Let Me Be Frank with You: Subjective Perspective and Gameplay Presence in Maniac

1

Matthew Monagle – Pro-Seminar on Film Theory (Spring 2015)

Let Me Be Frank with You:

Subjective Perspective and Gameplay Presence in Maniac

In 2012 French filmmaker Franck Khalfoun directed Maniac, a remake of the 1980

horror film that combined the voyeuristic elements of Halloween with the Freudian psychology

of Psycho. The new film received a great deal of critical attention due to the unconventional

casting of fan favorite Elijah Wood and Khalfoun’s decision to shoot the film almost entirely

from the subjective perspective. The former received praise; the latter, derision, as Khalfoun’s

“gimmick” became just another piece of aesthetic trickery meant to elevate middling material.

Critics panned the film as “an irritating attempt to turn the complexities of a damaged psyche

into a pure visceral experience” (Tobias 2013) or, quite simply, “stomach-churning” (Lucca

2013).

While the film is not without its faults, a closer examination of Khalfoun’s Maniac

reveals an ambitious new media text that benefits from the combined use of film and video game

theory on immersion. In examining how both versions of Maniac ask their audiences to respond

to the subjective perspective of its schizophrenic antihero—and the ergodic concepts of

immersion and control this perspective elicits—we might places these films in their proper

context as two of the more innovative horror films from the last fifty years.

Subjective Perspective and Virtual Presence

In his essay on the first-person shooter, author Alexander Galloway describes the

subjective perspective as the merging between the camera and the character “both visually and

subjectively” (40); this allows the viewer to see “exactly what the character sees, as if the camera

‘eye’ were the same as the character ‘I’” (ibid). This technique of combined character and

audience subjectivities is certainly not unique to Maniac; the practice of subjective perspective in

2


feature length cinema dates back to Hollywood noir of the 1940s, with Dark Passage

(1947) and Lady in the Lake (1946) early features that used this perspective extensively

(Galloway 43).

While this technique continues to thrive in the realm of horror films—particularly

with the subjective perspective adopted in found-footage horror—it is typically regarded

as an aberration within traditional cinematography. The subjective perspective mimics

the aesthetics of a controllable camera while not actually giving viewers agency; this

creates an uncomfortable tension between what audiences feel they should be able to do

and what they are actually capable of doing. Galloway describes the subjective first

person in films as “an impotent form of camcorder playback sans joystick . . . the best

cinema can muster” (53). Film scholar Tanya Krzywinska agrees, noting that film cannot

match the subjective quality of video games through its inability to “exploit the potential

of interactive devices to intensify an awareness of the dynamic between being in control

and out of control” (19).

This argument is not meant to reduce the horror genre to a purely passive

experience, but rather to demonstrate the ways the genre is elevated when translated to an

interactive mode. This tension between agency and helplessness leads theorists such as

Krzywinska to declare video games as a superior medium for the horror genre; later in

her essay, Krzywinska argues that horror games provide “a more acute experience of

losing control” (20) as compared to horror films, with the player’s experience “enhanced

by the relative difference” (ibid) between self- and pre-determination. Since the death of

a player’s avatar is an outcome, not a form of engagement, the potential of the narrative

3


to suddenly yank control away from the player can heighten the emotional connection to a

player’s avatar in a way that ending gameplay cannot.

This dynamic between self- and pre-determination can even apply to players with direct

control over the virtual avatar. In his essay “The Myth of the Ergodic Videogame,” James

Newman argued that the relationship between control and immersion is not quite the zero-sum

game it is made out to be. Even when the “primary-player-character” is the one to actively

control the avatar within the digital space, the “secondary-player”—an observer without direct

control of the game avatar—can still experience the virtual “presence” that occurs when a person

focuses on the “contents of a representational system, rather than the system itself” (Newman).

Newman describes these secondary-players as “interested, engaged with the action, but not

actually exerting direct control through the interface” (ibid). In cinematic terms, these players

exist extradiegetically, but their engagement with the narrative is no less strong for their lack of

hands-on control.

