mankind's irrational penchant for war, a topic of concern during the Cold War era. Mutant monsters created by exposure to radiation were so common in the mid-twentieth century as to form the sub-genre of psycho-atomic horror (Colavito, p. 267). As icons of knowledge, libraries and by extension librarians, become natural sources for information in some storylines, including horror.

2.4 Conventional Signifiers of Horror Films

Colavito (2008) believes "it was the Western civilization that gave birth to the horror genre in its modern form" (p. 13), and credits Horace Walpole and gothic writers of the eighteenth century with shaping scary stories from the oral tradition into a distinct genre (p. 16). For American films, the Golden Age of Horror began when Universal Pictures released Dracula in 1931 (p. 201), followed by a series of monster films that set the standards and tone for generations to come. Being a visual medium, the movies had to develop a new language of communication and symbols that expressed meaning within their narratives, such as the "mad scientist" popular throughout the twentieth century (p. 200). Over time a large body of horror conventions accrued from which filmmakers draw elements for their art. Generic indicators include distinctive settings (e.g., haunted houses, cemeteries, abandoned carnivals) and themes (monsters, dreams, possessions, demons), and a style dominated by somber music, ominous shadows, and pacing designed to induce anxiety. In more recent decades blood, gore and mutilation have become the dominant signifiers of horror.

Heavy makeup and frightening masks are horror staples. Vincent Price, Lon Chaney, Boris Karloff, and Bela Lugosi were actors tantamount to early horror (Jancovich, 2002, p. 3; see also Colavito, 2008), and later specific characters served as icons of sadistic horror, e.g. Freddy Krueger, Chucky, Jason, and more recently Jigsaw from the "torture-porn" Saw franchise. As do all genres, horror offers its own conventional character types that moviegoers recognize when given appropriate cues since "these characters are easily 'indexed' by costume and mannerism" (Phillips, 2000, p. 66). While such signifiers are immediately recognizable, collective agreement on the definition of horror is impossible (Jancovich, p. 16), and often the storylines or monsters are silly (Colavito, 2008, pp. 3, 335). Some scholars do not include psychological films (categorizing them as drama), and others discount monster movies. Because genre films evolve over time, impacted by social anxieties, cultural trends and scientific advancements, definitions will also evolve. The only consensus shared by academics, critics and audiences is that horror films are meant to trigger deep emotional fear. [T]he horror genre is most recognizable by its intended emotional effect on the audience. The horror film aims to shock, disgust, repel—in short, to horrify. This impulse is what shapes the genre's other conventions. (Bordwell & Thompson, 2001, p. 102) Fear and revulsion, dread and terror––Colavito states that the art of horror crystallizes our nightmares, "the dark fears that fester beneath the surface" (p. 13); horror stories are "our collective nightmares" (Wood, 2002, p. 30). Horror films have cultivated their own reality: mummies come to life, vampires hide from daylight, people are possessed against their will, and body parts can be sewn together to create an animate being. Violent death, or at least the threat thereof, is a requirement, as is a menacing "unknown" (Jancovich, 2002, p. 13). Threatening and unnatural monsters label a film's genre as horror (Bordwell & Thompson, 2001, p. 102), and Wood (2002) describes the horror formula as "normality … threatened by the Monster" (p. 31). "The basic definition of any horror film may be centered around its monster character, and the conflict arising in the fantastical and unreal monster’s relationship with normality" (Russell, 1998, p. 252). "The horror plot will often start from

the monster's attack on normal life. In response, the other characters must discover that the monster is at large and try to destroy it" (Bordwell & Thompson, 2001, p. 103), the film's requisite quest. In an ironic twist, the character of Deucalion in the police procedural-horror film Frankenstein (2004) is dubbed "The Monster" by people who see his deformed face, but he is one of the protagonists and a "good guy" who hunts the real monsters that more successfully hide among the humans they mimic. The monster in a horror film can be an abstract such as the mental illness displayed by a sociopathic tormentor in Twisted Nerve (1968), or the distorted selfishness of the manipulative Ilona Carr in Weird Woman (1944)––both psychological thrillers with no conventional monsters. Monsters also appear in chilling scenes blended into other genres and are readily evident by their familiar signifiers, as when a creature erupts from the chest of a crewmember in the classic science fiction thriller Alien (1979), and the river of flesh- eating scarab beetles in The Mummy (1999), a tribute to early adventure films made exciting by generous dollops of horror elements. Librarian characters have been cast as a film's monster (Chainsaw Sally, 2004; Mindkiller,1987; The Tell-Tale Heart, 1960; Weird Woman, 1944) or victim (Blade, 1998; Grave of the Vampire, 1974), or both (Ghostbusters, 1984; The Church, 1989; The Name of the Rose, 1986), but librarian characters also function in horror films as they do in other genres, as information professionals or knowledgeable friends or other purposes. How a filmmaker intends the librarian symbol to be interpreted by the audience will depend in large part on how it is defined by the genre of the film (Tancheva, 2005, p. 535). Powerless and sexually repressed women are common in the horror genre (Wood, 2002, pp. 28-29), and as traditional librarianship has been a female occupation this past century with sexual repression as a component of the stereotype, the symbol of librarian is particularly useful for filmmakers seeking to express meaning about sexuality and power. Again, this is particularly evident in Chainsaw Sally (2004), Grave of the Vampire (1974), and Pink Chiquitas (1987), and applied to male librarians in The Church (1989), Mindkiller (1987) and The Tell-Tale Heart (1960). Characterizations in horror films—where good and evil wear many guises and subtlety and nuance are scarce—lend themselves particularly well to studies of librarian

characters. Roles are sometimes so two-dimensional as to seem interchangeable (compare Amityville II: The Possession, 1982, to The House by the Cemetery, 1981). Filmmakers, as members of the general public and sharing with them the same cultural understanding of the librarian symbol, are apt to include stereotypical renditions of librarian characters if they fulfill a cinematic purpose within the story. Librarian characters are well represented within the horror genre and serve positions both structural and narrative, with a broad demographic as to gender, age and race. Minor librarian characters are more likely portrayed realistically, but major ones such as the title role in Chainsaw Sally (2004) demonstrate exaggerated features of the public image to a comical or horrific extent. This separation from reality conforms to horror genre standards, where the semblance of a rational world is usually fractured in the opening scene.

2.5 Function of Librarian Characters in Films

A review of the librarian literature reveals an impressive number of articles and descriptive surveys that catalog librarian representation in the media, but in general there is little mention of character functionality and to date no pointed interest in horror films. Reviewed here are observations related to basic character function within narrative films, and the function of librarian characters in the cinema, drawn from the literatures of film studies and librarianship. Librarian roles in filmed stories range from protagonists following library-related quests to the "atmosphere people" glimpsed in the background of a library movie set that establish place—and all appear in these films as the result of an intentional artistic act. McKee (1997) underscores purpose and functionality as necessary for film characters designed to be folded into the "story ritual" (p. 27). Authorial intent is a given since films are expensive to produce and each character, locale, and sentence of dialogue needs to contribute to events that advance the story (Bordwell & Thompson, 2001, p. 52; McKee, 1997, p. 36). Indeed, "do it economically" is a screenwriting principle (Mernit, 2000, p. 194). The reasoning behind the inclusion of a librarian role in a film, however minor, speaks to function: how characters fulfill narrative purpose. Function is the process by which meaning is communicated to the audience.

2.5.1 Minor Librarian Roles

Librarian characters are found "primarily in supporting roles with minimal onscreen time and dialogue, if any" (Tevis & Tevis, 2005, p. 16). Library scenes are usually brief (Fialkoff, 2007, p. 8), and these players are likely to display stereotypical dress and mannerisms (Walker & Lawson, 1993, p. 18). Phillips (2000) refers to figures designed for a particular narrative function that "may be given some recognizable trait, a distinctive mannerism" that informs the audience as to the character's background, feelings, and ideologies, although not enough detail to make them fully formed (p. 59). Robert McKee (1997), in his seminal work Story: Substance Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting, advises screenwriters to make their minor characters believable but "flat" since minor players should not draw attention away from the needs and desires of the film's lead (pp. 106, 380). A bit part where a character has only a sentence or two of dialogue is not to be given multiple dimensions because the audience will be disappointed when the role does not reappear in the film, as a bit part is functional as "dictated by the needs of the protagonist" (McKee, pp. 379-380). The personification of character-as-function is Madame Jocasta Nu, the elderly and stern Jedi archivist in her brief appearance in Star Wars, Episode II: Attack of the Clone (2002). She is "the perfect embodiment of the [librarian] stereotype right down to the glasses and long skirt" (Duncan, 2004, p. 3). She is "the stereotypical female librarian of a certain age, with her hair in a bun and … efficient manner" (Tacheva, 2005, p. 540). Madame Nu appears onscreen, speaks with the protagonist, then walks away. She has no further role in the film but serves a clear purpose that links information access to the narrative quest. Tancheva asserts that protagonist Obi-Wan Kenobi's encounter with Madame Nu forces him to make a choice (accept the librarian's misinformation or reject it) that influences the direction of future events—a critical plot point (p. 540). Although the setting is unusual for a library scene, enough signifiers anchor the setting and character within a comfortable cultural framework, and the interaction between protagonist and librarian is a prototype for the onscreen negative service encounter. As with other genres, librarians appear in horror films as information resources for curious or desperate protagonists. The horror formula generally keeps the audience

ignorant as to the story's threatening unknown, and they share the discovery process. "Horror … films often leave us temporarily in the dark about what forces lurk behind certain events" (Bordwell & Thompson, 2001, p. 64). When the lead character is gearing up to battle the monster, however defined, he or she (as well as the viewer) needs to learn all there is to know about the threat, and a library is a logical place to seek enlightenment. This formula is common enough that when the cinema of horror was parodied in an episode of the animated television program Family Guy,2 just such a scene was included, the librarian wearing a cardigan with a broach and her hair in a bun. Librarian roles in the movies are often fleeting but influential and therefore relevant—by design.

2.5.2 Major Librarian Roles

Librarian characters as protagonists or in major supporting roles are too full- bodied to be stereotypes, even if their portrayals are grounded in the symbol or public image. Ann Seidl states, "The one rule of thumb I've found is that the larger the role, the less stereotypical a librarian on film tends to be" (Hughes, 2005, p. 83). There are notable examples, of course, where a filmmaker deliberately crafts a major character to cultivate those elements of the image that society associates with librarian because occupational recognition is critical to understanding the narrative or its subtext. Umberto Eco's evil librarian (Jorge) in the film adaptation of his classic novel The Name of the Rose (1986) personifies extreme obstructionism when executing the duties of his profession. "This is the negative stereotype at its purest," state Brown-Syed and Sands (1987, p. 22). Evil manifesting from a warped sense of nobility is also seen in the title character of the bloody Chainsaw Sally (2004), as she takes librarian responsibilities and personal affronts much too seriously. In these examples, stereotypic features relate to the function of each role, but Jorge and Sally are hardly examples of the stereotype. Walker and Lawson (1993), in The Librarian Stereotype and the Movies, dismiss nonstereotypical librarian characters as "more the result of an individual role than a stereotype" (p. 25), meaning that adding meat to a character neutralizes the two-

2 "Petergeist." 20th Century Fox Television, aired May 7, 2006.

dimensional core of the term. A reversal of this process serves as an example: Throughout the film Party Girl (1995), quirky Mary accumulates indexical elements that reinforce the label of librarian, her newfound profession, yet even in the final scene where she deliberately costumes herself as the quintessential librarian, the audience sees through the facade to the person beneath. Real librarians are quick to point out that major fictional librarians still display stereotypic features, but the range of signs culturally associated with the label is so broad that it would be impossible to design any librarian character that successfully avoids every signifier so as to be absolutely original. This occupational label is so powerful that it is hard to imagine any circumstances where a filmmaker would benefit from designing a librarian role and then stripping it of social identifiers. Walker and Lawson (1993) observe that film librarians appear because of their traits or their job (p. 18). Their traits are known to viewers through familiarity with the librarian public image and stereotype. What the audience knows of the job is generally what they witness as patrons or learn through the media. All this vicarious knowledge is putty for the filmmaker's art. Because the librarian symbol is culturally vigorous, it plays well against opposing concepts as a method for creating drama. Contrast is inherent in so many librarian roles as to be a given. For instance, the following films illustrate the librarian personality as the agency of contrast: • Miranda (2002): A mousy male librarian is drawn to an exotic woman of mystery. • Idiocracy (2006): An Army librarian is selected to participate in an extraordinary military experiment because he is "remarkably average … extremely average in every category." In such roles the librarian may be a reluctant or unwilling participant in the action that follows. Also related to librarian personality issues are films where the contrast is between what librarian characters are and what they could be, based on imposed criteria: • The Music Man (1962): Marian the Librarian, a lonely widow, needs to be coaxed out of her shell.

• Navy Blues (1937): A plain librarian is subjected to an unwitting makeover to win a sailor's bet. Of course examples exist where major librarian characters demonstrate particular skills or personality traits that juxtapose nicely with their profession, and the contrast is internal: • Party Girl (1995): Colorful and unbridled Mary discovers that her knack for organization fits perfectly with her new library job in this occupational coming- of-age story. • The Gun in Betty Lou's Handbag (1992): Betty Lou Perkins takes her fate into her own hands and blooms from an introverted children's librarian into a confident and strong woman—without abandoning the profession and her young patrons. An existing understanding of the librarian symbol is necessary for the viewer to fully appreciate and evaluate the above characters' subsequent actions, reactions, and metamorphoses. Examples of films that contrast the culturally perceived blandness of library work to narrative excitement include: • Black Mask (1996): A former assassin seeks fresh beginnings ("I live in Hong Kong with a new name and a job in a library, something as far removed from my violent past as I could find"), but of course his past catches up to him. • Dungeons & Dragons (2000): The film opens with the young female lead bemoaning her dull job ("It's just that I feel like I should be doing something more than just shelving books"), but she soon finds herself surrounded by violence in the library. • A Simple Plan (1998): A young wife's ho-hum life is exemplified by views of her tediously shelving library books. (At the end of the film, riches won and lost, she must return to library work, a narrative condemnation.) These major characters were deliberately designed to incorporate society's perception and interpretation of the librarian symbol otherwise the meaning being communicated by filmmakers would not be understood by their audiences. A character's classification

("librarian") defines the frame of reference by which the viewer interprets meaning (Eco, 1977, 1998, p. 282). Kaser (2007) cites two films that "delve deeper into the psyche of the [librarian] archetype" (p. 14), and both feature storylines where superior intelligence and bookishness are necessary for the successful completion of the narrative quest: The Mummy (1999) and National Treasure (2004). In both cases the female is the primary supporting character and each applies her education and information skills to advance the stories by unraveling mysteries and fighting alongside the male protagonists. In both instances these characters are "perceived as keepers of knowledge and revealers of ancient wisdom" (p. 14). One example of a librarian protagonist caught up in adventure is Flynn Carson in The Librarian: Quest for the Spear (2004), a Hollywood- style throwback that uses visual and verbal humor to play with the stereotype. "Making the action hero the unlikeliest of professionals works in this film because it employs the stereotype to a noble end," writes Kniffel (2005, p. 44), allowing an exception to routine condemnation of such portrayals by librarians. As with the previous examples, Carson's knowledge advances the storyline. The book-smart, quick-witted librarian is a distinct category of onscreen representation, one applauded by members of the profession.

2.5.3 Librarians Characters as Information Obstructionists

As previously noted, "All narratives might be thought to involve the desire to know" (Carroll, 2002, p. 35). For film protagonists to consult librarians for information is common, natural, and not unexpected. Ironically, these same descriptors apply to librarian characters that impede the flow of knowledge, as seen in The Emperor's Club (1994), Grave of the Vampire (1974), A Merry War (1997), Pendulum (2001), Rollerball (1975), and other films. In two films (Billy Elliot, 2000, and Race with the Devil, 1975), when librarians refuse to check out the desired books, the protagonists steal them. In Scream 3 (2000), the obdurate archivist accepts a bribe in exchange for information. One dramatic example of literary function as the obstruction of knowledge is the character of Madam Pince from the Harry Potter series. When author J. K. Rowling was questioned about the Hogwarts School librarian, she apologized for the negative role but defended her characterization: "[I]f they'd had a pleasant, helpful librarian, half my

plots would be gone. 'Cause the answer invariably is in a book, but Hermione has to go and find it. If they'd had a good librarian, there would have been that problem solved" (Bennett, 2008, p. 9). The public image of librarians includes both extremes of the scale between "helpful" and "unhelpful," and films reflect this dichotomy.

2.5.4 The Librarian Symbol as Myth

The library's rich cultural heritage also positions the librarian symbol to be viewed through the lens of myth. Gaines (2001) defines an example of myth as a symbol embedded in popular culture that has "a recognizable identity, a history, and distinctive human personality understood through characteristic behaviors that represent real social issues" (From Connotation to Myth section, para. 2). Cinematic roles expressing librarian-as-myth exaggerate emblematic qualities of the public image—in positive ways when the character is good, or negative ways when evil. The role of Conan the Librarian, briefly spotlighted in the comedy film UHF (1989), exudes mythic traits and behaviors, but his severe sense of duty results in the cleaving in half of a boy who returns an overdue book. This misplaced and irrational response to a minor infraction results in an outlandish event predicated on the public image of the stern, rule-abiding librarian. Conan's actions are mirrored by the librarian in the horror film Chainsaw Sally (2004) as she dismembers patrons who break library rules. This situational absurdity must be taken seriously within the context of a truly dark film. Positive representations of mythic librarians can be larger than life (e.g., Mr. Dewey, title character of The Pagemaster, 1994, "Keeper of the books, guardian of the written word") or are more subtle (Miss Franny in Because of Winn Dixie, 2005, compares to Glinda the Good Witch of Oz fame, or the elderly Mr. Halloway who overcomes personal failings to rescue his son in Something Wicked This Way Comes, 1983). Librarian as film adventure hero fulfills mythic expectations; see Evie Carnahan in The Mummy (1999), Romy in All the Queen's Men (2001), and Flynn Carson in The Librarian: Quest for the Spear (2004). On the surface, the public image of librarian hardly seems the stuff of myth, but filmmakers have successfully expanded on those qualities of the image that facilitate a good tale.

2.5.5 Librarian as Semiotic Sign

Whether viewed as symbols, icons, indices, or myth, librarian characters in narrative films are artistic creations that express meaning intended by filmmakers to be interpreted by an audience. Filmmakers must work from the same semiotic plane as their targeted viewers if their stories are to be understood. "Human communication is undoubtedly more likely to succeed when communicator and audience share an understanding of the 'rules' or 'codes' within which they are operating" (Phillips, 2000, p. 22). As a segment of the visual arts, the cinema is a "complex communication system" of structured codes created to impart meaning that the audience, as receivers, decode visually and aurally (Branigan, 1984, p. 35; see also Phillips, pp. 6-7). "Narrative may be described through a set of codes [that] represents an established social convention—a cultural practice—and therefore must be learned" (Branigan, 1984, p. 35). The protagonist, seeing a fellow character in a library setting tapping on a computer behind a reference desk, should recognize at the same time as the audience that a library service encounter is about to ensue, and viewers will base expectations on their personal knowledge of what librarians are and what they do (see Section 2.2.1, Library as Institutional Framework). Familiarity with the narrative structure of popular cinema, and elements specific to the genre, also aids in the interpretation—the decoding—of the stimuli received (Fowler, 1977, p. 80). For example, if that librarian behind the reference desk should burst into song, either the code for musical number is recognized by the audience (if the film is a musical) or aberrant behavior (if it is not). Umberto Eco (1977, 1998) states that in a theatrical performance a person "become[s] a semiotic device, he is now a sign … something that stands to somebody for something else in some respect or capacity—a physical presence referring back to something absent" (p. 281). Eco also asserts that a character is not seen as an individual but represents a class, and interpretation is "a matter of convention" (p. 281). Librarians distressed over negative stereotypes might affirm this, that a single librarian character will be perceived as representing all librarians. Characters are the primary elements in a filmed narrative (as their interactions tell the story) and each is an indexical creation to be interpreted by the audience based

on their understanding of the signs they perceive. Branigan (1984) explains, "A character is nothing but a galaxy of apparently trifling data which has coalesced around a proper name or … for the visual arts, coalesced around the pictorial image of a 'body'" (p. 35). Despite librarianship offering filmmakers numerous occupational cues, ambiguity exists in films that fail to provide adequate descriptors for some characters. One example is actor Sandra Dee's role in The Dunwich Horror (1970), which numerous reviewers denoted as "librarian" based on the single event of her accessing a library's public display case. Tancheva (2005) takes a semiotic approach to the cultural symbols of library and to a lesser extent librarian as presented in three films (The Name of the Rose, 1986; The Wings of Desire, 1987; and Star Wars, Episode II: Attack of the Clones, 2002). She purports the idea that meaning is fluid and the meaning of a sign or a text cannot be finally fixed: The discursive stereotype of the librarian [and of the library] … need … to be discussed as cultural signs that participate in a multitude of semiotic systems at the same time. The dominant interpretation of the cultural sign is always contextual and emerges as a result of the interplay between the signs that are native and those that are alien to the semiotic system as well as the position of the sign interpreter. (p. 532) Filmmakers play on these three aspects when designing narrative for the purpose of imparting meaning: meeting audience expectations (native signs) when a library interaction appears natural, and introducing drama (alien signs, often in the guise of conflict or sexual innuendo) scripted with a sense of how the action and events will be interpreted by the viewer (sign interpreter) who shares a cultural vocabulary with the creator. Although "the text and the reader must activate the same cultural models," Amossy and Heidingsfeld (1984) explain that this process is subjective. "Around the signifier there accrue various meanings, which are always contextually questioned" (p. 698). Personal experiences and value systems will color perception and impact the meaning each viewer extrapolates from viewing a film. Alice Hall (2001) writes that audience reactions vary "depending on their previous attitudes and on the relevance of particular components of the text." Peirce's semiotics allows the freedom to designate

as signs any elements that carry whatever meaning a perceiver chooses to ascribe to them, as is commonly allowed for the interpretation of artistic creations.

2.5.6 Librarian as Icon, as Index, as Symbol

Charles Sanders Peirce, considered to be the "father of American semiotics" (Eco, 1977, 1998, p. 280) distinguishes three basic types of signs: the icon, the index, and the symbol, although their application is hardly clear-cut, as merging, overlap, and duplication occur in what is a complex communication process. Librarian characters in films can be viewed from each perspective with variations in meaning that conjoin to promote understanding. As noted previously, an icon will resemble in some manner its referent, and the representation of a stereotypical librarian is an obvious icon. An aural icon of librarianship is a simple shush. An index is the object of codes causally linked to it. Rubber stamps and hair buns are signifiers socially associated with the index of librarian. Phillips (2000) refers to familiar character types and other cinematic elements as indexical codes or indexical signs, a term from semiotics that is similar to his definition of characterization: a sign's particular features as designed by a filmmaker for that specific role (p. 58). The concept of indexical signs as signifiers is similar to Hayakawa's symbol clusters and Renn and Calvert's schema, earlier referenced. Indexical signs can be personal to the character—hair style and clothing informing his or her traits and behaviors. Or the character can be an indexical sign to a signified group of people (Phillips, 2000, p. 65), as when a librarian character represents librarians as a class, as did actress Bette Davis in her upstanding role in Storm Center (1956). In a film scene featuring a librarian behind a circulation desk holding a rubber stamp, there is a nesting of signs: the librarian, the library setting, the circulation desk, and the rubber stamp. While each might suffice individually as an indexical sign for the purpose of triggering audience recognition of librarian, the combination of symbols assures that viewers will capture the intended meaning and provide appropriate expectations to narrative action. Phillips (2000) differentiates between a filmmaker's use of indexical signs that aid in occupational identification, and cliché features used as a "lazy" way to transmit an idea, the subtle difference between a sculpted character vs. a character type, between

the distinctive and the predictable (p. 66). The terms icon and stereotype are definitionally inadequate when viewed against fully featured film librarians, but they have real value to filmmakers. "The [librarian] image, which can be duplicated easily and with minimal effort, remains an effective cinematic tool for screenwriters, directors, and actors" (Tevis and Tevis, 2005, pp. 95-96). Also, actors produce primarily iconic signs when acting, as they use their own bodies to create a resemblance to real models at both the material and imagistic levels (Rozik, 2002, p. 111). The library literature emphasizes traits and behaviors of cinematic librarians as stereotypes (iconic representations), and indeed filmmakers make good use of the pictorial image so conducive to storytelling purposes. Indexical and symbolic properties, however, are what give the representation meaning. The viewer perceives the icon but understands it only through recognition of its indexical (causal) signifiers and symbolic (cultural) meaning. Peirce (1998) acknowledges that the term symbol has many definitions. He uses the word to indicate the relationship between a word and any ideas connected to it, "a conventional sign, or one depending on habit (acquired or inborn)" (p. 9). Peirce's symbol is what elicits meaning from the recognition of an icon or the understanding of an indexical association. The icon of librarian has no meaning if the sign is not recognized. A rubber stamp is merely a rubber stamp to a person who has not learned to associate this sign with librarian. Cultural understanding provides symbolic meaning. As a symbol in Peircean terms, for example, librarian is culturally linked to intelligence, bookishness, and spinsterhood. This definition for symbol should not be confused with the more common use of the term that is considerably broader in scope.

