We have one in almost every bathroom, most hallways, even some living and dining rooms. They make a gorgeous illusory addition to our homes. They stare back at us when we shave and put our make-up on every morning, and say nothing of our silly doodles on their foggy post-shower surfaces.
Mirrors are something that we have come to know and accept as another in a long line of mundane fixtures in our lives and physical spaces, and most of us probably don't think about them much at all. However, despite the utter banality of their existence and presence, somehow they have become an easily recognized and even anticipated horror movie stock trope.
From the slew of popular Japanese horror films (and their Hollywood remakes) to the updated versions of When a Stranger Calls and The Omen, and countless others, the mirror trick of revealing the monster behind the victim has become a staple of the genre. Whenever the helpless unsuspecting teenage girl walks into a bathroom, opens the medicine cabinet, rifles around a bit, and closes it, we know the scare is coming before she even begins. It's become so common that some films use it as a fake scare--when the audience thinks they know what's coming and is wrong.
See for yourself!
Mirrors aren't only in horror films, either. Sometimes they become part of our pop-culture and upbringing, like the "Bloody Mary" ritual popular with elementary and middle school kids. The act of "looking into the crystal ball" in fortune-telling is also a common popular concept of reflection. There's a nice little summary of superstitions regarding mirrors here.
So what is it about mirrors that makes them so scary? Why are they consistently used in film and other media, especially in conjunction with aspects of the supernatural?
Mirrors play the interesting role of showing equal parts sameness and opposite-ness. The metaphor as well as physical image is used in both manners with equal understanding and justification. Often it is said that mirrors can only reveal what is true or what is real in its surface, reflecting the sameness of reality. However, there is simultaneously the belief that mirrors reveal what lies beyond mere reflection, reveals the "opposite" of our world--the spiritual or supernatural world--which lies hidden. The equality of these seemingly contradictory beliefs is what gives credence to the presence of the supernatural in film and well as literature.
Mirrors can also act as a metaphor for transition or passage from one world or phase to the next. When used in conjunction with its dualist nature, the mirror acts as a perfect portal through which the supernatural or "unreal" bridges the gap into the real world. This metaphor can also be tangible, as in Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking-Glass.
This trend didn't start with the horror trope we know so well, however. Mirrors have always been a means of self-identity in various forms and to varying degrees as far back as the time of the Ancient Greeks, but of particular interest is its relation to sexual identity and self-discovery in women. Considering how many horror flicks (especially of the slasher subgenre) make use of heavy-handed sexual imagery and just plain sex, this isn't entirely surprising, but what is surprising is the trope's potential origins in the well-known widely-read feminist manifesto, Jane Eyre.
The Red-Room and Physical Maturity
So what is it about mirrors that makes them so scary? Why are they consistently used in film and other media, especially in conjunction with aspects of the supernatural?
Mirrors play the interesting role of showing equal parts sameness and opposite-ness. The metaphor as well as physical image is used in both manners with equal understanding and justification. Often it is said that mirrors can only reveal what is true or what is real in its surface, reflecting the sameness of reality. However, there is simultaneously the belief that mirrors reveal what lies beyond mere reflection, reveals the "opposite" of our world--the spiritual or supernatural world--which lies hidden. The equality of these seemingly contradictory beliefs is what gives credence to the presence of the supernatural in film and well as literature.
Possibly one of the most popular horror film mirror scenes, from Stanley Kubrick's The Shining. Notice how the writing is nonsensical until looked at through a mirror, revealing its truth.
Mirrors can also act as a metaphor for transition or passage from one world or phase to the next. When used in conjunction with its dualist nature, the mirror acts as a perfect portal through which the supernatural or "unreal" bridges the gap into the real world. This metaphor can also be tangible, as in Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking-Glass.This trend didn't start with the horror trope we know so well, however. Mirrors have always been a means of self-identity in various forms and to varying degrees as far back as the time of the Ancient Greeks, but of particular interest is its relation to sexual identity and self-discovery in women. Considering how many horror flicks (especially of the slasher subgenre) make use of heavy-handed sexual imagery and just plain sex, this isn't entirely surprising, but what is surprising is the trope's potential origins in the well-known widely-read feminist manifesto, Jane Eyre.