Here, then, is a model that allows for a secondary-player—an inactive participant in the

control system of a video game—to establish a virtual presence, to engage with the contents of a

game without focusing on the mechanics of controlling the avatar. If we take this a step further,

can we not also apply the same secondary-player mechanic to the non-ergodic experience of

watching a horror film? In his essay on first-person horror games, Dan Pinchbeck identifies the

“optimum psychological state of play” (81) to allow for horror games to have their greatest

impact upon players. In this state, Pinchbeck argues, players utilize schema, described as

“generalized mental structures relating to stereotypical patterns of activity,” (80-81) to immerse

themselves in the narrative experience without thinking of the gameplay mechanics necessary for

the experience to occur. “By destabilizing our normal conceptual boundaries,” Pinchbeck

4


concludes, “. . . horror helps us forget the boundaries of the screen and plunge into the

diegesis, into the dark” (90). If a series of images evokes a familiar situation—for

example, a film that reminds us of the secondary-player activity of watching a horror

game—then we will immediately connect to the images in a manner familiar with us. We

treat the subjective perspective in cinema as if we are watching someone else play a

game.

In this manner, then, the subjective perspective in film is not simply a binary

process in which our sense of immersion rises and wanes in proportion to our sense of

control; it is a carefully constructed game-like environment that draws on our horror

experiences in both video games and film and constantly requires us to evaluate our

location in relation to the narrative and/or primary-player-character. It combines periods

of pure narrative immersion—where viewers can engage with the game’s story without

addressing their own lack of control—with periods of gameplay presence where we are

overcome by our inability to change the outcome. Therefore, a film like Maniac, which

echoes gameplay presence through its use of the subjective perspective, can be seen as

more immersive than a traditional horror film, not less.

Subjective Perspective in Maniac

To avoid making claims of the subjective perspective that are merely references to

the original film, it is important to briefly look at the use of camera in William Lustig’s

version of Maniac (1980). In the film’s opening scene, Frank Zito (Joe Spinell) places a

quarter in a tower viewer; the audience’s view is suddenly framed by the edge of the

binoculars as we look through his eyes, scanning the beachfront until we land upon a

5


couple laying together on the beach. Later, as Zito makes his halting approach toward the now-

alone young woman, our view is obstructed by the tall grass and shakes with the effort of moving

through the uneven sand. This difficulty in seeing helps separate Maniac’s subjective shot from

the more ubiquitous point-of-view shot; according to Edward Branigan, who writes on the

differences between the subjective and POV shots, the separation is “not so much that a character

sees something, but that he experiences difficulty in seeing” (56). Many scenes in Maniac occur

from the point of view of Zito, but this early shot is unique in its use of true subjective

perspective.

In fact, there is little in the original film that encourages the adaptation of Maniac out of

the third person. As Zito stalks and murders his victims, the camera never ventures back into

Zito’s head, standing outside the action and satisfying itself with the audience’s inability to affect

the violence that appears on-screen. Again we reference Krzywinska’s essay on horror films

where she refers to this type of horror as the prototypical source of the film genre’s power,

noting that audience members “cannot intervene in the trajectory of events” and therefore take

their pleasure in the “awareness of the inevitability of the events that will unfold” (19). Even

more than most horror films, Maniac revels in its audience’s impotence, with Zito regularly

pretending to be a friend or customer of his victims before killing them in a moment of intimacy.

The prostitute is killed immediately following her relief at not having to engage in intercourse;

the model is stabbed after Zito both pretends to return a missing item and then promises he has

no interest in killing her.

6


Frank Zito Addresses the Camera in Maniac (1980)

Only one scene in the original Maniac seems to hint at the potential of second-

player subjectivity delivered in the remake. After watching a special on the nightly news

detailing the NYPD’s search for a serial killer, Zito begins to reflect aloud on the

murders. At first, we assume that Zito is speaking to himself; as the camera tracks around

his bed, another one of Zito’s grotesque mannequins is revealed, and we suppose that

Zito is speaking to whatever—or whomever—the mannequin represents. Finally, for a

brief moment, the camera’s movement stops directly in Zito’s eyeline. “Fancy girls in

their fancy dresses,” Zito says with a moan. “But you stop them, don’t you? I can’t stop

them. But you do, don’t you?” In this moment, we, the audience, become more than just

the second-player observer: we are actively engaged in the diegesis as one of the

disembodied voices in Zito’s head.

The idea that we become a dark passenger in Frank Zito’s head is the driving

force behind the subjective perspective in Khalfoun’s adaptation of Maniac. By placing

7


us behind the eyes of a sympathetic serial killer, Khalfoun is leveraging the best aspects of both

control—through the use of secondary-player presence as we prowl industrial Los Angeles with

Frank—and helplessness. This version of Frank is not as grotesque as his progenitor; actor Elijah

Wood is no match for the wheezing bulk of original actor Joe Spinell, and he wisely chooses to

emphasize Frank’s sense of isolation from the world around him. We observe the dismissive

glances and suspicious looks of those around Frank; we even join in his hallucination as a

restaurant seems to pause as one and sneer at Frank while he is on a date. At this point, we as the

audience have given ourselves over to our virtual presence as Frank; we cannot help but engage

with the hostile world around Frank as if it were reacting to us as well. Although we may not

exert any direct control over the filmic space of Maniac, as Pinchbeck argues, “If it looks,

sounds and feels enough like a game, and we know how to play games, we do not have to learn

the system all over again” (82). We have unconsciously adapted to the subjective perspective of

the film.