2.5.7 Cinema and the Communication of Meaning

Films are vehicles for the expression and interpretation of meaning (Bordwell, 1989, p. 158; Corrigan, 1997, p. 20; Phillips, 2000, p. 3). A film critic does not explain what is meant or how moviegoers interpret what they see, but how a filmmaker's text expresses meaning (Bordwell, 1989, p. 255). As humans, we perceive meaning through the perception of symbols. Riffe, Lacy and Fico (1998) write:

All communication uses symbols, whether verbal, textual, or images. The meanings of these symbols vary from person to person and culture to culture by a matter of degrees. (p. 23) According to Bordwell, "Comprehension and interpretation thus involve the construction of meaning out of textual cues" (p. 3; original emphasis). Phillips expands on this thought, that "how we give meaning to the text, how we make meaning, will be determined by our experience of the text and … the experience we bring to the 'text,'" and that meaning derived from a film will be personal to the viewer (p. ix). Bordwell (1989) states succinctly, "Meanings are not found but made" (p. 3). Film analysis takes place only in the mind (Boggs, 1978, p. 8). Textual elements serve as a film's symbols that combine to build a story and are designed to be perceived visually and aurally. That these elements are designed by filmmakers indicates conscientious intention to express a particular meaning revealed by how the characters speak and behave, details of the settings, the music, the lighting, camera angles, etc. Writers of novels use the symbols of language to express their elements in similar fashion. Together the many functions weave a story. "Aristotle invited his students to consider a literary work as if it were an animal … its parts appropriate to its function in the world” (Fowler, 1977, p. 27). What one of those animal parts is and what it does determines how a perceiver will understand what it means. Filmmakers (and authors) use elements as a chef uses ingredients, creating artistic works imbued with meaning using techniques unique to their art. Each element (interpreted as a symbol) performs a function, and each function forges meaning. Characters are a filmmaker's primary elements designed to express meaning, and this meaning is central to film criticism (Bordwell, 1989, p. 254). To understand how filmic function relates to meaning requires an understanding of communicative processes. Intended meaning would appear to flow from the filmmaker to the artistic creation (the film), while the moviegoer perceives elements of the work and adds personal knowledge and experience in order to interpret the work, completing the communicative flow even if the intended and the perceived meanings do not coincide. Any exploration of specific segments of this process built around defined filmic elements is in some degree an exercise in opinion making. "The emotional and

intuitive responses to film … are so highly subjective and vary so greatly from one individual to another that they are difficult to share in a meaningful way" (Boggs, 1978, pp. 8-9). The use of established schema and models for the purpose of identifying, organizing, and analyzing data is an attempt to offset to a reasonable extent personal judgments that might otherwise color research results.

2.6 A Semiotic Approach

Just as any written document can be analyzed as text, so too can a visual medium such as film. "We see the film as a constructed text that, by design or accident, releases a vast array of sensory triggers for our minds to respond to" (Phillips, 2000, p. 90). Text is a broad term with numerous definitions in the literature but is not limited to language or even words, as works of art in any medium can be read as text. "[A] text is an event, the result of a human action in a dynamic situation" (de Beaugrande, 1985, p. 47). McKee (1997) explains, Text means the sensory surface of a work of art. In film it's the images onscreen and the soundtrack of dialogue, music, and sound effects. What we see. What we hear. What people say. What people do. Subtext is the life under that surface—thoughts and feelings both known and unknown, hidden by behavior. (p. 252) Semiotics is a flexible method for distilling data, quantitative and qualitative, from human communications. As a method for interpreting the cinematic arts, semiotics has grown and evolved since the 1970s. Buckland (2000) writes, "Semiotics challenge the commonsense ideological understanding of film as a mere form of harmless entertainment, maintaining that it is a system of signification that articulates experience" (p. 5). Phillips (2000) agrees: "The film is never just a textual object, it is an experience" (p. ix), and exploring films as communicative vehicles can lead to an enhancement of the viewing experience. Corrigan (1997) compares movies to other arts where our pleasure is increased by understanding the work's intricacies, its rules and artistic possibilities (p. 2). The cinema is accepted by academia as a form of social text that can be deconstructed and analyzed using formal and critical analyses (Phillips,

2000, p. 64). Film critics have found semiotic methods useful for the interpretation of meaning when analyzing any of the many elements that make up the text of a film (Bordwell, 1989, p. 252). (Chapter Three: Methodology reviews the mechanics of one semiotic approach to film analysis.) Peirce's contribution to the philosophy of thought was drawn from graphic representations he saw in his own mind, and his exploration of their relationships led to his diagramming systems of conceptual relationships. His system of semiotics is especially suitable for examining visual signs (Leja, 2000, pp 97-98), as is evident with his categories of icon and index. The act of recognition is an intellectual process whereby an image is compared to one's mental notions and previously formulated knowledge. "For [Peirce], visual materials were bits of data to be used comparatively to fill out his typology of signs [for analysis of visual arts]," observes Michael Leja, who then suggests that the visual arts benefit more from Peirce's process of reasoning using the relationships between his icon, index, and symbol. Peirce (1998) explains that "We shall find that every intellectual operation involves a triad of symbols" (p. 9). Leja observes that these categories are frequently broken out from Peirce's copious life work because of their usefulness when applied to natural thought (p. 115). The current research applies these concepts to the visual representations of librarian characters in horror films in order to discern functional contributions and patterns of meaning, while avoiding deeper delving into Peirce's complex philosophies that seek to improve logic while reasoning one's way to truth, a noble exercise that falls outside the parameters of this study.

2.7 Conclusion

"For better or worse, librarians are considered significant enough to merit an image. Over the last 150 years they have been depicted both positively and negatively in cartoons, magazines, newspapers, fiction, literature, television, the big screen, and … the Internet" (Bobrovitz & Griebel, 2001, p. 260). Whether the construct of librarian is perceived as symbol, icon, index, stereotype, myth, or sign, the distinctions are matters of degree, as the mechanics of symbolic evocation are cognitively identical. Research shows that the public image of librarians is rich with details, including contradictions,

any combination of which will trigger occupational recognition. A librarian in a film may be identified whether portrayed as young or old, male or female, attractive or plain, by merely appearing stern and making a shushing gesture with an index finger against the lips. Any person at a service counter wearing glasses and stamping books is immediately branded librarian regardless of other personal features. Away from a library setting, a character labeled librarian will be accepted as realistic by the audience if she dresses down and is sexually repressed, or if he is slight of build and socially inept. Tobias (2003) writes, "The traditional librarian image is an efficient way to communicate a certain kind of professional. It's an effective signifier because it's understood (and misunderstood) by many people" (p. 13). Bruce Shuman (1992) notes that fictional librarian characters demonstrate a positive image if they are portrayed as "exciting and extremely clever people," and the use of despicable or villainous librarian characters show they are considered "sufficiently interesting to arouse and hold a dramatic interest" (Brown-Syed & Sands, 1997. p. 18). Filmmakers are not motivated by concern for the librarian public image. They make good use of this flexible symbol for a myriad of purposes, with the one commonality that the symbol is creatively functional: it expresses a designed meaning. Horror films offer a platform for viewing numerous purposes and functions of the flexible cultural sign of librarian. This research identifies a fresh perspective on the librarian symbol, one that stresses contributions to the media and positive aspects of an occupational stereotype that has haunted librarianship for more than a century. An exploration of "why a librarian?" complements existing research, showing what distinguishes the profession, and those traits and behaviors that make librarians and their services recognizable to the public and useful as storytelling devices. Whether inspirational, educational, or simply a mechanical means to an end, function denotes purpose. Use of the librarian symbol, however unflattering, confirms the profession's relevancy.

CHAPTER 3

METHODOLOGY

3.1 Research Sample

A sample of availability provides the source of data for this exploration. The films that comprise the sample are designated in whole or in part as horror by The Internet Movie Database (IMDb), the premier website for comprehensive information on cinematic productions. Because the horror genre is subject to being further subdivided, and fans draw their own personal distinctions (Jancovich, 2002, p. 18), using IMDb's categories helps to avoid definitional bias and the need to qualify degrees of horror- ness. Librarian roles in horror films were identified through online keyword searches of IMDb, Google, movie review websites and film databases, resulting in a long list of international titles. As many films as possible were borrowed from the public library, rented through Blockbuster, found in Walmart's bargain bin, and purchased through Amazon.com or at auction through eBay. Unfortunately, some films were not obtainable, such as very old films, those produced in foreign countries without American distribution, or minor independent films, and some were obtained after the cut-off date. Considering the criterion limited the sample to Hollywood-style narrative realist films, the 30 titles that were successfully secured proved a solid representation for research purposes. This selection is not restricted to theatrical releases or English-language productions, allowing for a wider range of cinematic offerings. The quality of production values range dramatically, from Stephen Sommers' special effects spectacular The Mummy (1999) to Anthony Currie's laughably amateurish The Pink Chiquitas (1987). Librarian roles in some of these films are brief and minor, while most are more

extensive and integral to their storylines. Every one of these roles, however, supports a narrative purpose.

3.2 Character Analyses

One must think of a film as unified and a "rationally structured artistic whole" before it can be broken up into parts for the purpose of studying relationships and function (Boggs, 1978, p. 9). While Peircean semiotics provides concepts and terminology applicable to an exploration of librarian characters in horror films, it does not provide methodological procedures. The many disciplines that conscripted Peirce's semiotics into their research devised their own applications, as did performance and film studies. Raw data in this study was collected using an instrument called Esslin's Table of Sign Systems (see Section 3.3), and the presentation of research results in the form of descriptive observations and pattern analyses are founded on Peircean concepts. Each librarian character is examined in context to identify those signs and other empirical evidence that allow the inference of narrative purpose and function. Appearance (icon, symbol, index), verbal and nonverbal behaviors (index), relationships and interactions (indices) are key sources of signs related to events as the librarian character interacts with the protagonist and other characters, with the environment, and with other indexical and symbolic signs––thereby affecting the forward action of the storyline. That an effect exists in each film is a given or else viewers would be faced with a filmic element that serves no purpose, an untenable situation in light of the structure of narrative realist cinema and the familiar Hollywood style. When parallels are apparent, individual films are compared to other films with the aim of identifying patterns of favored sign usage, following conventions of literary interpretation, as patterns can be invested with significance (Bordwell, 1989, p. 32). Such patterns support the notion that utility is a motivation for the use of librarian signs by filmmakers. Logic dictates that eyeglasses, rubber stamps, ladders, and card catalogs would not continue to appear in film after film unless these indexical signs served a narrative purpose. Filmmakers require such signs as communication devices not only for the audience, but within the narrative for other characters. The protagonist, on entering a library setting, needs clues (signs) to identify the librarian (the signified)

being sought for assistance. How these and other signs associated with librarian contribute to filmic function within a subset of cinematic offerings is the core of this research. The units of analysis are film sequences that feature or are impacted by librarian characters, and the units of interest include all filmic signs related in any way to the librarian role within the film's narrative context. Boggs (1978) reminds us that, Each part [of a film] being studied still pulses with life, since analytical viewers, if they have anything of the poet in them at all, still see each part as connected to the lifeline of the whole. In a sense, each part should actually seem more alive, for the analytical approach not only enables us to see and understand each part more clearly—it also focuses on the vital function and energy which each part contributes to the pulsing, dynamic whole. (p. 8) This is particularly true for characters, as they comprise narrative adhesion. Viewed as semiotic text, characters retain complex but meaningful data, and knowledge can be abstracted through careful observation.

3.3 Sign Systems as Semiotic Process

One characteristic of the semiotic approach is the use of taxonomies to isolate and identify different channels of sign systems before weaving them back together for purposes of interpretation. Within theater studies, performance analysis as a research process founded on semiotics is well established, indeed central, for the study of live productions (McAuley, 1998, p. 1). Film studies benefits from borrowing and adapting established schema to aid in the deconstruction of recorded visual narratives, identifying and classifying filmic elements such as characters' facial expressions and movements that serve as sign systems for the transmission of meaning. Numerous names are associated with these exercises or checklists, each with its own distinctive approach and function and applied in diverse ways, such as the Pavis Questionnaire developed by Patrice Pavis to guide theater undergraduates along a process that begins with observation and leads to a deeper analysis of performance art, moving from "how" to "why" (Aston & Savona, 1991, p. 109; McAuley, 1998, p. 1). Although Pavis' work does a fine job of revealing creative intent and the reasoning behind dramaturgical choices,

his approach is designed for the examination of one-time stage productions. Other noted analytical tools such as Tadeusz Kowzan's trail-blazing classification of sign systems for live performance are likewise unsuitable for film analysis without overhaul. A review of performance literature did, however, draw attention to one particular schema, Esslin's Table of Sign Systems, that expanded Kowzan's work for stage analysis by including consideration of signs external to onstage events that could impact reception by the audience such as the theater's ambiance and the show's publicity, and then added categories that expressly apply to cinematic deconstruction.

3.4 Esslin's Table of Sign Systems

Martin Esslin (1987, 1998) delineates basic cinematic components such as camera and editing techniques that act as signs (pp. 305-306) that together with traditional performance elements comprise a semiotic lens through which movies can be examined for function and meaning. Each item in his Table represents a mere heading with no attempt at subcategories, as entire books have been written on these specific subjects, but the abundance and variety of potential elements demonstrate limitless choices available to filmmakers for narrative construction, and to critics for film interpretation. A film's characters are its most important elements for the expression of narrative meaning, but the study of characters in context requires that the impact of inanimate elements also be considered. Bordwell (1989) notes that the semantic pertinence of other elements such as setting or lighting is rooted in their relationships to characters' actions and attitudes (p. 171), hence their inclusion in the research of librarian roles. Esslin's framework focuses the research eye on the context in which characters interact, the mechanisms of their communications, and evidence of attitudes, all potent considerations within visual narrative. Presented as broad but discrete categories, Esslin's schema does not provide a fill-in-the-blank data collection instrument but rather lists prompts for the researcher attempting exploratory comprehensiveness. "The first stage of the analytical process," writes McAuley (1998), "involves noting as much detail as possible about the chosen performance" (p. 4). These details provide to the

researcher the foundation for reflection on the interplay among elements and their relationship to narrative structure, on artistic choices, and on the meanings evoked. Esslin's taxonomy for performance analysis has met with enthusiasm or derision depending on how useful it has proven for individual researchers. Aston and Savona (1991), for example, refer to this as a "linear classification" they found unhelpful, noting that "there is no space within Esslin's system for accounting for the spectator's role in the production of meaning" (pp. 108-109). Since the cinema provides no real-time conduit for viewer impact on performance—audience enthusiasm or lack thereof has no affect on actor behaviors—Aston and Savona's perceived weakness is moot. Kurt Daw (1993), on the other hand, praises Esslin for eschewing jargon and providing "a kind of expanded 'Pavis' questionnaire" that can be understood by nonsemioticians. Esslin's straightforward communication style facilitates clarity in this dissertation produced by a nonsemiotician for nonsemioticians, as it helps isolate knowledge that is relevant to library studies. "The analyst's experience is … no different from the spectator's but the analyst has the added responsibility of making clear the process whereby the meanings have been reached," states McAuley (1998, p. 10). The application of Esslin's taxonomy of filmic elements will not be formalized in this research: no tables or graphs, no attempt to shoehorn observations into quantitative boxes, no stricture that could strangle free association. Instead it is held up to each production as an initial guideline that directs attention to specific filmic elements in turn, the first step in data-gathering although observations are not, of course, limited to those identified in the Table. Esslin's categories also provide neat platforms for comparisons across films, and aid in the identification of patterns that hold meaning. No exposure of this conceptual corset is evident within the research analyses although its use proved invaluable in keeping signs at the forefront of the data collection process. The semiotics of performance, whether live theater or recorded, is not intended merely to identify the many parts that go into an artistic creation but to ultimately show how those parts came to be organized as they are (McAuley, 1998, p. 2). Analytical models are built of such components to construct theories related to the creation, perception, and interpretation of performance. Performance analysis is posited by the literature as a skill, "conceptualized as something that needs to be taught," observes

McAuley (p. 2), hence the popularity of using schema as a research tool. Although criticized as a reductionist method, semiotic questionnaires and models do provide clarity in what is a complex communicative process. "The value of structured models when undertaking performance analysis is firstly, that they function to assist concentration during performance and … they encourage systematic consideration for the major sign systems" (McAuley, p. 3). Esslin's sign system as a research tool assured consistency during the early stages of research when films were reviewed and critically observed, and the findings incorporated into character and contextual analyses rather than displayed as graphic illustrations of empirical results. Esslin's Table of Sign Systems is presented in the following two sections.

3.4.1 Sign Systems Common to All Dramatic Media

1. Framing systems outside the drama proper a. Architectural framework and ambiance surrounding the performance b. Title, generic description, pre-publicity c. Prologue, title sequence, epilogue etc. 2. Sign systems at the actor's disposal a. Personality, balance of 'casting' b. Delivery of the text c. Facial expression d. Gesture, body language e. Movement in space f. Make-up, hairstyle g. Costume 3. Visual sign systems a. Basic spatial configuration b. Visual representation of locale c. Color scheme d. Properties e. Lighting 4. The text a. Basic lexical, syntactic, referential meaning of the words b. Style–high/low, prose/verse etc. c. Individualization of characters d. Overall structure–rhythm–timing e. Text as action–subtext. 5. Aural sign systems a. Music b. Non-musical sounds

3.4.2 Sign Systems Confined to Cinema and Television

1. Sign systems derived from camera work a. Static shots: long shot, medium and full close-up b. Panning shots c. Traveling [tracking] shots d. Slow motion, and accelerated motion shots 2. Sign systems derived from the linking of shots a. Dissolve b. Crossfade c. Split screen d. Sharp cut 3. The sign system of editing a. Montage b. Use of the rhythmic flow of images

3.5 The Semiotic Frame and Interpretation

Applying a semiotic frame to the analysis of an artistic expression is not for the purpose of feigning objectivity. If we hold to the textual study of a film alone, analysis of the meanings and values, especially concerning issues of representation, can give the impression of being fairly objective. We find clues, make sense of them, gauge their significance, and arrive at an overview. When we include an assessment of our complicated interaction with characters and the feelings that they and their situations evoke, however, we are forced sometimes at least to make quite different statements. (Phillips, 2000, p. 88) Boggs (1998) advises, "We must make an effort to become totally immersed in the 'reality' of the film, and at the same time maintain some degree of objectivity and critical detachment" (p. 6). A film critic asks questions about the function of a character, its appropriateness within the genre, does it move the story forward, and does it represent the film's message and values (Phillips, p. 92). Bordwell (1989) writes "knowledge derives from 'interpretation'" and interpreting film characters is intended to reveal hidden and nonobvious meaning (p. 2). Comparing and contrasting films deepens their understanding and "make[s] connections between a movie and other areas of culture in order to illuminate both the culture and the movie it produces" (Corrigan, 1997, p. 6).

The use of a sign system keeps the research grounded. "Discourse about performance is of limited interest if it inevitably slides into assertions of value that can ultimately be justified only with reference to personal taste" (McAuley, 1998, p. 3). In other words, librarian characters must justify their value in ways observable to the targeted audience at the terminus of the communication chain initiated by filmmakers. As text, films and other popular media under analysis are "open to be interpreted in different ways by different viewers" (Hall, 2001, p. 400). Phillips (2000) cautions: A film has no absolute truth, no essence waiting to be uncovered. Meaning is a process … not a fixed object waiting to be found by the 'expert' film analyst. (p. 92) Any conclusions drawn are, of course, peculiar to the researcher, and there is no pretense any one study produces any more accuracy than the next one viewing the same characters in the same films. This is the nature of studying art, where interpretations are personal to the interpreters, although this research attempts to tame personal judgments with the use of a research system that demands empirical grounding.

3.6 Conclusion

Both information science and film studies emerged as distinct scholastic fields more than a hundred years ago, and both adapt perspectives and research methods from other disciplines to enhance their own theoretical foundations. Semiotics has proven its strength with a "powerful and comprehensive movement" among film critics (Stam, Burgoyne, & Flitterman-Lewis, 1993, p. x), and is growing in library science in areas such as discourse and conversational analysis in institutional settings as a means for improving service models. While exploratory research does not provide final answers, questions should still be pursued in order to reach new depths of understanding (Boggs, 1978, p. 10). Semiotics offers a tool for adding rigor to observations and lending credence to inferences made. Viewing occupational representations in films as semiotic signs presents fertile opportunity for media studies and professions with heavily invested public images.

CHAPTER 4

DATA ANALYSIS

4.1 Research Sample and Criteria

The only criteria applied to the research sample in this study were that the films • be designated as horror genre in whole or in part by Internet Movie Database, • feature at least one identifiable librarian character, and • be reviewed prior to June 2009. Note that four horror films with stock librarian characters are referenced in this dissertation when relevant but are not included in the sample because they were not obtained before this deadline: Deadly Dreams (1988), The Incubus (1982); Race with the Devil (1975), and Scream 3 (2000).

The sample of availability for this qualitative research comprises 30 horror films:

Amityville II: The Possession (1982) The Attic (1980) Blade (1998) Chainsaw Sally (2004) Christine (1983) The Church (1989) Curse of the Demon (1957) Dark Remains (2005) The Fog (2005) The Forgotten (2004) Frankenstein (2004) From a Whisper to a Scream (1987) Grave of the Vampire (1974) The House by the Cemetery (1981) I, Madman (1989) The Killing Kind (1973) Mindkiller (1987)

The Mummy (1999) The Off Season (2004) Peeping Tom (1960) The Pink Chiquitas (1987) Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983) Stephen King's It (1990) The Tell-Tale Heart (1960) Transylvania Twist (1990) Twisted Nerve (1968) The War of the Worlds (1953) Weird Woman (1944) The Wicker Man (1973) Wilderness (1996)

Because few people are familiar with every horror film in the research sample, the Appendix provides a very brief summary of each title, concentrating on the librarian role. These summaries should be reviewed before the descriptive analyses beginning with Section 4.4 are perused. Unless otherwise noted, all films are theatrical releases, produced in the United States, in English and in color.