The Red-Room and Physical Maturity
The Red-Room scene of Charlotte Bronte's Jane Eyre is one of many iconic supernatural scenes in the novel. The supernatural in general tends to parallel Jane's developments from innocent fiery girlhood into mature independent womanhood. This scene, which takes place when Jane is only 10 years old, is the first time the supernatural reveals itself in the story.
Young Jane Eyre is imprisoned in the Red-Room after being (falsely) accused by her aunt, Mrs. Reed, of striking her cousin in a sudden fit of boyish rage. Two servants, Abbot and Bessie, escort her to the room and lock it.
The room itself is ripe with color-coded sexual imagery:
The room itself is ripe with color-coded sexual imagery:
The red-room was a square chamber, very seldom slept in, I might say
never, indeed, unless when a chance influx of visitors at Gateshead
Hall rendered it necessary to turn to account all the accommodation
it contained: yet it was one of the largest and stateliest chambers
in the mansion. A bed supported on massive pillars of mahogany,
hung with curtains of deep red damask, stood out like a tabernacle
in the centre; the two large windows, with their blinds always drawn
down, were half shrouded in festoons and falls of similar drapery;
the carpet was red; the table at the foot of the bed was covered
with a crimson cloth; the walls were a soft fawn colour with a blush
of pink in it; the wardrobe, the toilet-table, the chairs were of
darkly polished old mahogany. Out of these deep surrounding shades
rose high, and glared white, the piled-up mattresses and pillows of
the bed, spread with a snowy Marseilles counterpane. Scarcely less
prominent was an ample cushioned easy-chair near the head of the
bed, also white, with a footstool before it; and looking, as I
thought, like a pale throne.
never, indeed, unless when a chance influx of visitors at Gateshead
Hall rendered it necessary to turn to account all the accommodation
it contained: yet it was one of the largest and stateliest chambers
in the mansion. A bed supported on massive pillars of mahogany,
hung with curtains of deep red damask, stood out like a tabernacle
in the centre; the two large windows, with their blinds always drawn
down, were half shrouded in festoons and falls of similar drapery;
the carpet was red; the table at the foot of the bed was covered
with a crimson cloth; the walls were a soft fawn colour with a blush
of pink in it; the wardrobe, the toilet-table, the chairs were of
darkly polished old mahogany. Out of these deep surrounding shades
rose high, and glared white, the piled-up mattresses and pillows of
the bed, spread with a snowy Marseilles counterpane. Scarcely less
prominent was an ample cushioned easy-chair near the head of the
bed, also white, with a footstool before it; and looking, as I
thought, like a pale throne.
The room itself serves several purposes, including representing Jane's passions and anger at her wrongful imprisonment, but more importantly it represents her forced acknowledgment of physical maturity, especially given her age. The contrast of the majestic throne-like pillar of white linens (her innocence) surrounded by a sea of deep red (blood) directly relates to Jane's impending puberty, and her imprisonment, especially by older matured women, forces her to acknowledge and accept this duty as a woman to undergo menstruation and puberty, rendering her a fertile and “true” woman. For a girl as young and tormented as Jane, this experience is something she has no knowledge of either personally or vicariously through those older than her; she must instead bear it alone and learn to live with her burgeoning maturity as best she can. This room is a test of her resolve and endurance of this transition.
As Jane stands to pace across the room, she passes the mirror across from the bed and gazes at herself, thinking her image to be an apparition of some sort:
As Jane stands to pace across the room, she passes the mirror across from the bed and gazes at herself, thinking her image to be an apparition of some sort:
. . .to my left were the muffled windows; a great looking-glass
between them repeated the vacant majesty of the bed and room. . .
Returning, I had to cross before the looking-glass; my fascinated
glance involuntarily explored the depth it revealed. All looked
colder and darker in that visionary hollow than in reality: and the
strange little figure there gazing at me, with a white face and arms
specking the gloom, and glittering eyes of fear moving where all
else was still, had the effect of a real spirit: I thought it like
one of the tiny phantoms, half fairy, half imp, Bessie's evening
stories represented as coming out of lone, ferny dells in moors, and
appearing before the eyes of belated travellers.