Take an early scene where Frank, having gone on a successful date with Lucie (Megan

Duffy), is invited back to her place for a drink. Frank’s anxiety prevents him from taking charge

of any of his interactions with Lucie; as a result, we share in his sense of being helpless as she

tries to seduce him. Frank’s passivity is used throughout the film as a means to help establish the

viewer’s presence. By limiting his responses to others—having Frank sit when he is told to sit or

touch what he is prompted to touch—Khalfoun is encouraging his audiences to think less about

the subjective perspective and more about interacting with the environment at the content level.

This creates an environment where the primary player (Frank) and the secondary player (the

audience) find synchronicity through the limiting of choice, aligning both the cinematic and

8


ergodic and “diagetically justifying a formalized set of behaviors that are defined by the

system, not the player” (Pinchbeck 87).

The Camera Switches to the Third-Person in Maniac (2013)

Even the brief moments of third-person camera perspective in Maniac only

reinforce the dynamic between audience and subjective perspective. In one such scene,

Frank chases and wounds a woman in an empty parking lot. As he stands over her, ready

to deliver the killing blow, the camera—which has remained locked to its subjective

perspective throughout the chase—slowly pulls away from the character. Frank kills the

woman and rocks back in pure ecstasy; the camera observes his reaction, giving us an

objective view of his adult face—typically seen in reflections or in flashbacks to himself

as a child—for the first time in the film.

Why show Frank if the goal is to create an immersive and subjective cinematic

experience? Even though the experience of the film is non-ergodic, the audience has

applied the familiar schemata of the first-person shooter to assume some sense of control.

We can reject the actions of the primary-player-character—in this case, the murderous

Frank—and overlay his actions with our own morality system. By discarding the

9


subjective perspective and interrupting our sense of presence, forcing us to interact with the text

on the system level, Khalfoun has, in essence, inserted his own cinematic cutscene into the film.

He wrests control away from the secondary-player and asserts the control, reminding audiences

that a “metaphysical ‘authorial’ force is at work,” shaping the internal logic of the film

(Krzywinska 16). Much like in a video game, the choices by Khalfoun allow Maniac to use

control or lack thereof as a means of bringing horror audiences more deeply into the diegesis.

Conclusion

By introducing a fully subjective perspective to the horror film, Khalfoun demonstrates a

degree of intertextuality that can be leveraged to make Maniac a particularly effective horror

experience. As a horror film alone, Maniac can provide us with the visceral experience of

stalking our prey; this is a common practice in the horror genre, one that emphasizes “aggressive

action, forward movement, and onscreen violence” (Galloway 50). However, when confronted

with a system that looks and feels like a video game, savvy audience members will engage with

the text in a similar manner as the secondary-player; they will adopt a virtual presence that

connects with the film environment not on the system level but on the content level alongside

Frank.

10


Branigan, Edward. Point of View in the Cinema: A Theory of Narration and Subjectivity in

Classical Film. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter GmbH, 1984. Web.

Galloway, Alexander R. Gaming: Essays on Algorithmic Culture. Minneapolis: University of

Minnesota Press, 2006. 39–69. Web.

Krzywinska, Tanya. “Hands-On Horror.” Spectator 22.2 (2002): 12–23. Web.

Lucca, Violet. “Review: Maniac.” Film Comment. Film Society at Lincoln Center. Web. 21 June

2013.

Maniac. Dir. Franck Khalfoun. IFC Midnight, 2013. Film.

Maniac. Dir. William Lustig. Blue Underground, 1981. Film.

Newman, James. “The Myth of the Ergodic Videogame.” The International Journal of Video

Game Research 2.1 (2002). Web.

Pinchbeck, Dan. “Shock, Horror: First-Person Gaming, Horror, and the Art of Ludic

Manipulation.” Horror Video Games: Essays on the Fusion of Fear and Play. Ed. Bernard

Perron. Jefferson: McFarland & Company Inc., Publishers, 2009. Web.

Tobias, Scott. “Maniac.” The Dissolve. Pitchfork Media, Inc. Web. 10 July 2013.

Let Me Be Frank with You: Subjective Perspective and Gameplay Presence in Maniac

Documents