4.2 Statistical Overview

Data collection for this study concentrated on filmic elements within the research sample, but as a point of interest demographics were collected to see how these horror films compare to a broader range of cinema and, in the case of gender, to librarians in real life. The American Library Association holds that 82% of real librarians are female, 18% male (Davis & Hall, 2007, p. 16). Tevis and Tevis (2005) in their review of twentieth-century cinematic librarians report that 72% of 326 librarian roles were female and 28% male.3 Within the nonrandom sample of 30 horror films in the current study, and noting that some films cast more than one librarian role, 24 female (57%) and 18 male (43%) librarian characters were recorded. More male librarian roles were

3 Tevis and Tevis' (2005) research includes eleven of the films that appear in the current study: The Attic (1980), Christine (1983), Curse of the Demon (1957), The House by the Cemetery (1981), The Killing Kind (1973), The Mummy (1999), Peeping Tom (1960), Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983), Transylvania Twist (1990), Twisted Nerve (1968), and The War of the Worlds (1953). Four of these films feature male librarians. The remainder of the films in the current study were not included in the Tevis and Tevis research because they did not meet criteria (e.g., not English language) or were produced after 1999.

observed in the current study than Tevis and Tevis found in theirs, and many more than demographics show in real life. The strong showing by male librarian characters in the research sample was unexpected since librarianship has long been a female occupation and the target audience for horror films is primarily young males. One supposes that male horror audiences would not enjoy watching others of their gender mimic traits and behaviors of stereotypic geeks, nerds, and social losers since horror films are thought to affirm masculinity (Williams, 2002, p. 58), but ridicule of the opposite of masculine is the affirmation of masculine. Some filmmakers in the research sample showed no mercy for their male librarians, endowing them not only with unflattering indexical descriptors but exaggerations of the descriptors. Examples include minor characters, all of which reflected humor as one function, such as George (Chainsaw Sally, 2004), Donald (The Attic, 1980), Mr. Townsend (Mindkiller, 1987), and Mr. Groom (Twisted Nerve, 1968). Minor female characters in the research sample were drawn more charitably. Exaggeration could be a means of distancing the audience so they do not feel the need to place themselves inside the characters or to internalize feelings, giving them permission to watch comfortably from a distance and concentrate more on events. Certainly no viewer wants to see himself in the characters of Warren and Larry in Mindkiller, two librarians that present as caricatures because their unattractive features are overblown throughout the film. These qualities in the film's protagonists support narrative function, however, as disturbing as they are for librarians to watch. The reason for casting a male librarian is obvious when gender is relevant to plot, but raises the question of why one gender or the other is cast in minor, gender-neutral librarian roles such as those in Amityville II: The Possession (1982), Christine (1983), Dark Remains (2005), House by the Cemetery (1981), the blind librarian in Chainsaw Sally (2004), and the young library worker in Stephen King's It (1990). In these examples, all are female except the blind librarian, meaning that if these films were removed from consideration, the percentage of more meaningful male librarian roles would have an even stronger showing in the horror sample. These gender imbalances open avenues for future exploration of genre film librarians.

Tevis and Tevis (2005) also observe in their study of more than 200 films that most librarian roles are supportive, with little or no onscreen dialogue (p. 16), yet a breakdown of horror films in the current study shows ten of the females (42%) and seven of the males (27%) are protagonists or leading characters. Even the smallest librarian roles in the current study had at least one line of dialogue, not because only speaking parts were specifically selected but because no horror films with nonspeaking librarians surfaced during a search for films to include. This might suggest that film characters are too valuable a commodity to include merely as elements of set design or background extras, particularly in low budget movies where actors must carry their weight. While a nonrandom sample of only 30 horror films does not allow generalizations to be made or conclusions to be drawn, the numbers are still interesting. Data pulled from the sample films also show that 26 of the 30 films feature at least one scene set in a library, illustrating the strong association between librarians and their workplace as discussed in Section 2.2, The Icon of Library. Surprising few of the films, however, display the traditional reference interview (Chainsaw Sally, 2004; Curse of the Demon, 1957; Dark Remains, 2005; The Fog, 2005; The House by the Cemetery, 1981). Seven of the films feature as a plot device a book with dangerous or threatening powers, its location or destruction being the narrative quest in three of them. A bookstore plays a significant setting in only one of the sample films (I, Madman, 1989).

4.3 Data Related to Filmic Function

After data collection following Esslin's Table of Sign Systems, the findings required organization for this inductive study in a manner that would reveal meaning within each individual film and across films to expose patterns. Multiple viewings of each film in the sample of 30 horror movies resulted in the identification of 20 basic categories of function displayed by librarian characters. The 20 categories were then condensed to 17 functions and sorted according to three typologies founded on the level and direction of communicative meaning. Point of view (POV) is what distinguishes these categories as the change in perspective affects how signs are observed and interpreted, affecting meaning.

1. Functions external to the narrative. (POV from filmmaker to audience.) Some plotting devices used to shape the movie experience fall outside of the story and flow from the filmmaker directly to the audience, bypassing the narrative situation, e.g., emotionally manipulative music, narrative framing, exposition, breaking the fourth wall (elements that draw attention to the fiction, as when characters disengage from the action to speak to the audience ), or cultural references, inside jokes or puns. Such communication, if removed from the film, would not interfere with the protagonist's quest although audience involvement, understanding or enjoyment might be negatively impacted. 2. Functions associated with assigned plot labels. (POV from character-to- audience and character-to-character.) Filmed narratives are peopled by character types, and function can relate to the assigned label, e.g. "hero" or "boss" or even "librarian." Meaning in this category communicates from the characters to the audience, but also from one character to another. For example, when a film's protagonist enters a library and walks up to a reference desk, both viewers and the protagonist, if provided adequate semiotic indicators, recognize that the person sitting behind the desk is a librarian, although reactions might differ since meaning drawn from labels is subjective even for fictional people. 3. Functions organically developed within the world of the narrative. (POV from character-to-character.) Interactions of a librarian character are viewed at the level of the story itself, as seen by fellow characters, revealing function related to narrative cause and effect. Meaning of import is only the meaning understood by other characters. What the audience perceives is irrelevant as it is external to the narrative. Hence a falling tree onscreen makes a sound even if the movie house is empty.

Character function therefore can be viewed (1) as an element of imposed design communicated above the level of the narrative, (2) as the product of an internally relevant or externally assigned character role, or (3) internally at the level of narrative

impact. These conceptual categories guide the layout of research analysis within this dissertation, as they make the literary usefulness of the librarian role more apparent. Just as a person wears many hats during an average day—mother/wife/ daughter/neighbor/dog walker/teacher/voter/boo-boo kisser and many etceteras—so too do film characters. Narratives present a complex amalgamation of signs relaying meaning to viewers, and rare is the character designed to fulfill only one function, one purpose, even those with minor roles. Literary economy dictates that filmmakers imbue a character with more than a single function, especially when three-dimensional realism is required to bring a story to life. A large percentage of the sample films include librarians as protagonists or supportive leads that fulfill multiple functions. Because constraints of time and space do not allow for every function to be separately addressed, only primary functions as semiotically revealed by librarian characters are discussed, and incidental functions reluctantly shed.

4.4 Character Function as Imposed Design

Design elements created by filmmakers can reveal character functions that do not necessarily relate to events happening in the story. These plotting elements are recognizable because the filmmaker's hand is clearly seen. One example of this is exposition, a literary technique for providing indicators as to the who, what, where, when and why of a story so that viewers can quickly orient themselves to the players and situational events. Ideally, exposition is embedded into the beginning of a film in a way that does not distract the viewer from immersion in the fictional world. Viewers are quick to notice "soap opera dialogue" where background details are wedged into conversations between characters that would sound unnatural between real people under similar circumstances, as characters already share knowledge and need not be told that, "Your husband, Sam, will be returning soon from his job stamping fenders at the auto-plant out on the east side of Centerville." This excess of basic information is scripted for the benefit of the audience, and a character's function can support this necessary communication. Other externally applied plotting mechanisms can present character behaviors designed to trigger within the perceiver recognition of humor, irony, or cultural

references unrelated to narrative events. For example, the librarian character in the horror film I. Madman (1989) has a very small part, appearing for only a few minutes, but when she is called by her name (Marian), the audience mentally associates her with "Marian the Librarian" made famous in Meredith Wilson's Broadway play (1957) and film adaptation The Music Man (1962), a cultural icon for the past half century whose name is now synonymous with librarian. The use of this specific moniker draws attention away from the action onscreen and directs it to the filmmaker, a side effect of imposed design. The librarian in The Pink Chiquitas (1987) is named Mary Ann, a subtle adaptation that librarians will catch but possibly not the general public. In the sample films, librarian role functions that met the criteria for imposed design fell into these subcategories and are discussed in the sections that follow. • Exposition • Plot advancement • Humor • Irony • Symbolism

4.4.1 Exposition as Librarian Function

Exposition serves to quickly orient viewers to the story they perceive and facilitate their immersion into the fiction. Exposition helps identify and explain for viewers filmic elements such as characters, situations and background information so that subsequent events make sense. Exposition can be explicit (e.g., the backstory text crawling through space in the opening of Star Wars films), or revealed with signs of time and place (e.g., vintage cars, landmarks, uniforms). Opening conversations between characters are frequently fertile with facts designed to bring the audience up to speed. The Hollywood film style generally includes exposition, and a talented screenwriter will make such details appear natural rather than awkward or glaring. Stilted conversations that spotlight exposition draw attention to plotting elements and rupture the suspension of disbelief that should be gripping the audience. Five films in the research sample include signs showing exposition in some form as a primary function for the librarian characters.

When a librarian role is the film's protagonist or a major character, a certain amount of exposition is to be expected. Sylvia Van Buren's participation in an expository conversation (a behavioral sign) at the beginning of The War of the Worlds (1953), however, is so blatant as to be unintentionally comical. While waiting at the scene of a meteor crash for a famous astrophysicist to appear, she happily chats with a new arrival, laying out her own curricula vitae and also that of the scientist she eagerly hopes to meet. True to narrative convention, the gentleman she addresses turns out to be the subject scientist. Her exposition serves to introduce the film's protagonists and neatly provides credentials. The filmmaker designed her to be garrulous for the benefit of viewers. Exposition is usually expressed through conversations, and to avoid having main characters talk to themselves filmmakers give them friends or sidekicks. Such a relationship is seen in the horror film The Off Season (2004), where librarian Claudette is a minor character whose presence has no discernable effect on the main storyline but she befriends her new assistant, Kathryn (protagonist) and serves as her sounding board for the benefit of the audience. These two conform to Tevis and Tevis' (2005) notion of librarian "pairs" in the cinema, with one young and pretty and the other older and more traditional (p. 85). Their conversations at work, and in the haunted Room 13 after Kathryn becomes ill, divulge information about Kathryn's marital problems and her emotional state, both important for an understanding of how she is perceiving and enduring the horrors gripping her life. As the story advances and Claudette has filled her purpose as listener, she fades unremarked from the story. When narrative events occur before the opening of a film, one character describing them to another character allows the audience to eavesdrop and learn. In Transylvania Twist (1990), librarian Ephram Ward must convince his nephew to retrieve a rare and dangerous book Ward mistakenly checked out to a patron. His error starts the narrative quest, and one supposes he personally has much to lose if the book is not returned, but his character is dropped after this exchange. Because Ward has a stake in the outcome of his nephew's quest, his role is less artificial than Claudette's in The Off Season, whose presence had no effect on the narrative quest.

Voice-overs (a plotting device) are another form of exposition, where an unseen speaker introduces and closes a film, or punctuates commentary throughout. Audiences are guided to focus on events from the viewpoint of the narrator. This construct is used in the film Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983), with the narrator unfolding the story as a series of flash-backs from his childhood. In the film's opening lines he directs audience attention not to the protagonists (his young self and their adversary Mr. Dark), but to the elderly librarian: "… I suppose that this is really the story of my father .…" The closing narration, with adult Will observing himself and his father so long ago, is particularly moving. This singular filmic element that establishes time and place also infuses the film with a sense that the story is important, and makes it timeless for future generations to enjoy. A less conventional method of narrative framing was a marketing ploy for packaging short films into one anthology film, a technique seen in From a Whisper to a Scream (1987) where the character of librarian/historian Julian White is expressly invented to weave together four short films that otherwise have nothing in common except the shared genre of horror. Rather than have White directly address the audience, an intrusive woman claiming to be a reporter is introduced who arrives knowing nothing about the town of Oldfield where the films are said to be located (an obvious fiction once the films are viewed). These two roles are connected through an unseen character; White's dead niece is the reporter's friend. This movie-within-a- movie is shown in brief sequences before, after, and between the four films. The frame's storyline is weak and predictable, but serves to make less artificial the librarian's introductions to the films. Semiotically, this expository frame is decked with conventional horror signs: the haunted house/library where Mr. White lives, evil legends, bodies under the floorboards, a serial killer, a thunderstorm, and a dark and creepy room. The strongest sign, however, is Julian White himself, played by horror's premiere icon, Vincent Price. This actor's cultural sign is so strong that if he were filmed alone in a parking lot at high noon, the viewer would still be braced for horror events. Price portraying Julian White is a striking example of a sign-within-a-sign. Of course this actor's presence also ensured a larger commercial success for the filmmakers, another external function of the character.

Librarians in The House by the Cemetery (1981) provide exposition in the form of gossip while digging out research materials stored by a previous patron who committed suicide in the library. The film's protagonist, Dr. Boyle, has been sent to replace the dead man, and assistant librarian Daniel Douglas and his supervisor Mr. Wheatley offer information and answer questions. Douglas provides enthusiastic customer service, even pointing with barely contained glee to a high metal railing where the hanging took place. In addition to an expository function, Douglas enacts suspicious eccentricities (uneasiness, shifty eyes, stammering, giggling, panting, his unexpected presence at the library on a Sunday), signs that lead the viewer to expect further involvement in the protagonist's mystery. This proves not to be the case, however, and no explanation is forthcoming, a weakness in the film's execution. Semiotically, expository signs (longwinded monologues, information-choked dialogue, too many or seemingly unnecessary details) can detract from the fictional world but their presence is forgiven by viewers accustomed to the manner in which narrative realist filmmakers effectively envelop their viewers.

4.4.2 Plot Advancement as Librarian Function

All film characters serve a narrative purpose, and usually multiple purposes, some more relevant than others but all necessary. Minor librarian characters whose behaviors move the story by baby steps still demonstrate function (cause and effect) that justifies their inclusion. Four films in the research sample demonstrate the function of plot advancement as a primary function, One character providing knowledge to another character or directly to the audience can function as a passive contributor to the narrative quest. The audience first meets librarian Nancy Whistler in Dean Koontz' Frankenstein (2004) after she reports finding the mutilated body of the library's night watchman. She cannot stop vomiting so police question her in the ladies room, where she describes events leading up to her discovery of the grisly scene. She is in no way instrumental in causing the man's death, but functions as an informational relay for the protagonists, after which the story moves on to other events and other characters. Since the film's first murder

occurs in a magnificent and atmospheric library, the inclusion of a librarian character as first on the scene, however minor the role, is natural and needed. Another fleeting librarian appearance occurs in I, Madman (1989), where Marian's contribution to the plot is to simply remove herself from the quest. Clues to the whereabouts of a killer lead detectives to the public library where they equip the librarian's torso with a monitoring device before sending her out as bait while she closes up the library. She is cooperative, but faints before her mission begins. Lack of plausibility aside, the situation provides an opportunity for the film's female lead (the detective's girlfriend who happens to wear the same clothing size) to step into the role. That a librarian would faint from fear fits well with the stereotype and hence comes off as believable. As one billiard ball in motion sets off other balls on the table, a minor film character has the power to impel movement within a story. A male library worker in The Off Season (2004) has the sole filmic function of announcing a bomb threat that results in the library closing early, but this abrupt change of schedule causes the film's protagonist to discover that her boyfriend spends his days drinking instead of writing a play, a pivotal plot point. The brief library scene in The Forgotten (2004) features a librarian helping the confused and distressed protagonist confirm a lack of information, the nonexistence of what had once existed, an article in the newspaper archives. The protagonist is forced to make a choice as to whether to believe her own memories or the significance of her inability to find newspaper coverage of a tragedy that supposedly killed her son. She chooses to follow her own perceptions but doing so increases her desperation while solidifying her determination to continue her quest. These two films are examples of minor librarian characters having significant narrative impact. The librarian role in The Killing Kind (1973) is more substantive although not one of the leading characters. Lonely alcoholic librarian Louise actively spies on the mother- son protagonists next door, tries unsuccessfully to seduce the young man (a convicted rapist), witnesses the two cover up a murder, and at the end telephones the police. Her behaviors determine the fate of the film's leads, an important function, although Louise remains an outsider throughout. While her role in this film is eclipsed by the flamboyant mother and her sociopathic son, Louise's character is interesting enough that in 1980

she resurfaces as the protagonist in The Attic, a film that reveals the circumstances behind her aberrant behaviors. Filmic elements that compose narrative building blocks loom large or flash by in an instant but together they build a coherent story, hence a small role is not inconsequential.

4.4.3 Humor as Librarian Function

Librarians are easy marks for humor because their public image is generally unattractive, unfashionable, sexually prissy, and immediately recognizable. Filmmakers who use librarian characters as the butt of satire or irony can be confident that their audience will appreciate the humor because they "know" librarians even if they never met one. With the exceptions of Blade (1998) and Mindkiller (1987), filmmakers in the study sample were respectful of the librarian symbol even when used as a comedic element or in a scene that featured humor. Five films in the sample were placed within the category of humor although their approaches differ. Two comedy-horror films (Transylvania Twist, 1990 and The Pink Chiquitas, 1987) are deliberately silly, low budget productions that do not pretend to contribute to the cinematic arts. Stephen Sommers' production of The Mummy (1999) was better financed and a popular success, an action-adventure-horror film spawning two sequels and a prequel, where humor makes the characters more likeable and the gore more palatable. Blade (1998), a fantasy-horror film with a cult following and high production values, is based on a dark comic book character, and though not a comedy much of its appeal can be credited to moments that feed the singular humor of teenagers. The film Frankenstein (2004) was originally a failed television pilot before its film release, and includes humorous elements that are typical signs in prime-time police procedurals, including quirky characters and wise-cracking investigators caught up in chase scenes while solving gruesome cases. Librarians are generally perceived as a serious group, and even when librarian characters take themselves seriously, the setting and behaviors of those around them can lend humor to a scene. The very notion of a grossly obese, naked, flatulent male archivist with the odd name of Pearl the Record Keeper who talks with a high-pitched

squeak is going to be funny, even in a grave and violent comic book fantasy (Blade, 1998). When Pearl is tortured for information with a UV light that cooks his vampire skin, the target audience is more likely to react with mirth than sympathetic concern. There is more sympathy for Nancy Whistler (Frankenstein, 2004) who discovers a mutilated body in her library and tries to control her vomiting while police question her in the restroom. While not inherently comical, the style of this fantasy-horror mystery includes humorous banter between investigators. When Nancy tells them, "Every time I think I just can't puke again, I do," one male officer whispers to another, "I love this job." The viewer's smile breaks the morbidity of the scene, and this aside conforms to the conversational style previously established between officials in the film. In both these movies the librarians serve as objects of humor even though their personal circumstances are not humorous. Both are traumatized by events they suffer. Indeed, poor Nancy moans and returns to the stall when the detective blithely suggests that the victim's missing organs were consumed by the killer for dinner. As Blade's female partner points the UV light at Pearl, she is instructed, "If he moves, fry him." Moments later she does so, stating simply, "He moved." Considering Pearl's girth (the plus-sized actor is ensconced in a fat suit with puppeteers controlling the hands), the humor lies in the absurdity of this justification. Major librarian characters are showcased in three films in the research sample that include function related to humor. The Mummy (1999) is styled after American adventure films of the 1930s and 1940s when men were men and women were damsels and treasure just waited to be discovered. Librarian Evelyn "Evie" Carnahan is the female protagonist, played by British actress Rachel Weisz. "Ms. Weisz's Evelyn [is] a perfect Boys' Own Paper heroine, and very easy on the eyes" (Cowie & Johnson, 2002, p. 135). The film avoided constrictive remake criteria by claiming to be "inspired by" the Boris Karloff 1932 classic (p. 134), featuring charismatic actors, bold scenery and CGI effects for modern audiences. The audience learns early on that Miss Carnahan has earned impressive educational credentials for her position at the Cairo Museum of Antiquities but she is pointedly reminded by the curator that her presence is suffered because of her illustrious parents. Evie is first seen doing a routine library task— shelving books––and demonstrates a feminine klutziness that establishes her character

and the film's humorous rhythms. She stands atop a tall ladder between two stacks of books, but stretches so far that she loses her balance and topples the shelving units like dominos. Symbolically this action presages her later inadvertent launching of dramatic events when she reads aloud from the golden Book of Amun Ra,4 thereby releasing into the world ancient evil forces best left at rest beneath Egyptian sands. Being conscientious, she takes responsibility for her actions and attempts to remedy the consequences. Evie is cute, curious, courageous, and an ideal foil for the film's male lead, Rick O'Connell, with his rugged good looks, quirky smile, and a willingness to follow trouble wherever it may lead. At one point, Evie gets drunk and lets her guard down, reviewing her family's illustrious history before responding defensively, "I may not be an explorer or an adventurer or a treasure seeker or a gunfighter, Mr. O'Connell, but I am proud of what I am." She then states the line every librarian knows by heart ("I … am a librarian") just before passing out. Nonlibrarians find humor in the idea that Evie is proud of such a staid job title. Librarians cheer her for recognizing that librarianship can be adventurous and a source of pride. For the rest of the film Evie validates the importance of knowledge, being seen frequently reading books (the librarian's primary sign) and spouting facts, and in the end helping to defeat evil by assisting her brother with the translation of another ancient book. Her appearance and clothing also loosen up along the journey and become more feminine. The humor arises mostly from Evie and Rick's rapid conversational one-upmanship, reminiscent of Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell in His Girl Friday (1940), or the Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn comedies. Librarians are particularly proud of Evie's portrayal, although filmmakers deigned to drop her library ties from the film's sequels when her deep well of knowledge was less necessary for the plots. The Mummy (1999) is deliberately derivative of the action-adventure genre but is not parody, unlike two other comedy-horror films in the research sample. Both The Pink Chiquitas (1987) and Transylvania Twist (1990) are low budget parodies cast mostly with actors of marginal talent but great enthusiasm. Mary Ann Kowalski in The Pink Chiquitas is a small town librarian with the clothing and mannerisms of a 1950s church

4 A book from ancient times (before bindings and pages) is one of many anachronisms in the film (Cowie & Johnson, 2002, p. 135).

lady. She is belittled and verbally abused by her meteorologist boyfriend, Clip Bacardi. One night a pink meteorite (named Betty) crashes near the town, and women nearby are immediately affected. Mary Ann tells her boyfriend, "Clipper, there's a ringing inside my head!" He retorts, "Trust me, Mary Ann, there's nothing in there." The true nature of the meteor's impact is quickly ascertained as all the women turn into nymphomaniacs and take over the town with military efficiency. Mary Ann, now dressed in exotic and erotic clothing, becomes their leader. Later when the meteor is destroyed and the women are freed from its influence, Clip finds Mary Ann groggy on the ground. He leans over her and tells her he loves her. She mumbles, "Not now, Clip, I have a headache." Turning toward the heavens he shouts, "She's cured, praise God!" Mary Ann being a librarian serves the clean and unsubtle function of violating the stereotype: a meek, asexual librarian turns into a powerful and sexually charged woman. The target audience should find this titillating. A very different parody is presented in a spoof of Lovecraft-style horror films, Transylvania Twist (1990). The silliness starts as the film opens on librarian Ephram Ward's funeral, a solemn ritual complete with a buffet spread and "rent-a-weepers" until the guest of honor suddenly sits up in his casket and, when told that he is dead, snorts "Like hell I am!" The audience soon learns that Ward checked out a book of powerful incantations to a patron who failed to return it, and he conscripts his nephew to track it down. The function of the librarian performing a library task is critical to setting off the cause-and-effect of the storyline as an eclectic group of travelers rushes off to Transylvania to find the book and prevent the calling forth of The Evil One that will destroy mankind. (The librarian proves to be the most normal character in the film.) All the signs of early vampire films are used and abused here: a castle, angry mobs with torches, chases through labyrinthine hallways, bad Eastern European accents, thunderstorms, capes and fangs. The humor is sophomoric and reflexive, too contrived to be clever, one of many films quickly produced to ride the wake of the popular Naked Gun series (1988-1994) and its predecessor Airplane! (1980). Although not categorized under humor, two dramas in the horror sample utilize humor to briefly relieve the build-up of strong emotions within the audience. One of the most powerful films in the sample is the psychological character study Twisted Nerve

(1968), an unlikely venue for any touch of levity. This horror-thriller features former child star Haley Mills as college student and library assistant Susan Harper whose benevolence makes her the victim of an obsessed young killer. Viewers see signs that he is intelligent, crafty, and wealthy, but in Susan's presence he behaves as if suffering mental retardation. She accepts him as such and reacts accordingly, true to her kindly and generous nature. Despite the film's unrelenting tension, it is impossible not to smile when "Georgie" breaks character in front of the starchy, unlikable library director, calling him "rat face" and telling him to "get stuffed." The young psychopath garners favor from the audience for only an instant because he puts into words what they feel toward Mr. Groom based on the harsh way he treats his assistant, Ms. Harper. The second film that uses humor but is not included in the humor category is Mindkiller (1987), a low budget, forgettable horror film, as its humor is based on cruelty. The audience recognizes that the male librarian characters are pathetic and appropriate subjects for scorn. Watching Warren and Larry try to score with women in the early nightclub scenes is more disturbing than laughable, at least to empathetic viewers. They well illustrate Tevis and Tevis' (2005) observation about films made in the decades before Mindkiller: "Male reel librarians continued to be perplexed by the opposite sex, a destiny that irreparably denigrates the image of male librarians" (p. 136). In semiotic terms, the self-help books and hokey instructional videos used by Warren, and the oversized eyeglasses and Rubik's cube favored by Larry, are identifiers (signs) of loser, and neatly conform to their occupational label. Librarianship explains their awkwardness, provides justification for behaviors yet to come, and illustrates why these two men feel unloved and desperate. While events that introduce the characters to the audience seem humorous, within the scope of the film they are sources for serious concern, as cause and effect leads to death and destruction that is anything but funny. The research sample also sports one example of a librarian character serving the sole function of throwaway humor, providing a comedic touch for no apparent reason. In Chainsaw Sally (2004), a slasher film where humor is sparked by the bizarre, a librarian named George appears in only one scene and speaks only one line. He stands at a service counter at the back of the set wearing a suit and bow tie (an eccentric ensemble considering this branch library is very small and charmless), and he

is sorting books, an ordinary library task. What is not ordinary is that George exhibits signs of blindness with large, very dark glasses and robotic movements of his head and arms. One might suppose that his pale skin and white hair could be indicative of albinism and the glasses are necessary for light sensitivity, but the outrageous style of this low-budget production precludes such nuance on the part of the filmmaker so perceiving the character as blind is reasonable. That a blind person could be a librarian is not argued, but this character is sorting books whose titles he cannot read, and the likely function is to evoke humor. Although humor and horror would seem to be emotional poles apart, the two often overlap as a means of deflecting or defusing the impact of horrific elements. Humor is a fluid concept that can be attached to elements real and abstract to achieve specific purposes that are not always comical but do express meaning.

4.4.4 Irony as Librarian Function

Irony as it is used in this study refers to traits and behaviors of librarian film characters that contrast with expectations held by the audience based on their understanding of the librarian symbol. In our society, occupational symbols act as an index of traits and behaviors of those who perform the work. Hence, kindergarten teachers are expected to love children. Gardeners are expected to love flowers. Librarians are expected to love books. When they don't, cognitive dissonance occurs and the result is irony. Characters such as Mary Ann in The Pink Chiquitas (1987) who substitute one stereotype for another—the sexy librarian replacing the repressive librarian—demonstrate contrast but not irony since the audience has often witnessed this reversal in the media and dissonance does not result. Irony related to the librarian symbol is demonstrated as a character function in four of the sample films. Onscreen librarians routinely vacate their profession when given an opportunity to improve personal circumstances. "On the whole, reel librarians leave library positions for love or marriage" (Tevis & Tevis, 2005, p. 92). Since librarianship is not a coveted profession in our society, this occupational abandonment raises no eyebrows. Viewers will, however, experience irony when they observe librarian characters who actively dislike books, the strongest indexical code for the profession.

One librarian character not only dislikes books, she fantasizes about destroying them. Louise Elmore appears as a minor but pivotal character in The Killing Kind (1973), and then as the protagonist in The Attic (1980). A lonely, bitter, middle-aged spinster, Louise lives with her abusive disabled father and focuses on a lifetime of regrets. For all that Louise conforms to the librarian stereotype, she also displays irony as a function of the role. In The Killing Kind she makes no secret of how she feels about her job. "I'm surrounded by boredom. I work in a library, and I hate it. I have these hallucinations that are so real … burning all the books!" In The Attic her fantasy is enacted as she succumbs to a mental breakdown, forcing her early retirement. The audience deduces from details in these two films that Louise's feelings toward her job mirror how she feels about her life in general, and books become inanimate victims of her despair, the primary symbol of her profession, objects over which she can finally have control. She describes the breakdown to her young friend Emily, the librarian who will replace her: I don't know what happened that day in the library. Suddenly I felt this anger creeping up from the tip of my toes to the top of my head, surrounded by all those books that I've fingered a hundred times before. They all seemed to have eyes, staring at me, watching me, following me all around. They started to come at me like huge, swooping hawks. The books were my enemy. 'Destroy them before they destroy you,' a voice whispered to me. It felt so wonderful seeing all those books going up in flames. I'd won the battle! … I think that's how it happened. It's a little mixed up in my mind. As she leaves the building on her last day, she waves at the books. "Goodbye all you bastards. If I never see you again it'll be too soon." The bittersweet result of rash action is her freedom from "the enemy" that emboldens her to take measures to save herself. That she fails to do so cannot be blamed on her job or the books. This irony—a librarian who hates books—is seen again in the horror film The Church (1989) when Evan, a young and handsome man hired to catalogue the library of an historic Italian cathedral, tells the Sacristan's daughter on his first day, "I have to catalogue all these old books … unfortunately." Later he growls at the female lead, "I don't want to spend the rest of my life looking at old books." Books represent a static

profession whereas Evan is curious, sneaky, selfish and greedy—traits that advance the story to a final scene of demonic possession, destruction and death. Semiotically he expresses this dislike by the rough way he handles an antiquarian book, a subtle detail that makes booklovers cringe but is probably unnoted by most of the audience. The function of irony manifests differently in the horror-fantasy Wilderness (1996), where a university librarian changes into a wolf on a monthly cycle. Unlike Evan and Louise, Alice White loves books. She tells her date, "I love being around books. I like the order inside the library. Every subject, every single author in their place—the illusion of control, I suppose." This passion meets audience expectations, a librarian who loves books and meticulous organization. Unlike Louise, who feels oppressed by such order and victimized by its control, Alice finds freedom. Irony is also evident in Wilderness by the contrast between the public image of the librarian symbol (sedate, dull) in contrast to the type of animal (a wolf) into which Alice transforms. Viewers know from her love of books that this is not two clashing sides of her personality, the contrast between a shy bookworm and a dangerous predator, the quiet and scholarly world of knowledge versus the thrilling world of the hunter. She clearly enjoys people and her shyness is due only to her sense of being different and having to hide her affliction. In discussions with her therapist, Alice does not express longing for adventure, or any sense of being trapped by her work. She does tell her date that she views the library as the exact opposite of the chaos that is the wilderness. He firmly disagrees. "No, no, no, not at all. It doesn't work like that. No, the wilderness isn't chaotic just because it doesn't operate on the Dewey system." The issue is left for the audience to settle. The story (based on a novel by Dennis Danvers) might have originally paired librarian with wolf because of contrasts in their definitional natures, but Alice is a complex character that defies such simplistic reasoning. Issues of calm and chaos may be more central, as Alice views her animal side with fear and self-loathing until coming to terms with its beauty and freedom. Of interest is that Alice White leaves the profession in a novel way, by remaining in a lupine state racing with animal joy through a forest preserve, eager to convince a wolf pack to accept her. Since the index of librarians includes meekness and passivity among its indicators, the ultimate irony is finding a film librarian who commits murder. Due to the

high percentage of characters in the sample films that fall within this category, they are discussed under Section 4.5.3, Killing as Librarian Function.

4.4.5 Symbolism as Librarian Function

A film's audience looks for symbolism, "testing the work for larger significance, for what it says or suggests," although interpretations may differ (Bordwell & Thompson, 2001, p. 44). If one tries hard enough, every librarian character can be tagged as symbol since reading symbolism into a role, much like seeing shapes in clouds, is a subjective exercise that requires no defense. Librarian characters in nine of the sample films, however, stand out in terms of symbolism and are discussed here. Surrogacy is a form of symbolism, where a librarian character stands for a segment of society external to the narrative (e.g., Bette Davis' lauded role in Storm Center (1956) representing all librarians opposed to censorship). Closer to narrative events is when a character functions as an internal symbol related to theme, as seen in the horror film Christine (1983), based on a novel by Stephen King. The opening scenes of this suspenseful coming-of-age story emphasize the constrictive forces of everyday life that beset the average teenager. High school students are shown to be controlled by authority figures such as teachers, parents, and class bullies. The school librarian is a domineering figure, unnamed and depersonalized, functioning as yet another layer of oppression suffocating the lead characters that serves to justify the rebellion that follows. Filmic signs emphasize the woman's authority: Her old fashioned Victorian clothing, complete with brooch (symbolizing a disconnect with the younger generation); the upward camera angle (imparting the illusion of a judge seated on a high bench); the location of her desk at the end of the library's central aisle (like an altar in a church); her forceful, no-nonsense voice that snaps out words, and the manner in which the actor makes no physical motions and thus appears solid and menacing. This use of the librarian symbol is straight-forward, a thematic, representational tool that benefits from indexical codes of the stereotype so that the character needs no literary embellishment. Similar in function to the character in Christine is the unnamed librarian who grudgingly assists the protagonist in the film Dark Remains (2005). When Pyke seeks

historical information about the region and his haunted cabin, he finds the librarian barely contains her hostility as she seems to believe he was complicit in the death of his child. The audience reads her signs (crossed arms, pursed lips, lowered brows) and senses that "everybody" thinks the way she does, illustrating an obstacle (one of credibility) that Pyke will encounter as he seeks an explanation for baffling and alarming events. The librarian functions as symbolizing the judgmental viewpoint of the entire town. The unfortunate librarian Nancy Walker from Frankenstein (2004) who finds the savagely mutilated body of the night watchman is interviewed by police in the ladies room because she cannot stop vomiting. This character enacts a natural response to such a grisly trauma. Although the story is one of supernatural forces, sympathetic viewers cannot help but see the horror through her eyes, where explanations for the event have less immediacy than the impact of finding an eviscerated corpse. Nancy relays signs of an ordinary person experiencing extraordinary events, and functions as a representative of everyday, rational people by reacting the way we might given the same circumstances. Among hardened investigators and law enforcement, she is the only character who has a normal reaction. Filmic symbols do not necessarily depend on perceivers to endow them with meaning, as stories can define their own symbols and inform the audience as to the proper interpretation. Such is the symbolic function of Mr. Latham who serves as the town's museum curator and performs library services in The Fog (2005). The story, as it progresses, identifies which of the town's current citizens have ancestors who performed atrocities to secure the fledgling town's commercial success. By the present day this knowledge has been lost, but ghosts from the past give the community a destructive lesson in history. Latham receives the most horrifying punishment, as his forefather reneged on a contract and helped to destroy a shipload of refugee families while stealing their gold. That Latham personally had no involvement with an occurrence hundreds of years earlier is irrelevant. To the angry specters he represents their murderers, and they inflict the same mayhem and pain as they endured. This function as collective symbol is narrative-driven and unrelated to librarianship although connected with a journal written by Latham's ancestor.

The librarian as sex symbol takes varying guises in the research sample, and is a major function in three of the sample films. (See also Section 4.6.2, Lover or Sexual/Asexual Object as Librarian Function.) In Pink Chiquitas (1987), the character of Mary Ann Kowalski starts the story dressed in a pink 1950s outfit complete with pointy glasses, pillbox hat, gloves, and clip-on earrings. She is the epitome of the sexless church lady stereotype until a meteor strikes near town and she and all the women are turned into nymphomaniacs. The signs of her earlier asexual nature are replaced with a new set of signs—shiny headband, sequins, skimpy costume, spangles, sexy shoes, wild hair—mostly in shades of pink, the only sign that survived the transformation from old self to new self and also the color of the meteor. Mary Ann uses her new gender-based power to break out of the stranglehold of her former identity, including the librarian label, and to carve a new and more influential identity as mayor of the town. This increase in status survives even after the meteor's power is neutralized. What Mary Ann has done is change her label—her personal symbol— although the shedding of a feminine profession in favor of a traditionally masculine one does send an equivocal message to viewers as it confirms there is less power in being female, and it is fine to succeed in a man's world by cheating like a man. An interesting side note is that the meteor "Betty," although destroyed in the final confrontation with the town's men, produces babies in the final scene fathered by the film's hero. This circular promise of havoc to come is a horror genre convention, but given the themes of sexuality that dominate The Pink Chiquitas, the evidence that motherhood (the most female of states) could permit the film's monster to ultimately prevail achieves what Mary Ann's symbol does not. Another librarian character designed as a symbol of female has neither name nor evident library association. Only the film's end credits identify which actress in The Wicker Man (1973) is cast as Librarian, but credits are a product of plot and therefore credible. The character is seen frequently throughout the story, but her involvement with library work is nonexistent and nobody viewing the film would have reason to make this connection. Indeed, most of her dialogue takes place at her worksite where signage identifies her as the Registrar of Births, Deaths and Marriages—and she is absent during the one scene where the protagonist performs library research. (The

mystery is not solved by reference to the film's later novelization, as this character is omitted from the book.) Her label as librarian is accepted, however, because her character forms a triad with two other blond beauties whose occupational titles, teacher and barmaid, are also strongly female. In the office scene speaking with the officer, her long, yellow hair is tightly braided around her ears. Later during May Day festivities it flows and floats down her back. Her alluring appearance and oozing sexuality are in keeping with the film's earthy themes, as she is one of many such erotic creatures young and old who people the island, a collective symbol of fertility, the film's driving theme. She also provides a rare example of a nude librarian in popular films, in a scene where she unabashedly tempts the virginal police inspector when he interrupts her bath. She functions as woman, lusty and fertile, cool and intelligent—and most importantly in her pagan society, servile to men. As a character she does not stand up to independent scrutiny but is a component of a multifaceted cultural force that eventually overpowers the protagonist. Another librarian character with symbolism related to gender is Alice White, the protagonist in Wilderness (1996) whose monthly morphing into a wolf starts at age 13, a most dramatic form of menses that serves to sabotage her relationships with men and challenge her sense of self. At age 31, she tells a psychiatrist that she wants children and a proper relationship, "And to do that, I need to get to grips with this wolf thing, to control it, if I can. I don't think I can bear the rest of my life like this." For the first half of the film the library is her comfort and the wolf is the "other" she refers to in the third person as "she." Sexual need drives her behaviors and her desire to find a mate and be normal whether in human or wolf terms. That Alice is a member of a feminine profession is not accidental. The library provides not only an identity in which she finds comfort and pride, but mental and physical sanctuary, until Alice accepts that she must cease clinging to daily routines in order to discover her true nature. When she finally convinces the film's two male leads of her condition, they are forced to acknowledge her truth, crushing romantic hopes in one and driving the other insane. Such is the power of Alice White as symbol of woman. The depths of potential symbolism of this role are so profound as to deserve its own study.

Films that include clashes between epic forces lend themselves well to symbolism, as seen in The Church (1989) where good and evil are limned with no attempt at subtlety. Evan, the newly hired library cataloger (evidenced by his scholarly wire-rimmed glasses, a prominent indicator of librarian), is introduced at the beginning of the film as he reports to his first day of work at the cathedral. He is young, handsome, charming—by all such signs a "good guy." Soon, however, he displays personality flaws such as arrogance and unethical behaviors that make him susceptible to evil possession, after which his actions are vile and socially repugnant. Evan equates knowledge with godliness, but his quest leads him instead to unexpected depths of depravity. Symbolically, Evan's physical changes correlate with the manifestations of his weaknesses and the enormity of the harm he has wrought. He acquires classic signs of "the monster" such as a guttural voice, wild eyes, unkempt appearance, and immoral hungers (e.g., pedophilia). His movements are stilted and slow. During the climatic collapse of the cathedral, viewers are given a glimpse of Evan fully manifested as a demon with red skin and horns, his external physiology now adhering to the classic Satan of literature. Any appeal this character gained in the first half of the film has dissipated by its conclusion when he rapes his former co-worker during the church's death throes. The symbol of good (including a respected profession) gives way to pure evil. Even when a film element seems symbolic, its designed interpretation may remain unclear. Such is the grotesque librarian in Blade (1998), Pearl the Record Keeper. Although the title character is a vampire hunter portrayed in a line of Marvel comics, Pearl is an original role for this film, hence he has no history in the story's canon. Where the unusual name comes from is unexplained. A man named Pearl is odd enough, but a naked one so corpulent he cannot move, shaped more like an infant than an adult, who squeaks like a mouse and is surrounded by computers that link him to the outside world—one cannot help but think this character symbolizes something. Perhaps the name derives from the circular bowl-like enclosure that supports his bulk, as it could be interpreted as an oyster half-shell. His nakedness does expose acres of bare white skin. But even then, why a pearl? He does not come off as wise (as in pearls of wisdom, a term that might be applied to a knowledgeable librarian), although

he supposedly knows everything in the archive he supervises. Of course the character and the name may have no narrative significance whatsoever, perhaps grounded in a joke or named after someone the scriptwriter disliked, but such is the nature and fun of film criticism—one sees what one wants to see, if only as an intellectual exercise.

4.5 Character Function Related to Narrative Role

Filmmakers assign to their characters familiar literary types that transmit meaning to the audience. Every genre has a menu of character roles that appear in film after film. Similar to labels or stereotypes, predictable roles are recognized by perceivers and their expectations are raised. When pitching a story idea, a filmmaker is less likely to include character names than the roles they are intended to play: the dumb blonde, the nosy neighbor, the thick-headed football player, the hardworking single mom, the twitchy ex-con, etc. As noted earlier, every horror film has its monster. Police procedurals have the "bad cop" and the "snitch." Superheroes have sidekicks and nemeses. Westerns have saloon girls with hearts of gold. These familiar roles are the building blocks of genre. They compare with Seale's (2008) categories of mass media librarians that include the policeman librarian and the hero/ine librarian (see Section 2.1.1, Librarian Stereotypes in Films). From the perspective of externally assigned narrative roles, librarian character observed in the sample of horror films filled these functions: • Action hero • Dying • Killing • Victim The role of librarian is an occupational label recognized by the audience as well as fellow characters, and as such has both external and internal applications. The sign of librarian can be further divided into subcategories of function based on character actions related to librarianship and to narrative impact. • Librarian: o Seeker of knowledge o Information obstructionist

o Information provider o Maintainer/violator of rules (protector of library property) • Occupational status of librarianship This final category examines those functions of librarian characters that relate to librarianship as an occupational choice. Librarianship carries the distinction of being a respectable profession requiring advanced education and resourcefulness, yet it lacks prestige and its members garner modest financial rewards.5 Filmmakers reflect both sides of this dichotomy depending on the functions required within their creative works.

4.5.1 Action Hero as Librarian Function

The term action hero is defined as a film role that requires character commitment such that physical involvement is coupled with a willingness to venture into harm's way (physical or abstract) with the intention of effecting positive outcomes. Six films in the research sample feature protagonist-librarians who wear the metaphorical cape of action hero and earn a semblance of myth. The best known example of librarian action hero in this study is Evelyn Carnahan, the female protagonist in the popular action adventure-horror film The Mummy (1999). The film's style intentionally mimics Saturday movie-house matinees from before television dominated visual media, and in that vein Evie is drawn to be feminine, charismatic, quirky, strong-willed, helpful, moral, loving, curious, and fair. Her librarian background supports her adventurous spirit by arming her with knowledge that fuels the narrative quest. Signs of Evie's action hero role are her animated interest in finding an ancient lost city filled with treasure, her lust for historical artifacts, her taking responsibility for her own actions so as to right inadvertent wrongs, and her unflappable endurance. She proves to have a strong sense of duty, is a loyal friend and sister, and never hesitates to speak up. Evie is rather the terrier of heroines, yipping in the face of bigger dogs without recognizing the disparity in size. Among librarians she is especially beloved because she makes us all look good.

5 Harris, Roma M. (1992). Librarianship: The erosion of a woman's profession. Norwood, NJ: Ablex Publishing Corp.

A modern and less flamboyant action hero is Mike Hanlon in Stephen King's It (1990). This small town African-American library manager and historian serves as the glue that binds together a group of childhood underdogs who pool their strengths to overcome a malevolent creature butchering small children. Young Mike shows extreme bravery by reentering the sewers alone in order to find a pair of silver earrings (used with a slingshot) that at least temporarily destroyed the monster. Thirty years later, as the only member of The Lucky Seven who remained in the New England town of Derry, Hanlon recognizes the return of "It" (they will not empower the monster by giving it a name, although it takes the form of Pennywise, a clown) and calls together former friends so they can once again pit their unity against an alien and savage enemy. His knowledge of town history and decades of collecting news clippings and photographs drive the quest and their final triumph over evil. Although Hanlon himself is injured and hospitalized during most of the action sequences, he uses the time to quickly record events before memories are scrubbed from their minds. His action hero signs are primarily cerebral, a comfortable fit with his profession. His courage is displayed when he remains calm while supernatural forces ravage his library. His repair of a friend's childhood bicycle shows creativity and brings salvation. Mike Hanlon on many levels is a librarian hero. Redemption is the driving force behind the unlikeliest member of the action hero group, the elderly librarian in Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983). In the early twentieth century, Charles Halloway freezes up and can only watch helplessly as his drowning son is saved by the neighborhood drunk. His anguish affects his relationship with the boy in the years to follow. When a mysterious carnival sets up in the small Illinois town, Halloway is given a second chance to save his son and the entire town by overcoming satanic forces and his own devalued sense of worth. In this film the library is both sanctuary and a source of knowledge, as the carnival has visited before (a town's periodically recurring monster being a plot device shared with Stephen King's It, 1990, and The Incubus, 1982). Halloway must clash with the smooth-talking Mr. Dark who thrives on the misery of others, and prevails by using happiness, laughter and the power of a loving touch. The House of Mirrors used as the setting for the explosive final confrontation is a patent sign of Halloway's self-hatred, and their dramatic shattering is

his internal release. Whereas Halloway starts the film feeling defeated and old, he summons the physical strength to fight and conquer, and in the closing scene is a lighter, happier man and father. The most dramatic sign of his paternal impact is the film's structure, as his grown-up son serves as narrator for this touching and frightening tribute. Sally Diamon, the protagonist-librarian in Chainsaw Sally (2004), defies the cultural understanding that an action hero is a positive label, as she is an effective and enthusiastic serial killer. The theme of the film, however, is that justice is subjective. She chooses her victims based on their behaviors as matched against strict and personal criteria, judging them wanting and punishing them accordingly. As revealed in a discussion with a male patron, she sees herself as a superhero fighting injustice in the vein of the television show Batman (1966-1968). That her standards are socially warped is irrelevant. She kills people who break rules, who hurt other people, who threaten her lifestyle, or who do not share her respect for proper spelling. She recognizes that Batman was not a policeman, but defends his behaviors because he sought only to overpower bad guys. She justifies her own savagery in the same way. Librarianship relates strongly to her judgments, as her job provides a set of rules she expects others to follow. The first murder shown is her slitting the throat of a mouthy punk who disobeys multiple requests to be quiet in the library. Later she takes a chainsaw to a young woman who has failed to return a library book after many notifications. One sign of Sally's self-image as action hero is an absurd and colorful wardrobe when off-duty, although the facial sign of smiling in this film does not reflect happiness or good intention as she connives to dominate others. No one viewing this film could condone Sally's actions, although she performs those fantasies they might only imagine when confronted by offensive behaviors in others. Another self-styled superhero librarian is Mary Ann Kowalski in The Pink Chiquitas (1987). While normally plain and conservative, under the influence of a pink meteor she transforms into an über-female in skimpy and spangled clothing and leads a band of newly empowered women who use sex to turn men into zombies. Mary Ann's personal motives are more focused, however, as she intends to win a mayoral race and have dominion over the town legitimately. First she must lead her army in pink tanks to

destroy any lingering pockets of manhood along the main street. Meanwhile the film's hero, a dapper stranger in an ice cream suit whose mission is to defeat the powers emitted by the pink meteor, is aided by Mary Ann's boyfriend. When they finally triumph, the women and zombie-men revert to their former selves except Mary Ann maintains her new leadership post and a more assertive personality. Mary Ann has no superpowers beyond moxy, but the teenaged boys who are the likely targeted audience for this movie are not going to notice. This film plays with popular stereotypes, featuring outlandish representations of the Italian mafia, a nurse, television personalities, politicians, and a meteorologist. The action heroes in the above films make the conscious choice to combat forces for their own personal reasons. An example of action hero struggling defensively against overwhelming odds that cannot be avoided is Sylvia Van Buren, library school instructor, in the 1953 science fiction special-effects thriller The War of the Worlds. All of mankind is at war with invading aliens determined to enact total worldwide annihilation of the human race. Sylvia's filmic function as the movie's female lead is mostly support and window dressing, but she does participate by providing sustenance and succor to soldiers and civilians alike. When an eely alien device snakes into the basement where refugees hide, she bludgeons it into pieces with a hunk of lumber. Later she drives a busload of people through teeming streets in an attempt to find safety away from the carnage. Although proficient at shrieking in the conventional horror film manner, she does not stand by helplessly until saved by a man. She displays heroic properties and pluckiness, although they are not related to her profession. Considering this film was produced before female characters were generally allowed to save themselves, she gets credit for getting her hands dirty even though her wardrobe suffers no unsightly smudges.

4.5.2 Dying as Librarian Function

Dying seems an unorthodox function for a librarian character, but nine of the 30 sample horror films include librarian deaths, and not by natural causes.6 Two librarians

6 A librarian is raped and murdered by a demon in the horror film The Incubus (1982), reviewed too late to be included in the research sample.

commit suicide at the conclusion of their films, a pattern Tevis and Tevis (2005) observe among "reel" librarians facing personal problems (p. 69). The first is Ilona Carr in Weird Woman (1944) who uses the fear of voodoo to manipulate and harm her rivals. Signs of doom are a strong motif in this film, especially the voodoo dolls Carr employs to foment fear. Her victims catch on, however, and devise a plan to deflect the librarian's tactics, frightening her with a voodoo doll that has a cord around its neck, and an invented date of death. For the first time she appears disconcerted, and interprets with dread symbols of her own demise as the days count down, e.g. six skeins of yarn delivered when she has six days left to live. Finally Carr succumbs to self-induced terror and is strangled by vines when she jumps from a balcony. Another film librarian leaps to his death in The Tell-Tale Heart (1960). Edgar Marsh Is the story's psychologically damaged protagonist who is tormented by the imagined beating of his victim's heart, a sign of guilt no one else can hear. Emotionally overwrought and unable to find peace, Marsh slams through a second-story window to be impaled on a fence below. In neither of these films is the audience surprised, as doomed souls are recognized early on in their respective stories. Evil acts followed by appropriate comeuppance is a Hollywood cinematic formula, and even librarians are not spared. Librarians are tortured to death in two of the sample films. Mr. Latham in The Fog (2005) is set afire by ghosts seeking revenge for historical atrocities. His demise is unrelated to his work as town historian, although his greedy ancestor wrote a book (not in the library collection) about his crimes that serves as a narrative catalyst for tragic events in the present. Likewise in the film Blade (1988), Pearl the Record Keeper, the corpulent and nude vampire-archivist, is burned to a crisp with a UV lamp when he tries to mislead his interrogators. Complaining to his boss proves futile, as he is told through a computer link-up, "Pearl, you're history. Have the good grace to die with some fucking dignity." Although Latham and Pearl both meet their demise through incineration, the reasons differ. Mr. Latham is the victim of displaced revenge, while Pearl is tortured for information that aids the protagonist in his quest. While Latham's death brings an odd sense of justice to the innocent families destroyed under horrific circumstances years earlier, Pearl's death is entirely gratuitous.

Besides Ilona Carr who hangs herself in Weird Woman (1944), two other librarians in the sample films are terminated by wounds to the throat. Historian Julian White in From a Whisper to a Scream (1987) is knifed by the pretty faux reporter who has just listened to his tales of local violence, including the slaying of the previous librarian by a jealous husband. The narrative purports that this film's "monster" is the town itself because it turns evil anyone within its boundaries, so murder of the librarian is anticipated not only by the audience but also by White. His dying words to the woman are, "Welcome to Oldfield!" A very different murder takes place in Grave of the Vampire (1974) when Miss Fenwick sexually entices a patron, leading him to believe that she might allow him to check out a reference book that he fervently needs to remove from the collection because it reveals his history as a vampire. When she reneges, he reacts with traditional vampire reprisal, biting her throat and drinking her blood. This resolution of the conflict is satisfying on a narrative level: the woman deserves what she gets, and the vampire's lack of control intensifies as the story progresses. Miss Fenwick functions as the first of the vampire's victims after he had restructured a normal life, and while in the real world it is no longer acceptable to blame the victim for inviting what amounts to sexual assault (vampire-style), within the story it is expected. In two films where male librarians are possessed by monsters as the result of their own greed, death is inevitable. Evan, the handsome library cataloger in The Church (1989), is secretive and selfish so his quest to follow knowledge to a godlike state can only end in the fall dictated by icarusian tragedy. Rather than a god, he transforms into a lusty demon that is crushed during the act of rape when the cathedral's ancient self-destruct mechanism is released. In similar fashion knowledge proves to be the death of a misfit archivist in Mindkiller (1987) when Warren learns mind control from an old manuscript and uses it to force obedience from others. Eventually his selfishness manifests physically as his facial features grow hideous and creatures form inside his body. Eventually his head balloons and erupts slimy and vicious biting beasts. In both these examples, being members of the information profession leads to knowledge that enhances character flaws resulting in painful metamorphoses and death. Whereas the accumulation of information invokes no discernable physical

reaction in the normal human body, these creative filmmakers stepped beyond limitations of reality. As seen in the previous films, death is a narrative function—these characters need to die in order to bring a satisfactory conclusion to their respective films. The one anomaly in this category is Ephram Ward, the librarian whose funeral opens the film Transylvania Twist (1990). Moments later he jerks awake and sits up in his casket, proving to be very much alive, but for a short time he functioned as a lifeless character. The reason for this scene (the librarian's filmic function) is two-fold and plot- driven: The funeral is a mechanism for drawing Ward's nephew (protagonist) into the story, and the scene's silliness sets the tone for the entire film. A near-death experience takes place in the psychological thriller The Attic (1980) in the opening scene when librarian Louise Elmore slits her wrists in her bedroom. Moments later the camera focuses in tightly on bandages and pulls back, showing Louise for the first time at work in the library, the glaring sign of her wounds marking her as mentally fragile. Death is, of course, a major theme in most horror films, and the audience fully expects to see people die, usually in gruesome ways. Each librarian in the research sample who dies fulfills a critical narrative function, as the story would be weaker without this final adieu.

4.5.3 Killing as Librarian Function

Eight films in the research sample feature librarian characters who in some fashion are responsible for killing others. The public image of librarians in our culture does not include homicide among its indexical codes, but filmmakers make use of the irony that a profession inherently passive could be shown to participate in the most heinous of crimes. The shades of difference between types of killers in these films relate to intention. Just as the law recognizes variations in culpability (killing in self defense or as an act of war is not murder), and murder itself has degrees of severity based on intention, so too do librarian characters vary in their actions and the reasoning behind such extreme behavior. Whether organic, the result of brainwashing or possession by alien forces, mental deficiency propels all the homicidal librarian

characters in this study, so it is possible a jury of their peers would not find any of them guilty of first degree murder. Louise Elmore, public librarian in The Killing Kind (1973) and The Attic (1980), is nurse and housemaid for her disabled father but is the victim of a lifetime of his emotional and psychological abuse. (See Section 4.5.4, Victim as Librarian Function.) As The Attic reaches its climax, Louise with great exertion pushes her father's wheelchair up a steep slope during his weekly constitutional in the park. When they argue and he advances his wheelchair to distance himself from her anger, he hits a rock and tips over. She hurries to help, but he stands up and brushes himself off. With shock and dismay, she steps toward him, anguish written on her face. Alarmed, he calls, "Louise … Louise!" As she closes in she is heard to growl, "You … mean … for all these years taking care of you … your slave … you can walk!" She then pummels his chest in what would normally be an ineffectual demonstration of rage except he is standing near the edge of an embankment. The force topples him backwards and he hits his head on a rock, a fatal injury. Any audience members unconvinced that his playacting warrants death soon change their minds when Louise, now gripped by a total mental breakdown, discovers in their attic the remains of her beloved pet chimpanzee and the fiancé who vanished on her wedding day decades earlier, murdered because her love for them pulled focus from her father. This librarian killed her father by accident, but it was long overdue retribution and unfortunately came too late to save her sanity. Mental illness is likewise evidenced by extreme jealousy when librarian Edgar Marsh uses a fireplace poker to beat to death his best friend in The Tell-Tale Heart (1960), then secretes his body beneath the floorboards of his parlor. Despite being a respected member of the community, Marsh is emotionally stunted, an immature man incapable of recognizing social signs evident to everyone else: The woman he considers his girlfriend has no real interest in him. He blames others for personal weaknesses and strikes out against the only person who really cares about his welfare. The guilt leads to his own demise by suicide, a satisfactory and predictable ending. College librarian Ilona Carr in Weird Woman (1944) also kills out of jealousy, although she has the acuity to manipulate others to do her dirty work for her. She takes

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for granted that Prof. Reed is her man until he returns from a trip to the South Seas married to a young and beautiful native girl. Carr uses the girl's cultural superstitions to sow dissention and mistrust among members of the tight-knit academic community, resulting in one male professor committing suicide and the accidental shooting death of a student. Others are blamed for these deaths until Reed and the dead professor's wife realize who has been controlling them. They turn the tables on the librarian and use a voodoo doll to stress her to the point of suicide, a tidy conclusion to the film. Carr's behaviors are so cruel and calculated that sympathy is reserved for her victims, and her strangulation at the end is her justified reward. The mental illness that drives librarian Sally Diamon in Chainsaw Sally (2004) carries no subtlety at all. With great glee and little finesse, she carves up people who violate her narrow and rigid moral code. She conforms to Tacheva's Nazi librarian (see Section 2.1.1) but is not realistic enough to harm the profession's public image as her behavior is too extreme to be generalized across all librarians by even the most gullible of audience members. Sally is the most straightforward of the murderers in the sample films, and clearly enjoys her work. Her cunning, mode of dress, duplicity (bland librarian by day, colorful killer by night), and even the knickknacks that festoon her cluttered home bespeak a mind that isn't quite "right." Her relationship with her bizarre cross- dressing brother is so unnatural as to defy succinct discussion here. Sally does not see herself as a murderer. Rather, she is the offspring of a man who killed to protect his family, the lesson she gained from his final words absolving her of blame for her future violent actions. She and her brother actually elude punishment for their outlandish tortures, hence their reasoning must be accepted by the audience as narrative truth, the only way to make the ending satisfactory. Protagonist Warren McDaniels7 in Mindkiller (1987) turns into a despicable monster after learning mind control from a manuscript he finds in the library's subbasement, but he is not the librarian who kills. Instead, his co-worker and best friend Larry Bicket is forced to take him down in self defense as Warren's body alters into a hideous caricature that jettisons small reptilian creatures. Using mind control that

7 Although mentioned several times in the film, the last names of Warren and Larry are not indicated in the credits so spellings here are best guesses.

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he has also learned, and a special machine he built from schematics provided by the old manuscript, Larry reluctantly electrocutes his friend. This unique librarian-kills- librarian scenario is forced on Larry by desperation, and Warren himself is responsible for the action taken against him. In the fantasy-horror film Wilderness (1996), self defense is also the motive for university librarian Alice White's killing of a man who nearly raped her in the family barn when she was a young teen, an event she describes to her psychiatrist years later that is shown to the audience in a flashback. During the assault she could not control her metamorphosis into a wolf that handily dispatched the farmhand, although Alice had no memory of the event once she returned to human form. She told authorities the truth but they did not believe her, instead blaming a mad dog. Alice carries into adulthood the horror of what she did under stress all those years ago. In the present day, when she learns that a large dog is credited with killing a woman in the alleys of London, she fears she lost control again. With great relief she learns that the body showed evidence of being stabbed before a "dog" started feasting so Alice's lupine self is not to blame. Although librarianship is unassociated with the trauma inflicted during her childhood, Alice's choice of a quiet and rather cloistered profession reflects her need for mental and social solitude. The unnamed librarian-killer in The Wicker Man (1973) does so with impunity because the victim is a police inspector who is the targeted victim of an island's entire pagan community. The sensual librarian is one of many who partake in a well engineered plot to attract Sgt. Howie to their secluded island by providing clues to the faked disappearance of a child, and to lead him to his sacrificial death by fire to assure fertility for future harvests. The film overflows with signs of pagan fertility symbols and ritual. The sacrifice is celebratory, natural, and completely justified and therefore neither sinful nor criminal. This plot somewhat parallels Race with the Devil (1975) released only two years later and starring Peter Fonda and other icons of the era as tourists who accidentally witness the ritualistic stabbing of a young woman. As they attempt to flee in a recreational vehicle, everyone they meet (including the librarian consulted for information about runes) is in collusion to capture them. Their deaths are implied as they are surrounded and under siege when the film closes. The killers in

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these films will escape punishment as did Sally Diamon, Larry Bicket, and Alice White above. Among the horror films in the research sample, only those librarian characters who act on internalized vices are punished for their deviant behaviors, and the research sample is evenly divided on this score. To have librarians function as killers is a literary toast to the profession as it defies the stereotype and credits the emotional and human side of librarians, showing that they can take drastic action when deemed necessary by circumstances, however warped their rationale might be. No mousy librarians here.

4.5.4 Victim as Librarian Function

By definition horror films must have victims since a monster is not a monster until it inflicts damage of some kind on an undeserving person. Most of the librarian characters in this study can be viewed as victims to some degree. Five of them (in six films), however, have the label of victim as a motivating function, a strong reason for their roles to appear in their respective films. A victim as used in this research is a character who is negatively affected by a force or agency (real or abstract, internal or external) that is out of his or her control. As to filmic function, such harm must impact the narrative in some observable way, either as cause or effect. Every librarian who meets death is technically a victim, but to avoid definitional overlap the victim category excludes characters such as Mr. Latham in The Fog (2005) and Julian White in From a Whisper to a Scream (1987) where death is a filmic function but their victimization relates mostly to dying and not other dimensions of the plot. In other words, they are victims because they were killed, but they were not victimized in any heart-tugging dramatic manner. Also not included are those librarians who caused their own misfortunes, e.g., Warren McDaniels in Mindkiller (1987) or Evan in The Church (1989) where selfishness earned a grotesque demise. The victims here are characters sacrificed on the altar of cinematic art. Louise Elmore, appearing as a strong character in two of the sample films (The Killing Kind, 1973, and The Attic, 1980), is the most tragic of librarian victims as every sense of normality is beaten out of her by an overbearing father. Creed (2002) states that in horror films, children are more often faced with trying to break bonds with their

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mothers, as seen in films such as Carrie (1976) and Psycho (1960) (p. 72), but Louise's mother is dead. Her father's total control over her daily existence is unnatural and disturbing, and she feebly strokes her self esteem with small acts of ineffectual rebellion. Louise's situation is particularly troublesome because she is an innocent who did nothing to invite her fate. Semiotically this sentiment is expressed by the virginal white furnishings of her room (although she is not a virgin), and in the style of her understated undergarments and sleepwear. She collects monkey toys and stuffed animals, and her friend Emily buys her a young chimp that she treats like the child she will never have. Louise sneaks meat into her diet because her father insists they be vegetarians. She is a secret drinker, the only way she knows how to cope. In The Killing Kind, the earlier film that introduces her character, she spies on her neighbors, living vicariously through them, and only when her sexual advances to a rapist are coldly rejected does she notify authorities that her neighbors are murderers. She is a sympathetic character but not likeable. Still, viewers will feel sorry for her because her destiny was shaped by her father's deceptions, pretending to be crippled so as to anchor her to him. She desperately tries to grab hold of her own fate but fails, and in the final scene she is reduced to a ruined husk, an empty woman. To be destroyed by one's sire is unspeakably cruel, but during the film Louise has the presence of mind to recognize that her situation is being replayed by Emily, the young librarian scheduled to take her place at the library after her forced retirement. Emily lives with her embittered and domineering mother who likewise controls her every decision. Louise cannot save herself, but she saves her friend, paying her way to California where a boyfriend waits with their future. This resolution, however, does not speak well for librarianship as a career. The general public knows after a lifetime of seasonal reruns of It's a Wonderful Life (1946) that cinematic librarians are sometimes doomed to lives of loneliness and desperation. Even though this notion is unlikely to be viewed as realistic, it is still recognized as part of the symbol's historical image, one that is occasionally exploited by the media. In a sense, librarianship (if Louise is viewed as a collective symbol) is also a victim here, of cinematic defamation. (See Section 4.5.9, Occupational Status as Librarian Function.)

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Another victim of misplaced trust is the library assistant in Twisted Nerve (1968). Susan Harper befriends a special needs man but does not recognize danger until the film's violent climax. The audience, however, is fully aware that this pretty college student is unknowingly encouraging a psychopath who is killing anyone who crosses him, and they witness how he plays her and inserts himself into her good graces. The perception of signs is important in this film, as the audience and Susan interpret the same signifiers differently. Behaviors that Susan attributes to the young man's disability, viewers read as signs of his manipulation: that he intentionally steals a toy, that he deliberately lets her "catch" him in the nude, that he wants an "innocent" kiss. Tension builds as her ignorance protects her, but the day comes when she realizes something is not right—she finally reads the signs of treachery and insanity that other characters warned her of—but this revelation is likely to get her killed. "Georgie" does, in fact, attempt to rape her, and beats her nearly to death before he is interrupted. Susan's victimhood relates as much to her own naïveté and generosity as it does to her proximity to a killer. This film parallels The Attic (1980) with a man pretending to be helpless in order to garner attention and caring from a woman, and both films communicate effectively using pathos to manipulate viewer emotions. In Twisted Nerve, however, it is inconclusive as to whether the young man is mentally dysfunctional due to environmental factors or genetic predisposition, whether he is unaware of a separate personality that mimics traits of his Down's Syndrome brother, or whether he is crafty and faking it. The film itself has been loudly shamed for implying there might be a connection between Down's Syndrome and the perversion and violence displayed by Susan's stalker. The three films discussed above are psychological thrillers without supernatural elements. A different horror convention is enacted in The Off Season (2004) where a librarian character is victimized by demonic forces associated with place. Kathryn Bennett moves into a budget motel and takes a low-playing job as a small town library assistant in an attempt to support her live-in boyfriend while he writes a screenplay. Their hopes and dreams crumble in the face of frightening specters and hallucinations that visit them in Room 13, the site of a grisly murder, where the walls are encrusted with mold and telephone calls are received from dead people. When Kathryn contracts

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a mysterious and debilitating illness, her job at the library is terminated. The romance disintegrates—she is also a victim of her boyfriend's verbal abuse—and he heads for California to chase his dream alone. It is too late for Kathryn, however, as she is possessed by the evil in Room 13 and follows the same destined path as the earlier tenant. Librarianship has no narrative connection with her problems but does provide income, a physical and mental escape from the haunted motel room, and friendship with her supervisor. As victim, Kathryn finds herself in the "wrong place at the wrong time." The style of this film parallels traditional movies of haunted houses and the demonic possession of tenants (e.g., House by the Cemetery, 1981, and Amityville II: The Possession, 1982), but relocated to a small and poorly furnished seaside resort with a cast of strange neighbors. A combination of supernatural forces and personal shame victimizes small town librarian Charles Halloway in Something Wicked this Way Comes (1983). Halloway's father felt it improper to teach his boy to swim, and now years later the librarian feels intense guilt at his inability to save his drowning son. Such depth of theme is not common in horror cinema where filmmakers need not be multi-dimensional to frighten viewers so cognitive fodder is low priority, but this film is based on a Ray Bradbury novel. His elderly character's internal struggles create a different kind of fear and tension for audiences to enjoy—and ponder. Semiotically, actor Jason Robards effectively communicates his feelings of self-loathing and internal struggle by using facial expressions, haunted looks, vacant eyes, and body language to express the terror of decisions he is compelled to make when given a second chance to save not only his child but his own sense of worth. Because he selflessly conquers the threats that engulf the town, Halloway succeeds in wearing the mantle of both victim and action hero, each facet strongly supported semiotically within the text of the film. A more primal victimization takes place in Wilderness (1996) when Alice White must endure transformations into a wolf along a lunar cycle. She plans her life around these episodes by preparing a basement retreat to safely trap her over those few days, equipped with raw meat and water, the floor lined with newspapers. These careful arrangements are signs of her adjustment to victimhood. As a result of this singular affliction, Alice shuns intimate friendships to avoid explanations and ostracization. The

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cause for her disorder is never determined or even probed, and her situation is accepted as unique within the narrative and by the audience. As Alice matures, however, now a woman over 30, she experiences the normal urge to find a mate and procreate, giving her the will to rebel against conditioned normality and break its grip. Horror fans generally do not delve deeply into the logic and realism behind narrative situations presented to them by authors and filmmakers, just as most science fiction fans excuse their genre's unscientific foibles as long as the story hangs together and makes internal sense, and of course entertains. Again, many librarian characters in horror films are victims of something if the term is loosely defined, but victimhood as a primary filmic function (one necessary to drive the narrative) while not as common can certainly sustain drama.

4.5.5 Seeker of Knowledge as Librarian Function

That research is in large part a librarian's fundamental skill set means the cinematic representation of a librarian seeking knowledge demonstrates an expected, routine function. Six films in the horror sample, however, feature characters whose places within their narratives display the seeking of knowledge as a cause-and-effect function, a catalyst for consequent events, thus justifying their inclusion within their respective scripts. Previously discussed is how the character of Evan in The Church (1989) obsessively searches for information about the history of the church where he works as a cataloguer, hoping to learn enough to lift himself to the status of a metaphorical god. Of course the opposite results when his curiosity leads to the release of satanic forces, the collapse of the cathedral, and the destruction of many people including himself. Another film librarian headed toward Evan's fate (possession by a demon) is the elderly Charles Halloway in Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983). Mr. Dark and his minions in the traveling carnival take over the minds of some of the town's illustrious citizens, destroying them by fulfilling their dreams. With a name that also serves as symbol, Mr. Dark aggressively targets Halloway in an attempt to find the librarian's son and the boy's best friend who witnessed too much as they explored the carnival late one night. Halloway uses library resources to learn what he can of the operation and its

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previous visits so he can save the children, but his study is interrupted when Mr. Dark invades the library. By nature a meek man, Halloway's new knowledge infuses him with bravery and fuels a standoff between good and evil. Chase scenes and violence set in libraries are surprisingly common in cinema, but the one that occurs when Mr. Dark knocks Halloway unconscious then hunts the boys among the stacks is arguably the most chilling. Similar library research of an old threat returned is presented in Stephen King's It (1990). Mike Hanlon, African-American library manager, inherited his interest in town history from his father. As a schoolboy Mike shows old photos to his classmates but they are too young to appreciate the value of his hobby. That he grows up to be a librarian seems completely true to the character. Later these same photos and fragile newspaper clippings help to explain and validate the horrors that have descended on the town yet again. As Mike recognizes signs that "It" has returned to Derry, his quest for knowledge becomes a survival tactic, a means for finding solutions that could save his friends and the town's most innocent residents. He also records events with his camera and keeps a detailed journal that could someday assist another generation to defeat a recurring monster that targets their children. Hanlon's quest for knowledge is for selfless reasons, whereas Warren McDaniels in Mindkiller (1987) seeks knowledge for his own sexual gratification. An archivist in a library's subbasement, Warren is a social misfit unable to attract ladies, the epitome of the awkward and embarrassing male librarian symbol. He borrows self-help books from the library (without returning them), and watches videos that teach skills for picking up women. Warren's seeking of knowledge is a necessary function of the role because this desperation leads to his interest in a manuscript that gives him the power of mind control over people and objects. His willingness to behave unethically, using his new ability to make a woman spend time with him despite her antipathy, a form of emotional rape (see Section 4.6.2, Lover or Sexual/Asexual Object as Librarian Function), is enabled by his earlier behaviors. At the story's end, as his expanded brain erupts small and hungry creatures, the final symbol of his fate is a huge and misshapen head. When Kathryn Bennett, library assistant in The Off Season (2004), needs to learn about the history of the haunted motel room where she lives with her boyfriend, she

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resists conventional research and instead interviews the eccentric motel manager and the people renting neighboring units, a legitimate form of information gathering that serves a narrative function. Not only does she benefit from this knowledge, but the stories they tell of Room 13's previous tenant serves as exposition for the audience so the film's conclusion makes sense, where a flash-forward reveals Kathryn's damnation, that can then be compared to what is known about the first victim's fate. Under normal circumstances being a best-selling author would not be viewed as a form of hell, but so it is painted in this low-budget film. Librarian Evie Carnahan's thirst for knowledge is a vehicle for one near-death adventure after another in The Mummy (1999). Her curiosity causes continual problems but drives the narrative and is an important function. That she is a librarian makes a natural occupation for an educated character who is seen many times throughout the film with her nose in a book. The connection between librarian and knowledge in the cinema has a well established history and generally underscores a positive aspect of the public image.

4.5.6 Information Provider as Librarian Function

In real life, librarians offer information services to their patrons, and audiences can expect that films with library settings might feature staff performing traditional librarian duties. Many a cinematic librarian serves no other function than to provide information to a major character, who then moves on without a backward glance. Eight films in this study include information provision as a relevant function of the librarian characters. This basic filmic function is apparent in Amityville II: The Possession (1982) when Mrs. Greer displays to the concerned priest an old book that links an ancient Indian burial ground and Salem witchcraft—both classic horror codes—to the present- day haunting of a particular house. The town archivist bears familiar signs of the information provider, being middle-aged and serious, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and conservative clothing, and volunteering her help when she encounters the priest gazing at the house one snowy evening. Likewise in the film Curse of the Demon (1957), a librarian at the British Museum attempts to provide materials to a researcher trying to

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prove that a satanic cult is based on superstition, but a particularly important book is missing from the reference collection. The librarian is a middle-aged gentleman with quiet demeanor who is solicitous, apologetic, and professionally attired, a stock character instantly recognized by the audience. In this scene the library setting is more important than communication with the librarian, as immediately after regrets are expressed a stranger steps forward to offer the protagonist his personal copy of the missing book. Thus the film's male lead meets the leader of the cult being researched, a critical moment in the story facilitated by the minor librarian role. Compare this encounter to the librarian in The Forgotten (2004) whose inability to produce requested information is her filmic function, as it confirms the protagonist's worst fears that some undefined power is stripping her environment of signs that her son ever existed, and motivates her future behaviors. Although the requested action is not a normal library public service, the librarian in I, Madman (1989) is unable to perform as bait to lure a criminal for police, and her fainting provides an opportunity for the film's female lead to step into her shoes and continue the storyline. These films present positive narrative results from negative librarian interactions. When the audience first meets Mr. Latham, the doomed museum curator and librarian in The Fog (2005), he at first is unable to help the female protagonist research a hallmark symbol that appears on various items in the film, as it is not reproduced in the history books. The elderly man, however, has a font of personal knowledge and relates regional lore that begins to explain horrifying events experienced by the townspeople. Mr. Latham fits his role well, with long white hair, old fashioned suit and bow tie, wire-rimmed glasses, and carrying a valise. He melds with the furnishings of the historical museum and its extensive collection of antiquarian and reference books. Only when his personal connection to deadly events is later revealed does the audience realize that Mr. Latham's import to the narrative extends beyond a simple library task. Likewise the character of Julian White, town historian and librarian in From a Whisper to a Scream (1987), supplements books with his personal knowledge of local legends in order to educate a supposed reporter about the town's inherent evil. In yet a third film, an unnamed librarian in Dark Remains (2005) imparts, albeit reluctantly, local gossip to explain ghostly events taking place at the protagonist's mountain cabin. Mr. Daniels,

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the younger librarian in The House by the Cemetery (1981), more eagerly shares his knowledge of the researcher who committed butchery in the protagonist's rented house before hanging himself in the library, information that could help the protagonist protect his family from the same forces, but unfortunately does not. Horror films are not known for happy endings. Most of these films demonstrate a pattern whereby a librarian character contributes personal knowledge or local lore to the protagonist or other major character in addition to information that research might uncover from reference materials. Considering that much of a film's story is provided to the audience through character interaction and dialogue, and that library research does not make for thrilling visual sequences, having even a minor librarian character verbally share knowledge rather than hand over a book or read from a computer screen makes dramatic sense. And, finally, a very different kind of information provision is seen early in the film Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983) when librarian Charles Halloway performs reader's advisory services for children, enthusiastically offering classic adventure stories and Zane Grey novels. Young Jim declines, as he wants books about headhunters. This scene helps to establish what "normal" means to these characters and their lovely small town library before the arrival of Mr. Dark and his ominous traveling carnival. This scene also establishes that Mr. Halloway is rather elderly to be the parent of a young boy, but he appears kindly, expressing signs of a good father and a genuinely nice person. That the audience should like and admire the librarian is critical to their emotional investment in the rest of the film. If they do not care about the man, they will not care what happens to him later, weakening the film's emotional impact. Information provision by a librarian character in the sample horror films was not restricted to locating a suitable book, or even limited to the printed word, but information equates to knowledge and all of it was natural and in line with professional behaviors, as the audience is expected to recognize in order to understand what they are viewing on the screen. Hence the function of information provision communicates meaning as to happenings in the story or provides a better understanding of characters involved with the narrative journey.

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4.5.7 Information Obstructionist as Librarian Function

Five of the sample horror films feature librarian characters whose filmic function in whole or in part relates to the obstruction of information needed by the protagonist. While executing the narrative quest, every film protagonist must circumvent barriers (especially lack of knowledge) or the story would lack drama and interest. Among the films in the research sample, the most extreme form of information procurement is witnessed in Blade (1998) when Pearl the Record Keeper resists answering questions about Vampire Elder Dragonetti's crime empire. Vampire-slayer Blade and Dr. Jenson, his assistant, are not constrained by police protocol when questioning the grotesque and smelly archivist. Pearl: (alarmed) What's that? Blade: That, biscuit boy, is a UV lamp. We're gonna play a game of 20 questions. Depending on how you answer, you may walk out of here with a tan. (points at a computer screen) What's that? Pearl: That? Oh, it's nothing. It's routine research. Actually it's a video game. Blade removes the harddrive from Pearl's computer, an unorthodox form of library self- help, before his assistant permanently withdraws Pearl from ALA membership. A similar fate is met by the sexy librarian in Grave of the Vampire (1974) when she refuses to check out a reference book to a professor, not knowing as the audience does that he is a vampire who functions within society as a normal human. The book he wants contains information that must not be revealed as it would compromise the vampire's new identity. When she proceeds to give signs of sexual enticement, brushing her long red hair, discussing her years as a fashion model, making eyes at him while stressing that she is a "Miss," he reasonably interprets her behaviors as indicating a willingness to barter for the book. When she suddenly grows cold and reverts to reciting rules that forbid her checking it out, he reacts in the manner every viewer anticipated—with his fangs. She is the film's first victim, but not the last. Librarian Sally Diamon (Chainsaw Sally, 2004) makes herself available to help a handsome young man asking about town history––until she realizes he is searching the library's vertical files to learn about the murder of her family and information about her childhood home. He inherited the property, a distant cousin, and is planning to sell out

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to a developer. This must be prevented, as Sally and her brother live in a hovel in the woods behind the vacant family home and run cables to leech its electricity. She does not reveal her connection but manages to "misplace" useful newspaper articles while presenting all the signs of helpfulness and public service. She assures him he can get the materials at the main library, and she has scheduled an appointment for him there. She even prints out a map to direct him. Meanwhile she implements a plan to slaughter the developers and frame her luckless patron. Horror fans watch her succeed, cheering her on, because in the horror genre a satisfactory ending does not always equate to justice. A more pedestrian information obstructionist is the unnamed librarian in Dark Remains (2005). Following the horror formula, the protagonist and his wife rent a cabin where paranormal events occur, and he goes to the library seeking historical information. The sour-faced librarian, fidgeting with eyeglasses suspended around her neck, is inexplicably hostile but gives signs (disapproving facial expression, crossed arms, aggressively splayed feet, terse voice) that the audience interprets as meaning she recognizes him and believes he is somehow responsible for the much publicized death of his child. She reluctantly leads him to an archive the size of a warehouse, lined with dozens of tall industrial shelves and hundreds of numbered archival boxes. "Here we are," she states. "Everything you ever wanted to know … if you can find it." With no index to consult, the man randomly opens boxes until the limits of a two-hour movie deign to aid his discovery of the specific old newspapers he seeks. The librarian in The Wicker Man (1973) participates in a very different kind of information obstruction when she and the other residents of their secluded Scottish island actively provide a police investigator with disinformation so as to draw him to the island and keep him there as he tries to solve the fictional disappearance of a local child. The clash between their pagan lifestyle and his deeply held Christian beliefs is the foundation of the narrative, and the audience is unaware of the deception until the film's disturbing conclusion. Although labeled a librarian by the film's credits, the character works as the island's Registrar of Births, Deaths and Marriages. When the investigator requests information about the missing child, she refuses to cooperate without authority from the powerful Lord Summerisle who runs the island. She coolly

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deflects his threats, her mood and expressions flipping from haughty to lilting, but she eventually concedes to confirm that no death is recorded for the girl. Only later do viewers realize she intended to provide this information anyway, as her role in the elaborate and fatal charade. The dichotomy of the librarian stereotype as information provider and information obstructionist is a strong and enduring one. More drama results from an uncooperative character than one who makes the narrative quest too easy to accomplish. Hence the negative portrayal is a positive design element.

4.5.8 Maintainer/Violator of Rules as Librarian Function

Adherence to library rules or protecting library property as a filmic function does not seem to be as widespread in horror films as it is in the rest of cinema where librarians are branded by their frequent shushing of patrons and similar actions related to their jobs as library custodians (see Tevis & Tevis, 2005, for numerous examples). Seven of the sample films feature librarian characters who display some degree of filmic function related to this category. In two of these films, maintaining library rules or protecting library materials results in the deaths of minor librarian characters: Blade (1998), where Pearl the Record Keeper is cooked when he will not relinquish his organization's records, and Grave of the Vampire (1974) when the librarian refuses to check out a reference book to the vampire-protagonist even after she teases him with signs of sexual receptivity: Librarian: The library has very strict rules. I can't make any exceptions. Professor: (angry) You led me to believe I could take it! Librarian: I did not! Professor: All that business about your hair and your eyes? Librarian: (reaching for door handle) Good night, Professor. Professor: You were using me. Librarian: You have got to go! Professor: You were using me! You were using me!

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At this point fangs appear and the librarian is promptly exsanguinated. In the horror- drama Race with the Devil (1975), 8 a stock librarian character refuses to check out reference books to the protagonists but they solve the problem by quietly slipping them into a handbag and stealing them. In a reversal of fate, however, the librarian character is part of a murderous mob that descends on the women and their husbands as the film ends. The unnamed librarian in Christine (1983) is given no sass by the high school students who gather in her library, but she sternly insists they be seated and she makes it clear with her stares that she is watching their every move. As the film progresses, other authority figures are destroyed by an out-of-control student and his anthropomorphized 1958 Plymouth Fury named Christine, so it is just as well that the librarian does not reappear in later scenes where she could become another fatality. Three librarian characters in the sample films violate their own library rules. The pretty young woman who assists the mother of a dead child in The Forgotten (2004) notices that her patron's hands are shaking as she attempts to fill out a form before access is granted to the microfiche machine. Gently the librarian touches her hand, a sign that the requirement for paperwork can be overlooked this time. College student and library assistant Susan Harper in Twisted Nerve (1968) arranges to let a killer pretending to be mentally retarded use her library card to check out a book about animals, as he tells her he lives in hotels with his daddy so he lacks a proper "ticket." She instructs him to return the book on time so she will not get in trouble. Tevis and Tevis (2005) observe that younger librarian characters are more likely to flaunt library rules without fear of reprimand (p. 177). At the opposite end of the age range, Ephram Ward, the elderly male director of the Arkham Public Library in Transylvania Twist (1990), violates the rules with deadlier consequence when he checks out a rare book of mystical incantations to a patron who leaves the country. To prevent world devastation, Ward's nephew and a group of musical friends travel to Eastern Europe to retrieve it. Only real librarians will wonder if Mr. Ward must eventually explain to a governing board why a unique and valuable book in the collection had to be destroyed.

8 This horror film was reviewed too late to be included in the study and therefore is not counted for statistical purposes, but the noted scene is relevant.

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On any scale, Sally Diamon in Chainsaw Sally (2004) is the most aggressive librarian in filmdom when it comes to maintaining library rules. When an insolent high school student refuses to be quiet after several warnings, she follows him into the men's room and slits his throat. Another patron who fails to return a book after numerous late notices is dismembered with a chainsaw. Sally does spare a man speaking into a cell phone, although she shushes him and points to a sign on the wall that reads "Quiet Please." Later her rigid standards are applied to personal issues (an insolent ice cream clerk has the correct spelling of "malt" carved into her stomach) and more bloodletting occurs. Sally does prevail in the end, however, and as far as anyone knows continues on the job. Only two of these seven librarians are major characters, showing that stereotypic fussiness over library rules is not requisite in onscreen representations, but might be more common for minor characters that generally align closer to the negative public image than fleshed out roles.

4.5.9 Occupational Status as Librarian Function

Librarian status is a chameleon element that filmmakers can shape to any desired narrative end. The literature brims with articles and studies about librarians earning less than others with master's degrees; how librarianship is a low-prestige, feminine "semi-profession" since Melvil Dewey trained young women as cheap but efficient labor; how Information educators have purged the term "library" from their curricula as if it were cursed; and how indexical codes our culture assigns to this occupational symbol are not the stuff of fashion models, movie stars, or social butterflies. Yet the public image also stipulates that librarians are intelligent, helpful, resourceful and respected—very positive qualities. Filmmakers pick out those features of librarianship they find useful for telling their stories. Eight horror films in the research sample relate character function to librarian status. Among those horror films that exploit the baser image of librarians, I, Madman (1989) manages to compact multiple insults into one brief portrayal. The librarian being equipped by police to act as bait for the killer is named Marian, perhaps a little joke by screenplay writers. (See Section 4.4, Character Function as Imposed Design.) This

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specific name serves no purpose within the I, Madman storyline yet is too strong a sign to be randomly tagged to a librarian character. The name Marian, interpreted as a symbol, serves to reinforce the character's librarian-ness, or else broadcast a total lack of originality on the part of filmmakers. Of course there are real librarians named Marian, but in our culture the name is synonymous with librarian since the character of Marian Paroo from the popular film The Music Man (1962) became the icon for the profession. The name serves as a label, a symbol in its own right that depersonalizes the role, removing any semblance of individuation. Adding further humiliation, this Marian faints under the pressure of police expectations. According to the stereotype, librarians are timid and withdrawn so seeing one faint does not challenge what the audience "knows" about librarians. As a defining characteristic, fainting for lack of courage imparts low status on members of the profession. Male librarians are not exempt from the backwash of occupational choice. That the characters of Warren and Larry in Mindkiller (1987) are losers is established with a plethora of signs in the opening scenes—the way they dress, talk, approach women in a bar, Warren's choice of videos and books, Larry's huge eyeglasses, but especially their jobs working in a library's subbasement archives, tucked into a drab corner with overhead pipes. Their supervisor goes out of his way to debase and embarrass them, making all the more delicious a scene where mind control forces him to strip off his clothing in front of astonished and giggling patrons. Warren and Larry's characteristics juxtapose perfectly with the media image of male librarians, a totally believable career assignment by filmmakers, reality be damned. (It should be noted that signs of homosexuality, often associated with male librarians in the media, are decidedly absent from these rabidly heterosexual characters.) The desire to improve their status and prestige, as measured by their ability to attract females, motivates character behaviors and drives the plot. The clearest sign of low status for a library job in a film is a direct verbal declaration. Kathryn Bennett, college-educated library assistant in The Off Season (2004), is so good at her new job that her supervisor wishes they had ten more like her. Her live-in boyfriend, with no advanced education, belittles her accomplishments and says of her degree, "Look where it got you—you're an assistant at a library right in the

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middle of nowhere." Rick's body language and tone of voice are signs that graphically demonstrate a lack of respect for her and her job, made all the more ugly because the audience knows she's working to support him while he supposedly writes his first screenplay but instead he drinks away his days in a bar. Rick's expressions of disdain reflect more on his character than on hers and should hold no sway with the audience, but they do because, as filmmakers know, some viewers will agree with him. The status of the librarian symbol is more ambiguous in The Attic (1980). In one scene, Louise Elmore is a dinner guest at the home of her young friend and fellow librarian, Emily. Emily's mother mirrors the same alarming behaviors as Louise's domineering and selfish father, and with dismay Louise recognizes the parallels and the dangers they presage for her friend. Louise hates her head librarian job with undisguised loathing, and views it as a lonely and dead-end career path she wants Emily to avoid. Louise states conversationally to Mrs. Perkins, "I wish I had had the good sense to try some other jobs when I was young. I mean, I may not have been a librarian." Emily's mother retorts that the job is perfectly respectable, apparently high praise for her. Louise concedes, "Respectable, yes. And awfully boring." In this time and place, Kansas of the 1970s, librarianship is seen as a stable career choice for a young lady, but possibly a soul-crushing vocation as well. Most of the librarian characters in the research sample work in small towns as opposed to urban areas, and librarians enjoy a certain amount of prestige. Certainly Charles Halloway in Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983) is well respected as he makes his rounds through the streets of Greentown, Illinois, greeting shopkeepers and friends along the way. He is well spoken and wears a fine suit, smokes a fine cigar, owns a fine home and has a fine family—all signs of status in middle America circa 1920. The library itself is an elegant structure with stone lions flanking the entrance, a grand staircase, rich wood bookcases, and vintage fixtures. As discussed in Section 2.2, The Icon of Library, society associates librarians with libraries, and in this film both function as symbols of community and endurance. Another film in the research sample takes place in the past and shows signs of affluence in the home of the protagonist-librarian, except the signs can be interpreted more darkly by the audience. In The Tell-Tale Heart (1960), the locale is nineteenth

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century London and the librarian-protagonist's home is furnished with thick drapery, a grand piano, and paintings on the walls. When his neighbor Betty relays to police her suspicions that he is a murderer, they deride her. "Edgar Marsh has worked quietly as chief librarian in this town for many years, a thoroughly respectable citizen." Success and respect do rest on a subjective social scale, however, and his work is not as well viewed by Betty, the gold-digger Marsh comes to fancy who lives across the street. On their first date when he tells her, "I work as a librarian, in charge of the reference section at the main library," she hesitates before replying, "Is that all?" She was likely misled by the luxury of his home, which the audience can deduce was inherited by the way Marsh strokes the cheek of a mature woman in a portrait he passes on the stairwell—no doubt his mother. Within these damasked walls he can live alone without socially maturing. Even back when men dominated librarian positions, salaries were low but the career was considered honorable. The status of Marsh's job, the trappings of his home, and his quiet and awkward demeanor delude police until Betty acquires the bloody murder weapon as proof. Library work as high status is semiotically prominent in Weird Woman (1944) with Ilona Carr, academic librarian, bearing perhaps the most refined demeanor of any librarian in the cinema. Her friends are professors and members of a private college governing board. She is a superb hostess and lives in a modern and elegantly furnished home. Even in satin night clothes Ilona wears expensive jewelry and upswept hair, and behaves with stately decorum. She radiates airs of superiority and haughtiness, and a sense of entitlement drives her behaviors. With arrogant indifference she sabotages the happiness of others in order to facilitate her own selfish plans. As with Edgar Marsh in The Tell-Tale Heart (1960), Ilona Carr's status protects her from suspicion until too much evidence accumulates. Her vanity eventually undermines her sanity, and she shows signs of mental disintegration in the final scenes as evidenced by her mussed hair, sleepless eyes, disheveled clothing, and emotional speech patterns. Professional status is evident when the audience first meets Sylvia Van Buren in the 1953 version of The War of the Worlds. She chatters with a stranger, quick to relate that she has a master's degree and teaches library science at the University of Southern

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California, and that she is excited about meeting an esteemed visitor. The audience recognizes signs of social status by her attractive clothing, posture, walk, coiffure, even the way she delicately plumbs her handbag for a cigarette. They realize before she does that she is actually speaking to the doctor of physics she praises so highly. One purpose of this scene is to show the audience that Ms. Van Buren is a social equal to Dr. Clayton Forrester, a potential partner. Her background is never again mentioned and has no impact on the storyline. For the remainder of the film she plays a subservient role, distributing coffee and donuts to front line soldiers, cooking breakfast, looking pretty and well groomed amid the chaos, screaming on cue, but also demonstrating backbone and bravery and a willingness to pitch in and help. The films in the research sample were divided, with librarianship portrayed as prestigious or deadly dull, depending on its filmic function. The public image of librarianship shares this same range such that filmmakers can pick out those indexical codes appropriate to their projects and their stories will still appear plausible.

4.6 Character Function from a Narrative Viewpoint

A filmmaker creates an abstract world where imaginary beings are animated to enact a tale. Actors create meaning by performing as characters, interacting with one another for the benefit of viewers that have suspended disbelief so as to read fantasy as reality on an emotional level. From this vantage—at the level of the narrative world— communications between characters––the give and take, cause and effect––are generally conducted without acknowledging the audience, the actor, or the filmmaker. Functions in this section of the current research are identified by seeing characters through the eyes of other characters. Librarians in the sample films are multifaceted and, in addition to providing professional services indexed above, each can relate to other characters as: • Emotional support • Lover or Sexual/Asexual Object • Monster These are micro-level functions, more overt than symbolic, based on character interactions that create and move the story.

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4.6.1 Emotional Support as Librarian Function

The Hollywood cinematic style relies on characters responding to one another for the creation of drama and manipulation of audience sensibilities. Eight librarian characters in seven films in the research sample provide emotional support to other characters, a filmic function that does not contradict or confirm the professional public image since librarians are thought to be both stern and kind. Again, a filmmaker selects those indexical codes that best communicate a character's narrative purpose. One brief scene in The Forgotten (2004) demonstrates emotional support as a patron service when the unnamed library clerk reaches out and touches the hand of the distraught protagonist. This simple gesture carries a great deal of meaning for the mother of a dead child, and shows to the audience that despite the confusion and confrontation the woman has experienced at every turn, she finds compassion in an unexpected place by brief contact with a stranger. This same level of caring is seen in Stephen King's It (1990) where an unnamed library worker offers a cup of water to a terrified patron, one of the protagonists who must fight a monster that manifests as a taunting clown no one else in the library can see or hear. The young lady tells him simply, "I thought you could use this." She cannot understand his problem or solve it but makes a thoughtful gesture in reaction to a perceived need. Librarian-to-librarian emotional support as filmic function is seen in The Attic (1980) when Emily makes herself available to listen to her older supervisor, Louise Elmore. This passive behavior opens up a new world for the retiring alcoholic, providing a sounding board for her problems and a source of encouragement and friendship. Emily and two other library workers (an awkward young man named Donald, and a mature woman) throw a retirement party for Louise with hats and noisemakers. Donald pays $5.00 for a corsage and brags that he iced the cake. These additional characters function as added moral support and lend realism to the library scene. Emily is rewarded for her friendship when Louise buys her a ticket to California where she can join her boyfriend and escape her suffocating mother, thereby avoiding Louise's fate. Library assistant Kathryn Bennett in The Off Season (2004) is likewise befriended by her supervisor, the warmhearted Claudette. Together they chat while

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shelving books, and Kathryn confesses problems with her boyfriend. When her assistant stops coming to work because of a mysterious affliction, Claudette shows up at her motel to warn her about imminent dismissal, and to offer help. At a point in the story where Kathryn receives no emotional support from her boyfriend, she receives a hug from Claudette. The supervisor serves to provide a connection to the outside world and a semblance of normalcy as her new friend tries to cope with strange and frightening phenomena at the haunted motel. A third such pairing is found in Wilderness (1996). Serena is ordinary and down- to-earth, moderately attractive, with realistic quirks and a boring husband. Serena's principle flaw is the apparent need to live vicariously through Alice White, her young and single subordinate and the film's protagonist. The women are work-friends, sharing coffee and chatting, and the relationship is valuable to Alice because she generally avoids people as she hides her secret of transforming monthly into a wolf. The women need each other for emotional support, but when Serena's questions become too personal, Alice pointedly shuts her down. None of these three films presents enduring friendships. As required by the plot, Louise and Emily go their separate ways, and the characters of both Claudette and Serena are eventually dropped from their stories, their purpose as emotional support accomplished. More substantial is the emotional support provided by Mike Hanlon in Stephen King's It (1990) after he urges his childhood buddies to return to the New England town of Derry to combat a monster they had once defeated as children. Each brings his or her own personal problems, but coming home presents closure and new beginnings. Hanlon manages the Derry Community Library and lives nearby in a rundown section of town. He gives one particular friend, Bill, two special gifts: a photograph of his little brother who was murdered by "It" many years before, and the repaired bicycle "Silver" that saved their friend Stan in the first confrontation and that later will save Bill's wife. Mike Hanlon is a librarian ideal. The audience knows that the true friends who make up The Lucky Seven are destined to be pulled apart yet again, not in their hearts but by the supernatural force that wipes their memories, yet the repercussions of their love and caring will last their entire lives.

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Movie librarians are not expected to be worldly, as the public image portrays them as somewhat insular, living through the books they read. The traits of naïveté and innocence are two of many indexical codes filmmakers may use when equipping librarian characters. In the horror film Peeping Tom (1960), librarian Helen Stephens exudes the enthusiasm of budding adulthood as she celebrates her 21st birthday, and she makes a point of inviting to her party the strange man who lives upstairs. Mark Lewis is handsome and quiet but appears too serious and withdrawn. Helen's mother is mature and experienced and she correctly reads the man's antisocial signs as indicators of mental instability. Helen, being immature, views these same traits as a challenge and inserts herself into his daily routines in an aggressive attempt to get to know him, only to learn that he is psychologically disturbed, the victim of his father's unique cruelty. With youthful optimism she even offers to help him elude police. The relationship never advances to romance, but a warped connection develops. Despite his natural reserve, Mark has grown fond of Helen and cannot bring himself to kill her when given the chance. Ultimately he commits suicide rather than hurt her. Helen's trust issues are also experienced by Susan Harper, the library assistant in Twisted Nerve (1968) who prevents store security from prosecuting a young man who shoplifts a toy but displays signs of mental deficiency. She befriends him and defends him, provides him room and board and takes him on excursions—making his calculated betrayal and rape attempt all the more deplorable. For different reasons, emotional support provided by librarian characters in the sample horror films proves to be either ephemeral or dangerous. Interpersonal bonds in horror films are subject to being bodily and spiritually ripped apart in order to create strong drama. Librarians are shown to be benevolent, empathetic, sympathetic, and generous, but are not always rewarded for their efforts.

4.6.2 Lover or Sexual/Asexual Object as Librarian Function

Because the horror film genre is bleak, aberrant and frightful, healthy love is rarely nurtured. Relationships instead are tense, unnatural, ugly and short, in keeping with the atmosphere and settings of horror conventions. This is not a genre where characters fall in love and together triumph against all odds, a classic Hollywood

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formula for other genres. Instead, love is founded on a different set of signs, one of power, savage desires and desperation. Here are no roses and chocolates but more likely gore and death. The horror genre has long been entwined with sexuality. Colavito (2008) writes, "... horror is traditionally seen as primarily sexual in nature ... analyzed in Freudian terms" (p. 3).

Critics have historically discussed horror films in terms of sex, and specifically Freudian psychoanalytic views of sex, whereby horror's primary concern is a fear of sex, usually female sexuality. Thus vampires are phallic symbols or fanged vaginas; Frankenstein's Monster a parody of birth; the wolf man anxiety over puberty; and any mutilation a playing-out of castration anxieties. (p. 201)

These signs of sexuality function in unison with power and force to set up narrative conflict demanding resolution. As appalling as the act of rape is under any circumstances, deviant forms of rape are designed by filmmakers for characters in the horror genre, characters incapable of love but driven by need. In The Church (1989), Evan is hired to catalog the library of an old Italian cathedral, and meets Lisa on the first day as he arrives late for work. Lisa performs restoration services around the edifice and is conversant with its architecture. Their slow courtship heads toward intimacy until Evan obsesses about solving the puzzle of a yellowed parchment Lisa found, realizing how to decipher it just as they settle into bed for the first time, much to her frustration. The relationship never regains momentum. Evan is too selfish to care about others beyond what they can do for him, so however much his character appears to be designed as a love interest for Lisa, the relationship fails to fruit. Their union is, however, consummated by rape in the final minutes of the film—after he has turned into a demon, she has gone insane, and they are being buried under collapsing masonry. Likewise, the demon shape-shifter in the horror film The Incubus (1982) is driven by the need to reproduce, but is so powerful that when he rapes the librarian and fills her with copious amounts of red sperm, his savagery kills her.

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Another librarian character resorts to rape in the film Mindkiller (1987). Warren fails miserably on the social scene and cannot get a date, and he continually makes a fool of himself. He is particularly attracted to Sandy, a consultant his library hires to improve operations. When Warren finds a manuscript article that teaches mind control, he uses it to force Sandy to give in to his advances, their first physical encounter taking place on a desktop. She is raped in body and mind as her free will is usurped. Warren is soon consumed by his new powers and becomes a danger to his friends until killing him is their only option. Warren never learns that love cannot be compelled. This is also the lesson in Twisted Nerve (1968) when the wealthy Martin Dumley makes himself known to library assistant Susan Harper as "Georgie Clifford," an affable young man suffering mental retardation. The audience is shown evidence (signs) that Martin is truly psychopathic, and they watch as he murders his step-father and others in cold blood. Martin insinuates himself into Susan's household, playing up his debility so as to increase physical contact. On a picnic he lets her see his naked body hoping to spark carnal appeal, but she shoves him away when he kisses her. Even then she misreads the event, blaming herself while insisting he never do it again. Once Susan confirms her growing suspicions, however, she is brutally battered, nearly raped, and suffers hysteria. This film offers no justice even after Martin's capture and mental breakdown since emotional rape will take longer to heal than physical scars. A different kind of rape takes place in The Grave of the Vampire (1974) when Miss Fenwick uses sexual lures to imply that she will exchange pleasure for the favor of checking out a reference book to a patron. The professor is ready to cooperate but she abruptly withdraws the offer and refuses him the book. Being a vampire, he has an innate ability to fulfill his needs as he backs her against the library door and violates her throat with his fangs, killing her. Miss Fenwick failed to heed signs of the vampire's mounting tension, signs that did not escape notice by the audience anticipating the film's first fatality. Within the horror genre, this assault equates to copulation. Librarians in the research sample are not allowed to have normal sexual proclivities. Sexual repression is part of the librarian's indexical code so film representations of asexual librarian characters in horror films are not a distant leap. Despite being nude with genitals exposed, Pearl the Record Keeper in Blade (1998)

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appears more like a giant baby than a fully formed adult. He speaks with the high- pitched and squeaky voice of a child. Other than being labeled "male," the character expresses no sexual signs whatsoever. In this fantasy film that showcases hormonally- induced relationships—primarily testosterone to fuel the many fight scenes—Pearl stands out as lacking the equipment to play. He is immobile and dysfunctional, and ultimately expendable. Among female librarians, Ilona Carr in Weird Woman (1944) is notably sexless despite her crafted beauty and elegant clothing and jewelry. Her heightened femininity is expressed as cold and ruthless power. Miss Carr feels proprietary rights to Prof. Reed even after he returns from a trip to the South Seas with a pretty and guileless native bride. Miss Carr has no redeeming characteristics despite her education and professional deportment, and as the film's "bad guy" she expresses her true feelings through subtext rather than conversational honesty. The professor is a possession that eludes her, rankling her pride. She is motivated not by love but by revenge, and the audience does not confuse signs of femininity with sexuality. Despite her daring clothing choices when not working at the library, Sally Diamon in Chainsaw Sally (2004) is an asexual character. She is not a conventional beauty, and when dressed in work attire is decidedly plain although her unattractiveness is the result of her starchy mannerisms more than physical features. Her hair is tied tightly into a bun and she wears regulation librarian glasses. Her unstylish suits fit poorly, but whether this is due to character design or the actor's pregnancy9 is uncertain. Sally lives with her brother, a young fellow whose signs of mental abnormalities are boldly displayed with silly transgender clothing, clownish makeup, giggling voice, and homosexual posturing. He tortures animals and people with glee. His character's features are so highly exaggerated that in scenes with his sister, she appears mature and normal. The choice of librarianship as a profession for Sally provides a conservative alter ego that camouflages signs of sexuality. Ironically, however, when Sally is free to be herself, wearing heavy makeup and outlandish clothing while chasing and butchering people, she still appears sexless. This ambivalence is intentional as the filmmaker plays with gender perception. In conversation, Sally expresses the opinion

9 See Internet Movie Database, http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0385592, accessed February 28, 2010.

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that Batman is gay, while at the same time comparing herself to the comic superhero. In one scene she attracts her female victim by playing the heavy lesbian seductress, with goth makeup and a costume that invites sexual frolic, but the audience perceives this as phony and out of character, just another role Sally enacts in order to succeed with a cold-blooded plan. Sally and her brother personify social and sexual deviance but these characters are so attuned to this lifestyle that they successfully defend it with violence. Beyond asexual is a film librarian who is anti-sexual. Mary Ann Kowalski of The Pink Chiquitas (1987) is introduced wearing a pink ensemble that might have passed as attractive in the 1950s, but now expresses frigidity and close-mindedness. Her voice and mannerisms support this perception, which is intentional on the part of the filmmaker because it lays the foundation for contrast once a meteor crashes and nearby women turn into nymphomaniacs. Mary Ann's initial conformity to an unflattering librarian stereotype meets audience expectations, but so does her later transformation into the "sexy librarian" stereotype, a reversal so common in the media as to have lost its impact. Note that once Mary Ann becomes the town's sexual superhero, she has the power to turn men into zombies. She and her ladies treat men with complete disdain, to be used and discarded. As with rape, this is not so much an issue of sex as it is of power, and Mary Ann makes no secret that she is going to strip men of their power. Even after the women are freed from the meteorite's influence, Mary Ann maintains her new position as the town's mayor and deflects her boyfriend's physical affection. Librarian characters, if drawn to be lifelike in their film roles, will exhibit carnal need. Both Louise Elmore in The Attic (1980) and Alice White in Wilderness (1996) lack companionship and both women seek sexual congress with strangers, having no desire for romance or commitment. Louise must avoid relationships because of her enslavement to her father. Alice does so because no man would accept her once he learns her frightening secret, as is confirmed when she reluctantly reveals the truth to a man who appears to love her, only to have him back away. Both characters wear bland clothing except when trolling for men where brighter colors signal their availability and also reflect heightened emotions, however fleeting. Alice White has a very innocent name, but when she slinks into the hotel bar seeking a partner she uses the alias

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"Layne," a clear sign of predatory intentions. Later she has sex in the library, but after her partner falls asleep she loses control and unintentionally morphs into a wolf and escapes into the night. The incident alarms her and affects future events as she realizes she must commit to one physical semblance or the other. When police inspector Howie searches door-to-door on a pagan island in hopes of finding a missing girl in The Wicker Man (1973), he flings open a bathroom door to reveal the unflappable librarian supine in an old fashioned footed bathtub. The layer of water in no way hides her generous proportions. The lusty blonde gazes at him enticingly as he fumbles to apologize. Howie is a virgin, a devout Christian, and she is likely the first naked woman he has ever seen. He quickly extricates himself from the uncomfortable encounter and moves on, only to meet his fated demise at the film's conclusion, his virginity intact. Viewers realize later that if he had taken her up on her silent invitation, Howie would have disqualified himself from the pagan sacrifice awaiting him at the top of the hill, as the villagers require a virgin to ensure future fertility for their crops. Films from the research sample demonstrate that a healthy and loving relationship will not endure in an horrific environment (e.g., The Attic, 1980; The Church, 1989; Dark Remains, 2005; The Fog, 2005; The Forgotten, 2004; The Off Season, 2004; The Tell-Tale Heart, 1960; and more). However, when horror as a genre is blended with elements of another genre, horror appears to be the recessive partner and love triumphs to provide a satisfactory ending for the audience. Happy relationships and even the occasional wedding can be found in these cinematic mutts. Stephen Sommers' The Mummy (1999) blends action-adventure with digitized special effects to tell a riveting story placed in exotic locales, but basically it is a love story between a librarian and a former French Legionnaire featuring conversational wit steeped in Hollywood tradition. The protagonists, Evelyn Carnahan and Rick O'Connell, are brought together by curiosity on her part, and on his part the need to avoid being hanged as a criminal. The horror elements in the film—the millions of scarab beetles that strip living flesh to the bone, the attack of ancient Egyptian soldiers, reanimated mummies, hostile sun and sand, plus the race to find a lost city filled with treasure—are stressors that draw the two protagonists together instead of push them apart as they

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likely would in a straight horror film. Likewise in the low budget comedy The Pink Chiquitas (1987), the librarian's weatherman-boyfriend sees Mary Ann in a new light as he fights to overcome alien forces that have changed her into an assertive woman instead of the mousy church lady he used to boss around with impunity. Horror is sublimated in this film, mostly limited to scenes in the dark woods where townspeople seek out the pink meteor (named Betty) that crashed to earth near the town, and later finding it in a cave where they attempt to defeat it. In the research sample, love and marriage are not central themes in two other blended films but still resolve naturally as befits the narratives: Sylvia Van Buren, library school instructor, and Dr. Clayton Forrester work together to defend the earth against invading aliens in The War of the Worlds (1953, science fiction-horror). Shared catastrophe and their final acceptance of doom serve to ignite love under the pall of utter destruction. Miss Van Buren's character functions primarily as wife material for the illustrious doctor. This older film shows no graphic passion, of course, but the implications are clear and certainly wedding bells and babies will follow the narrative close. On the topic of love and marriage, there is a plot twist at the conclusion of Wilderness (1996). Alice White, the librarian-protagonist who periodically transforms into a wolf, abandons hope that she will find love just before love finds her. She has determined to change permanently into a wolf and take a chance that the only known pack in a remote sanctuary will accept her. This decision forces her love interest, Dan, to release her. The final scene reveals a heretofore unrevealed narrative framework where the entire film is a bedtime story being told by Dan to his children in some future time, a smiling wife listening nearby. While his family may assume he invented the charming tale, the audience accepts the fantastical events as truth. For viewer satisfaction, they must also assume Alice finds love of the four-footed variety. The librarian index includes a range of sexual proclivities from repression to "party animal" so filmmakers often design function for their librarian characters that relate to sexuality or sexual events. The librarian symbol is usually seen as female, and horror film audiences are generally male, so filmmakers are free to exploit the occupational symbol when it enriches their narratives.

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4.6.3 Monster as Librarian Function

As discussed in Section 2.4, Conventional Signifiers of Horror Films, the monster is integral to horror films although its signifiers may not be readily apparent or its form corporeal. "The [horror] genre encompasses everything from monsters present only by suggestion or inference through to graphic portrayals of monstrous creatures and the excesses of their depredations ..." (Tudor, 2002, p. 50). Five librarian characters in the sample of horror films function in some manner as monster. The lycanthropic librarian in Wilderness (1996) is not the film's literary monster. Alice White is horrified at the thought that she could hurt someone during her days in wolf form, when her human self has no memory of events, and it is her lack of control over her own body that is the film's true threat. Alice's narrative quest is to gain dominion over her life, and failure to do so risks psychological damage more than physical harm. After bruised relationships and emotional angst, Alice finally conquers the monster by accepting it, by giving in to the lure of the wolf with its promise of fulfillment. She permanently sheds her human incarnation and thereby experiences happiness. At the film's climax, seeing the wolf running with joy through a verdant forest signals the audience to accept that she has made the best decision. One librarian film character of monstrous proportions is the grotesque archivist in Blade (1998) who is so flatulent that his odor is the first sign that the vampire hunter and his companion have found him. Pearl the Record Keeper is naked, larval white, and unable to move due to his enormous size. He is a vampire and therefore must be destroyed, but his character functions more as comedy than threat. The true monsters in this film are powerful vampire crime lords who appear more ordinary than their unfortunate and ill-fated archivist. Actual monsters in two of the sample films are spawned from within the librarians. By all external indicators Evan, librarian in The Church (1989), is a pleasant and handsome young man, but his greed and lack of ethics are manifest in the actual demon he becomes, a beast of the inferno in the Christian tradition complete with red skin, horns and a tail. Similarly, in the film Mindkiller (1987), Warren's internal monster begins as a weakness of personality, his need for a short-cut to sexual partnership that

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leads him to study a manuscript that bestows powers he uses to impel a woman to love him. As his abuse of this power intensifies, his physical body changes, his head expands, his flesh bloats, and eventually creatures erupt from him and attack his friends. The film's true monster is abstract, Warren's abject lack of self esteem, and the physical changes merely symptomatic. In this film the monster is not conquered because the audience knows that the other librarian also read the manuscript and continues to use the powers it bestowed, but so far he has not been corrupted by them. As with other horror films, the conclusion is left open-ended with the potential for future mayhem. Ilona Carr's internal monster in Weird Woman (1944) is presaged by the film's narrator who introduces this addition to the Inner Sanctum series of B-movies for theatrical release. He refers to "the strange, fantastic world controlled by a mass of living, pulsating flesh, the mind. It destroys, distorts, creates monsters, commits murder." Although Miss Carr bears external signs of beauty, education, sophistication and success, her behaviors project signs of jealousy and inhumanity. She foments superstition and trouble among the academic community in which she lives, exploiting ignorance with fear. She coerces others to perform horrendous acts without their recognizing the influence she has over their rational thinking. She functions as monster in human form but is defeated when her strategies are turned back on her by her victims. Within the research sample, horror film monsters as they relate to librarian characters focus on the lack of power and control, hardly the monsters of Hollywood matinees that stamp out Tokyo but still chilling within context.

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CHAPTER 5

CONCLUSION

The research question (What filmic functions are served by librarian characters featured in narrative realist horror films?) was addressed with data collected from a nonrandom sample of 30 horror films using a semiotic lens that facilitated the identification and interpretation of the primary functions of librarian characters. That horror film librarians are an interesting lot is obvious based on the sample films, as many are fully animated and powerful and all serve critical narrative functions. Whether horror filmmakers in the sample films communicated above the level of the story, through the casting of character roles, or organically through character interactions, librarians functioned as important and necessary components of the cinematic experience. Function is the mechanism by which filmmakers express meaning. What a character is or has can translate into what it means (Bordwell, 1989, p. 154). Grouping functions according to the point of view of the parties along the communicative thread (filmmaker, characters, audience) identified the direction and scope of perception. These films dealt with fictional situations in fictional worlds as experienced by fictional characters. Although characters are not flesh-and-bones real, they are artistic creations with contextual reality manipulated by filmmakers to create meaning and therefore have distinct points of view that limit what they see and understand, just as each viewer perceives only what the filmic elements reveal, then filters the data though personal knowledge, experience and values in order to recognize meaning. No one along the communicative thread is omniscient, not even the filmmaker who cannot know precisely how each member of the audience will interpret the artistic creation shown onscreen, and well crafted characters are capable of expressing deep meaning without a conscious effort by the filmmaker. Each point of view wears blinders to some signs (data) that can be viewed from a different point of

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view. This method of data organization clarified how a single character could fulfill multiple functions depending on how the character's traits and behaviors were approached. For this reason some observations of specific film characters and interactions overlap categories, but each fresh perspective revealed new information for a better understanding of complex characters. Descriptions of the 42 librarian characters in this study demonstrated above all else that there is no definitive librarian type, and no restrictions on the functions endowed by their creators. The sign of librarian proved to be robust, elastic, purposeful, memorable, and truly multi-faceted, representing many distinctive types and personalities. As expected, even minor librarian roles in these films showed purpose.

5.1 General Observations

Horror is a genre heavily reliant on strong imagery, and librarian characters in the research sample found a comfortable fit. In contrast to the popular notion that the media is replete with images of the librarian stereotype, this sample of horror films found very few instances where a major function of the librarian role was to mimic exaggerated traits and work tasks of a stereotypical librarian. What emerged from the data was a multi-faceted sign of librarian that defies stereotyping and instead offers a rich palette of descriptors from which visual storytellers can craft their art. Conventions of the horror genre strongly affected which traits were selected by filmmakers to clothe their librarian characters. Traditional librarian roles were also observed where function related to information provision or, for dramatic purposes, information obstruction. Although contradictory, these traits are both indexical codes for librarian. Other semiotic indicators of the symbol used by horror filmmakers related to resourcefulness, intelligence, bravery, compassion, humor, innocence and naiveté. Classic signifiers of the cultural stereotype (hair buns, sensible shoes) were rarely seen. The subject librarians appeared to mirror the general population (as in ordinary) unless or until their functions required more developed characteristics. When the stereotype was flagrantly evoked (as in Christine, 1983, and Mindkiller, 1987), laziness on the part of the filmmaker was not evidenced. Rather, function in these examples relied on the audience recognizing and interpreting each of the characters as stereotypes. The

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filmmakers used purposeful stereotypes in order to successfully communicate narrative meaning. This study shows that the 30 horror filmmakers did not allow themselves to be constrained by limitations dictated by the stereotype. Patterns and parallels between librarian characters in the sample were of exploratory interest and served to reinforce specific categories of function. Some observations made by Tevis and Tevis (2005) about libraries and librarian characters in twentieth century cinema held true in the research sample, such as the use of library ladders, the notion of librarian "pairs," librarianship as a stepping stone to more impressive endeavors, and some alignment of appearance and behaviors with the stereotype for the purpose of occupational recognition. Cinematic style and technique also served as filmic elements (signs) for the communication of meaning in the sample films. An upward camera angle, as previously noted, emphasizes the domination of the high school librarian in Christine (1983). In The Forgotten (2004), an overhead shot tracks the upset mother as she enters the library and approaches the service counter. The angle seems odd until later in the film when space aliens are found to be the cause of the protagonist's travails, and the sign of "big brother" (watching from overhead) is fitting in retrospect. A bird's eye view of the distinctive layout of the British Museum library interior in Curse of the Demon (1957) emphasizes that the protagonist is being watched by the cult leader he seeks to discredit, and also reinforces the circular pattern of the furnishings that is a motif in the film, perhaps as a symbol of white magic. The rhythm and pacing, special effects, musical scores, and sounds such as ticking clocks, heartbeats, and thunder—important elements for building suspense and fear in horror film audiences—were more skillfully handled in some films than others within the research sample. Not surprising, movies with larger budgets more effectively executed these features than amateurish, low budget movies, hence The Mummy (1999) is more spectacular than The Pink Chiquitas (1987), and Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983) is more frightening than Mindkiller (1987). What is also evident is that older, black-and-white films can be just as chilling as Technicolor ones: the librarian in The Tell-Tale Heart (1960) presents a very disturbing character study; Curse

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of the Demon (1957) is scary because the monster is taken so seriously; and Weird Woman (1944) reveals that a beautiful librarian can be ugly inside. Commonalities between the films relied less on the librarian symbol and more on conventional horror film formats, as when residents of haunted houses go to libraries to find explanations for frightening events. Originality is not a mandate for horror movies where, as time goes by, patterns create conventions that gel into formulas that create expectations within spectators. Being derivative is how horror films find their fans. Anticipation is half the fun and fulfilled expectations merely confirm audience astuteness. That the teasing librarian in Grave of the Vampire (1974) was doomed to death by fangs was a foregone conclusion. That a librarian stereotype (sexy librarian) facilitated this function simply made the event all the more gratifying. Filmed narratives and their compositional elements are not insular but born of imagination and made meaningful only through applied perception, where creativity is as much a requirement of viewers as it is of filmmakers. Within horror films, librarian characters enjoy a distinct and colorful niche because they are familiar social and cultural symbols. With a sample of only 30 horror films produced over a span of 66 years (1944- 2005), any observed changes in longitudinal patterns are not strong enough to be called trends. That librarian characters in the sample films from the 1940s through the 1960s appear more sophisticated and classier than later representations speaks more to societal shifts than the librarian public image. Fewer significant male librarian roles have appeared in horror in recent decades, but few females have appeared either, and those were in blended films (The Mummy, 1999 and Wilderness, 1996). The most significant female librarian role within the horror genre in this century is the title character in Chainsaw Sally (2004), a low-budget gore-fest few librarians have even heard of. Once the horror film pendulum swings away from today's mindless violence that devalues backstory and characterization, librarians may appear again to contribute to cinematic tales. When film protagonists routinely use personal computers or smart phones to find answers to their questions, traditional librarian characters may appear less often onscreen. Such gadgets, however, cannot vomit when frightened nor will they slit your throat in a library restroom when you are too noisy.

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5.2 Library Settings in Horror Films

Even in the modern world of electronic databases and virtual information systems, librarianship as a profession is associated in the public mind with buildings that house information resources, historically in bound-book format but increasingly digital and accessed through computers. Library settings can be powerful film elements with their own set of filmic functions, providing an arena for character interactions both civil and violent. As indices, libraries bring to films cultural signifiers such as knowledge, silence, organization, history, education and open access––or intimidation, restriction and repression––each customized by the personal understanding of individual viewers. Of the 30 horror films in the research sample, 26 featured libraries as settings for character interaction. Most libraries were realistic or otherwise ordinary, filmed on location or using sets dressed with indexical elements such as counters or desks, shelving, computers, and of course books. The most impressive of the libraries and archives viewed in the sample were those in Blade, 1989 (rows of computer tape canisters and a separate room where ancient parchment leaves hung from the ceiling); Curse of the Demon, 1957 (the awe inspiring British Museum); and Dark Remains, 2005 (countless rows of floor-to-ceiling industrial shelving neatly filled with archive boxes, clearly a records warehouse in real life and not the back room of the narrative's town library). Library settings were identified by minimal indexical signifiers in Chainsaw Sally, 2004 (desks and shelving against walls); The Church, 1989 (the "library" consisted of piles of books on the table and floors in an otherwise grand cathedral); From a Whisper to a Scream, 1987 (a Victorian parlor with a few low shelves of books and otherwise choked with antiquities); The Pink Chiquitas, 1987 (a desk and utility shelving in what looks like a garage); Weird Woman, 1944 and The Tell-Tale Heart, 1960 (most library scenes take place in the protagonists' offices), and The Wicker Man, 1973 (where the one library scene is filmed close-up so no more than shelves of books behind the protagonist can be glimpsed by viewers). In only two of the sample films is the library of such import and impact as to qualify as a separate character with its own narrative function: Frankenstein, 2004 (the enormous, dark library is palpably sinister),

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and Something Wicked This Way Comes, 1983 (the small town library is elegant and warm, solid and traditional, a sanctuary for the characters). There is no evidence that libraries in horror films differ in any way from libraries displayed in other film genres, and in fact appear pedestrian when compared to very imaginative library settings and information transferal systems found in science fiction, fantasy, and other film genres (e.g., MirrorMask, 2005; The Name of the Rose, 1986; Rollerball, 1975; Star Wars, Episode II: Attack of the Clones, 2002; Soylent Green, 1973, The Time Machine, 2002; What Dreams May Come, 1998; and Zardoz, 1974). Such films offer fodder for future research of distinctive film elements related to librarianship.

5.3 The Bigger Picture

The foremost conclusion that can be drawn from this research is that the librarian sign has value. Regardless of the research focus––examining librarian as index, symbol, icon, myth, or even stereotype––librarian characters in the sample films provided value to the filmmaker's art and continue to provide value to viewers with each new showing. Filmed narratives have no existence or purpose without the visual reading of character interactions designed to trigger events that propel movement along a storyline, and librarian roles do their fair share. As protagonists, they are fully capable of taking up the quest and tracking it to a satisfactory conclusion. As support or pivotal characters, they materially assist the protagonist in carrying out the narrative mission. In stock or bit parts, librarian character embellish the library setting to establish the filmic feature of place, and demonstrate the relevancy of the profession when enacting the provision of library services. The label of librarian is potent because it comes packaged with cultural references and sets up viewer expectations. Walker and Lawson (1993) are quoted in Section 1.1 as stating, "Changing a librarian into, say a lawyer or a doctor, changes the story" (p. 19), and intuitively this would appear to be a true statement. When films in the research sample were examined to see if the librarian symbol might be so dominant that audience expectations by necessity must relate specifically to librarianship in order to fully understand the narrative, this much became evident: Walker and Lawson are not

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always right. Yes, the audience derives meaning by comparing librarian characters to what they "know" of librarian traits and behaviors through personal experience or cultural indoctrination, accurate or not, and if librarian tasks are the primary function of a role (e.g., checking out a book), such recognition is critical for recognizing what is happening onscreen. Films like Chainsaw Sally (2004) clearly rely on the audience being attuned to the public image of librarian in order to fully "get" what's going on, as did the majority of films in the sample. When librarians enact major roles, however, and must carry their librarian label away from the worksite, they amass additional features that are not indexical codes unique to librarian, thereby diffusing the label. For example, the female librarian leads in Peeping Tom (1960), Twisted Nerve (1968), The War of the Worlds (1953), and Weird Woman (1944) are all fully faceted figures whose roles are colored by viewers' understanding of their occupation (indicative of intelligence or naïveté), but the roles themselves are not immersed in librarianship. Because other professions share indexical codes with librarian, these four characters could, in fact, be relabeled as teachers with no loss of narrative content.10 Preacher's children's are also drawn onscreen to be innocent and naïve, and members of other occupations are branded as intelligent, resourceful, and uncool. So while the librarian filter enhances the understanding of particular film characters, and is critical to the full comprehension and appreciation of most narratives in which they appear, its descriptors are diverse and plentiful so that the label of librarian can be a creative choice, not a dictate based on function. That filmmakers have latitude in the design of their characters as they relate to their jobs is demonstrated by these and many other films in the research sample. There appears to be some choice in the application of degrees of librarian-ness to characters in amounts appropriate to their particular narratives. The symbol of librarian is strong but not necessarily smothering. Some major librarian characters in the sample films are

10 The character of Sylvia Van Buren in The War of the Worlds (1953) is a professor of library science and thus has a foot in both camps. This overlap is also seen in the fantasy film The 7 Faces of Dr. Lao 1964) where Barbara Eden plays a repressed librarian with sexual issues, although the parallel character in Charles G. Finney's 1935 novel (The Circus of Dr. Lao) from which the film was adapted is an English teacher. These occupations share enough indexical codes to make both women's traits and behaviors believable. The teacher stereotype was not as strong when the film was produced decades later, and this might well be the reason the filmmaker changed the character's occupation to librarian to maintain a specific perception by the audience.

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more tightly wrapped in the index of librarian because it is ingrained within woof and warp of the narrative. Examples are the socially inept loner in The Tell-Tale Heart (1960), the nerdy young men in Mindkiller (1987), the elderly father in Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983), the forlorn alcoholic in The Attic (1980), and even the spirited adventuress in The Mummy (1999). Changing these professions would change the story because of compelling occupational signifiers, and their narrative purposes clearly rely on familiarity with the librarian label.

5.4 Denouement

The librarian stereotype as it appears in the mass media continues to be a subject of interest to the profession and an object of academic focus. Emphasis on the appearance and behaviors of librarians in cinema has to date ignored the reasons filmmakers include librarian roles in their projects and the purposes they serve within stories. Tevis and Tevis (2005) catalog and describe hundreds of librarian characters in a century of Hollywood films, but fail to examine their narrative contributions. The current qualitative study takes a first step toward addressing this void by identifying filmic functions served by librarian characters featured in a sample of narrative realist horror films, exploring their impact and identifying those aspects of librarianship that give the profession narrative value. The library literature generally stuffs the many descriptors of its occupational symbol into a single box called "stereotype" without acknowledging the numerous contradictions that violate Lippmann's construct. To have multiple stereotypes is to have no stereotype at all, just variations on a theme. This research supports the notion of viewing the librarian image as an index in Peircean terms such that its indexical signifiers are free to describe librarians as young or old, male or female, sexually repressed or flirtatious—just a few of many attributes observed in the sample that filmmakers found useful for designing artistic roles. These characters then fulfilled a predetermined narrative purpose, the driving force that generates action and movement without which a tale would prove languid and uninteresting. This research successfully argues that librarian roles within the narrative realist horror film genre are relevant and noteworthy, that each character demonstrates

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reasons for "being there," that librarian characters can support drama and excitement, and that the profession has reason to embrace its symbol's contributions to the cinema.

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APPENDIX

PLOT SUMMARIES OF SAMPLE FILMS

The following abbreviated summaries of 30 horror films in the research sample concentrate on librarian characters. Genre categories as indicated are designated by the Internet Movie Database website.11

 Amityville II: The Possession (1982, horror) Mrs. Greer, Amityville Archivist (minor character) When a rented house in Amityville, New York, is the site of violence and death for successive families, a priest turns to Mrs. Greer and the town archives to learn that the home's violent history explains the evil happenings.

 The Attic (1980, drama-thriller-horror) (See also The Killing Kind, below) Louise Elmore, Head Librarian, Public Library (protagonist); Emily, Assistant Librarian (pivotal character); Donald (bit part); Unnamed female librarian (bit part) After 19 years, alcoholic librarian Louise Elmore is dismissed from her library job for setting a pile of books on fire, a long time fantasy. In her forties and doomed to spinsterhood because she must care for her emotionally abusive father, Louise is depressed and angry, hating her life, hating her job. She feels responsible for her father being confined to a wheelchair, and only at the end of the film learns that he has been faking his disability. She also learns that he killed her fiancé on their wedding day and hid the body in the attic. Before suffering a total mental breakdown, she saves her young friend Emily from following a similar path in life.

 Blade (1998, action-horror-thriller) Pearl the Record Keeper, Archivist (minor character)

11 http://imdb.com, as of March 31, 2010.

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Adapted from a comic book, the film follows the dark and mysterious Blade as he tracks and slaughters urban vampires. He infiltrates their underground lair in search of The Book of Erebus and translation data, and confronts the grossly obese and naked archivist. When Pearl the Record Keeper refuses to answer questions, he is tortured to death by UV light. Blade steals the computer's hard drive, and participates in a battle that destroys the book.

 Chainsaw Sally (2004, horror-comedy) Sally Diamon, Librarian, Public Library (protagonist); George, Library Clerk (bit part) After young Sally and her brother witness their parents' bloody slaying, they raise themselves in a grim fantasy world, dressing in outlandish costumes, reenacting horror films, and murdering people in gruesome ways. Now grown, Sally is the picture of the stereotypical librarian, but away from work she dons goth outfits and violently tortures and murders anyone who breaks library rules or otherwise insults or crosses her. In her mind she is Batman, destroying bad people with justification. When a developer and the mayor plan to develop her family's land, Sally pins their deaths on the nephew who inherited.

 Christine (1983, drama-fantasy-horror-mystery-thriller) Unnamed Female High School Librarian (minor character) In Rockbridge, California, 1978, a high school loser fixes up a 1958 Plymouth Fury named Christine and together they pursue and kill his enemies. The high school librarian is seen early in the film as an example of the many authority figures that torment teenagers with rules and expectations of obedience. The library serves as the first meeting place between major characters, and the librarian demands proper behavior in her domain.

 The Church (aka La Chiesa, Italy, 1989, dubbed, fantasy-horror) Evan, Librarian, Church Cataloguer (protagonist) A young man hired to catalog the library of an historic church becomes obsessed with translating an old parchment and exploring the architecture. When he digs through the church floor, Evan releases ancient evil and is possessed by a demon. In his horrific

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new guise, he rapes the church's art restorer during a satanic ritual. All the many possessed victims die when the church's self-destruct mechanism is triggered.

 Curse of the Demon (aka Night of the Demon, United Kingdom, 1957, b&w, fantasy-horror-mystery) Unnamed Male Librarian, British Museum (minor character) An American scientist comes to England to prove that a powerful cult is founded on superstition. When he consults the British Museum in search of a 400-year-old book about witches and demons, he is told by the chagrined librarian that the title is missing. The cult's leader appears and offers his personal copy. Their clash of ideologies becomes a battle of wits, while a giant demon picks off enemies with stealth and steam.

 Dark Remains (2005, horror) Unnamed Female Librarian, Public Library (minor character) After the brutal unsolved murder of their child, a Georgia couple rent a home in the mountains to get away from the press and the public. Mysterious events in and around the house send the husband to the local library for answers. There he meets the unhelpful redheaded librarian who judges him as the likely killer of his own child. When he asks for past issues of the local newspaper, she abandons him in an enormous warehouse of boxes to fend for himself. Later she does share some local lore that helps. Despite a haunted house and people dying, the wife will not leave because she sees the ghost of their daughter, leading to tragedy and redemption.

 The Fog (2005, horror-mystery-thriller) Mr. Latham, Museum Curator/Librarian (minor but pivotal character) A thriving Oregon island town owes its success to the despicable deeds of its four founding fathers, but their victims rise up with the fog and decimate the town. The ghosts target descendents of the four men, especially Mr. Latham, curator of the museum that holds a reference section with books, card catalog and library table, and whose ancestor wrote the journal that describes the greed that led to the slaughter of whole families. The museum is destroyed and Mr. Latham is incinerated in the town cemetery.

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 The Forgotten (2004, horror-mystery-science fiction-thriller) Unnamed Female Library Clerk (minor character) A woman's only son is killed with other children in a plane crash. As she relentlessly enforces memories of the boy, she realizes that evidence of his life is disappearing. Other people try to convince her she never had a child but she is determined to prove them wrong. In researching the plane accident, she turns to a sympathetic librarian who helps her with the microfiche machine and confirms that newspaper articles no longer exist about the crash. The mother partners with another parent but when he loses memories of his daughter, she fights alone to defeat a cruel force with the power of maternal love.

 Frankenstein (2004, TV-to-video, horror-mystery-science fiction) Nancy Whistler, Librarian, Public Library (minor character) A lovely Louisiana library is the scene of a horrific murder where the security guard is carved up and his heart removed. The librarian who finds the body is interviewed by the police in the restroom where she cannot stop vomiting. She describes the victim as a creep, and an autopsy shows he had too many organs. Police learn that the Frankenstein story is based on fact, and some of the man-made creatures still live among us.

 From a Whisper to a Scream (aka The Offspring, 1987, action-drama-horror- thriller) Julian White, Town Librarian/Historian (structural anchor) The Oldfield, Tennessee, library is an historic house where the librarians live during their tenures. Julian White, the current librarian, is a stately Southern gentleman immersed in town lore. When an insolent reporter bursts in on him one evening after his niece is executed for being a murderer, he reluctantly bares the town's soul and his theory that Oldfield itself instills evil in everyone within its borders. This set-up provides the frame for four short, otherwise unrelated horror films, an artificial continuity. Before, between, and after the films, Mr. White talks to the reporter, showing her documents. At the end, when the reporter fatally knifes the librarian, his final words assert this act is proof of his thesis.

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 Grave of the Vampire (1974, horror) Miss Fenwick, Librarian, Public Library (minor character) In this modern day horror film, a vampire's son seeks to destroy his father, a professor, despite his own struggle against unholy urges. A young lady in the vampire's class is also curious and has uncovered interesting historical information in a book. Concerned, he visits a library and attempts to check out the book, but is prevented by the librarian who insists that it is a reference brook. Miss Fenwick is a former model, still lovely, and when she suddenly behaves with an enticing come-hither gaze while releasing her hair, he assumes she wants favors in exchange for the book. When she still refuses, he kills her. He, in turn, is defeated by his son, but not before he imparts a horrible curse.

 House by the Cemetery (aka Quella villa accanto al cimitero, 1981, Italy, dubbed, horror) Daniel Douglas, Librarian; Mr. Wheatley, Library Supervisor, Public Library (minor characters) A researcher's family moves into a house with a history of bloody and mysterious deaths while he tries to learn what happened to the former researcher who killed his mistress before hanging himself in the library. The researcher receives help from two librarians as he traces the first man's activities. The house has a sordid history and a monster in the basement that needs fresh human cells to stay alive.

 I, Madman (1989, horror) Marian, Librarian, Public Library (minor character) A bookshop clerk is engrossed by two old horror novels, but not when one book's monster comes to life and kills people. A clue leads police to the public library, where a librarian is prepped to be set up as bait, a plan thwarted when she faints. The film's protagonist takes her place, but the clue is a red herring. The actual clash of book monsters occurs in the attic of the bookshop.

 Stephen King's It (1990, TV mini-series to video, drama-horror-mystery-thriller) Mike Hanlon, Head Librarian, Public Library (pivotal character); Female Librarian (minor character) Mike Hanlon manages a public library in the dying industrial town of Derry where he grew up. As a child tormented by bullies, he banded with other children to form the

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Losers Club (aka "The Lucky Seven"). When children in town are viciously murdered, they find that together they have the power to defeat it. Thirty years later, Mike is the only one of the group still living in Derry. Once again children are disappearing or their bodies are found mysteriously mutilated. With little enthusiasm and even more fear, the Lucky Seven, now strangers, resume their roles as Derry's unlikely protectorates.

 The Killing Kind (1973, crime-drama-horror-thriller) (See also The Attic, above.) Louise, Librarian, Public Library (minor but pivotal character) A young rapist released from prison returns to his mother's boarding house to resume a perverse mother-son dynamic that ends in multiple murders. A lonely, alcoholic librarian and her abusive father live next door overlooking the boarding house pool. Louise actively spies on the neighbors, and even attempts to seduce the rapist but is soundly rebuffed. With great satisfaction she reports the killers to police.

 Mindkiller (1987, horror) Warren McDaniels, Librarian (protagonist); Larry Bicket, Librarian (central character); Mr. Townsend, Library Director (minor character) Warren and Larry work in the subbasement library archives, one a loser the other a geek, and neither can attract women. When Warren finds a manuscript article that teaches mind control, he quickly learns how to make objects—and people—do his bidding. His new girlfriend does not like him and he rejects help from his friends. The power eventually consumes him and his body bloats and his head erupts vile monsters. In self defense his friends are forced to kill him.

 The Mummy (1999, action-adventure-comedy-fantasy-horror-thriller) Evelyn Carnahan, Museum Librarian (female lead) Librarian Evie Carnahan is intelligent and educated but earns little respect until her curiosity makes her coerce a handsome adventurer into leading the search for a lost Egyptian city. Her knowledge, wit and bravery make her a valuable partner and quirky love interest as they fight supernatural ancient forces and search for two mystical books. Just as she inadvertently brings to life an ancient nemesis, she is instrumental in defeating it with her intellect.

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 The Off Season (2004, horror) Kathryn Bennett, Library Assistant, Public Library (female lead); Claudette, Librarian (supporting character); Unnamed Male Librarian (bit part) An aspiring playwright and his girlfriend move to a seaside town during the off season, but are set upon by ghosts and hallucinations related to the room's evil history. Kathryn works part time at the library where she is befriended by Claudette, and they remain friends even after Kathryn is dismissed. Kathryn is later possessed and becomes a best-selling author despite her zombie demeanor.

 Peeping Tom (1960, crime-drama-horror-thriller) Helen Stephens, Children's Librarian (female lead) A reclusive film photographer is befriended by his young downstairs tenant, a children's librarian who asks for his help illustrating her first children's book. He reluctantly agrees and slowly opens himself up to her unrelenting inquisitiveness. Helen's blind mother realizes first that there is something strange about their landlord, who is killing women and filming their deaths close up. Helen comes to understand his perversions, as he was systematically tortured as a child by his scientific father. When the police close in he commits suicide rather than harm his only friend.

 The Pink Chiquitas (Canadian, 1987, comedy-horror-science fiction) Mary Ann Kowalski, Librarian (female lead) This parody of science fiction-horror films has a pink meteor crashing into earth and turning women into sex maniacs. Mary Ann is the epitome of the 1950s church lady until exposed to Betty, after which she dresses in skimpy costumes and organizes the women to take over the town. Her overbearing boyfriend works hard to defeat the meteor and return the women to normal, but now has a new respect for his girlfriend.

 Something Wicked This Way Comes (1983, drama-family-fantasy-horror- mystery) Charles Halloway, Head Librarian, Public Library (central character) The librarian is an older gentleman who nearly lost his son in a drowning accident when Halloway froze up and couldn't help, but the child is saved by the drunk next door. A few years later, still burdened by guilt, the librarian must face down his inner demons to

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save his child and the entire town from the clutches of Mr. Dark and his traveling carnival that prey on people's fears.

 The Tell-Tale Heart (United Kingdom, 1960, b&w, crime-horror-mystery-thriller) Edgar Marsh, Reference Librarian, Public Library (protagonist) Marsh is a lonely man who has no social skills with women. He is respected as a librarian, but is emotionally immature. When a young woman moves in across the street, he spies into her bedroom while viewing French post cards, and when she is polite and allows him to escort her out a few times, he believes they are a couple and jealousy protects the imagined relationship. When he sees her bed his best friend, he kills the friend and buries his body beneath his parlor floor. Guilt sets off fear as he hears a beating heart and other amplified sounds around his home. The woman finally proves to police that there are grounds for her dark suspicions. Driven mad by the sounds only he can hear, Marsh flings himself off a balcony.

 Transylvania Twist (1990, comedy-horror) Ephram Ward, Librarian, Public Library (minor but pivotal character) Dexter's Uncle Ephram has accidentally checked out a rare book to a patron and it must be retrieved because its incantations have the power to summon forth The Evil One. In this silly spoof of vampire films, Dexter and friends go to Transylvania and meet a vampire hunter and Count Orlock and do battle with supernatural beings before ultimately destroying the book.

 Twisted Nerve (United Kingdom, 1968, crime-horror-thriller-drama) Susan Harper, Library Assistant, Public Library (female lead); Mr. Groom, Librarian (minor character) Young, pretty Susan Harper is a college student who assists in a library. She is befriended by a young man she believes to be developmentally stunted. He moves into her mother's boarding house where he manipulates people and spreads evil all the while working to get closer to the girl. He torments Susan's library supervisor, acting rude and calling him names. Once Susan realizes the pretense, she is beaten and nearly raped.

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 The War of the Worlds (1953, action-horror-science fiction-thriller) Sylvia Van Buren, Prof. of Library Science (female lead) When the earth is attacked by Martians, a library school professor works along with soldiers and scientists to find a solution and stay ahead of the mayhem. She finds love among the rubble with a famous scientist, and together they help where and when they can as their world crumbles around them.

 Weird Woman (1944, b&w, horror-mystery-romance) Ilona Carr, College Librarian (female lead) Miss Carr is a classy and well respected college librarian whose jealousy pits her against the new wife of the man she covets. She uses her intelligence to manipulate others in the tight-knit community and pit them against each other. The result is death and despair until they realize what is happening, at which point her former friends create a librarian voodoo doll and drive Miss Carr to suicide.

 The Wicker Man (United Kingdom, 1973, drama-horror-mystery-thriller) Unnamed Female Librarian (minor character) The beautiful librarian is one of three blondes who play games with the police inspector sent to their secluded island to find a missing girl. The island is lush and beautiful, with a rich agricultural heritage, but the highly religious officer is appalled at the pagan rituals and open sexuality of the islanders. Being true to his own morals makes him easy prey for their manipulations, as the residents ensnare him in a trap that ends with his being sacrificed to the gods in an attempt to reverse recent crop failures.

 Wilderness (United Kingdom, 1996, film edited from TV mini-series, drama- thriller-horror) Alice White, University Librarian (protagonist); Serena, Librarian (supporting character) Alice White is young, shy and needy, but refuses to establish close ties to men because every month since age 13 she turns into a wolf during the full moon. Her life is structured around those few days each month she spends trapped in her basement out of control. She is attracted to a man who seems open-minded, but her secret drives him away. An expert on wolves introduces her to a sanctuary where a wolf pack lives in the wild, and aids in her assimilation to a completely new existence.

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163

BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH

Antoinette G. Graham

Antoinette G. Graham was born and raised in Detroit, Michigan, and lived in Chicago and upstate New York before moving to Florida in 1984. She holds a B.A. in political science from Grand Valley State University (Allendale, Michigan), and an MLIS degree from the University of South Florida. After eight years as a union stagehand in southwest Florida, Antoinette took up library work in central Florida, first in the public library system, then a community college, and later for the Department of Corrections in a men's medium-security correctional institution. The prison library job proved interesting and rewarding, addressing the information needs of a neglected special population. This experience led her to establish a nonprofit corporation that extends reference, research and referral services to inmates and transitioning offenders, improving their chances for successful reentry into their communities. Since 2004 Antoinette has maintained a website that reviews librarian characters in the cinema and continues to add films new and old that she can personally review. As a hobby she writes papers about librarians in films for popular culture conferences, and plans to return soon to writing and publishing fiction. Antoinette has two grown children, a tow-headed grandson, and a husband who doesn't agree that defenestration is the best way to solve computer problems. She has attained her dream of living in the country with a house full of animals, enjoys feeding critters in the yard, and relentlessly works to overcome her lack of a green thumb. She aspires to be the community's crazy cat lady, much to the dismay of her old Louisiana catahoula leopard dog.

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