Returning, I had to cross before the looking-glass; my fascinated
glance involuntarily explored the depth it revealed. All looked
colder and darker in that visionary hollow than in reality: and the
strange little figure there gazing at me, with a white face and arms
specking the gloom, and glittering eyes of fear moving where all
else was still, had the effect of a real spirit: I thought it like
one of the tiny phantoms, half fairy, half imp, Bessie's evening
stories represented as coming out of lone, ferny dells in moors, and
appearing before the eyes of belated travellers.
Like many depictions of mirrors, the mirror-world seems “colder and darker” than the real world Jane inhabits. The looking-glass reflects an image that seems on the surface to be the opposite of Jane. Where Jane is hot-blooded and passionate, this “strange little figure” is pale white with eyes full of fear instead of the resolve Jane attempts to instill in herself in her “endeavor to be firm”. Although she recognizes that the mirror is simply glass, Jane does not seem to recognize herself in its glass. The figure that represents her in the glass is changed and unknown to her eyes, yet the mirror reflects Jane's true emerging self – her maturing womanhood, which is much more in tune with her supernatural “dark” side. She thus appears as the “imp” or “elf” that she will become later in the novel, especially after meeting Edward Rochester. However, this premonition is dim and ghostly, being far from a complete envisioning of the strong independent woman Jane Eyre will eventually become. This is merely Jane's potential personified, her soul envisioned, but without her strength this potential will be wasted and replaced with the "fear" that Jane identifies within herself.
The supernatural is a realm often possessed and utilized by women in literature and film as a means of justifying and portraying their struggles as a group. It serves as a mutual unknown element to an audience in the “real world”, where the author is at liberty to spin a web of fiction that must simply be accepted by an audience. Conveying Jane's literal emergence as a woman through puberty is made subtle and simple through Bronte's use of the red and white imagery combined with supernatural elements. This enables sympathy with Jane even if the reader does not or cannot directly understand her situation.
The supernatural is a realm often possessed and utilized by women in literature and film as a means of justifying and portraying their struggles as a group. It serves as a mutual unknown element to an audience in the “real world”, where the author is at liberty to spin a web of fiction that must simply be accepted by an audience. Conveying Jane's literal emergence as a woman through puberty is made subtle and simple through Bronte's use of the red and white imagery combined with supernatural elements. This enables sympathy with Jane even if the reader does not or cannot directly understand her situation.
However, Jane's fate and duty as a woman, forced upon her by other older women such as Mrs. Reed (and later others, such as Grace Poole, a discussion for another day) is complicated by the looming presence of the ghostly Mr. Reed, who died nine years before in this red room. Mr. Reed is Jane's mother's brother who “had taken me when a parentless infant to his house; and in his last moments he had required a promise of Mrs. Reed that she would rear and maintain me as one of her own children.” It would seem that Mrs. Reed hasn't kept her promise so well, if we're to believe and sympathize with Jane's anguish under her care; Jane herself entertains the idea that Mr. Reed's spirit may be protecting her in the red-room in his anger with his still-living wife's brutality against Jane.
If Mr. Reed is indeed the spirit which comes to Jane in the red-room, this may be the ghostly “imp” or “fairy” she sees in the mirror as a version of herself. While the mirror image could be a male counterpart, it may simultaneously be her older mature self, keeping in tune with the mirror's inherent duality. The complication comes in deciding which, if any, is the more powerful entity, or if perhaps Jane's supernatural abilities and identity stem directly from this male envisioning. However, Jane does not want to accept the aid of this male entity:
I wiped my tears and hushed my sobs, fearful lest any
sign of violent grief might waken a preternatural voice to comfort
me, or elicit from the gloom some haloed face, bending over me with
strange pity. This idea, consolatory in theory, I felt would be
terrible if realised: with all my might I endeavoured to stifle it –
sign of violent grief might waken a preternatural voice to comfort
me, or elicit from the gloom some haloed face, bending over me with
strange pity. This idea, consolatory in theory, I felt would be
terrible if realised: with all my might I endeavoured to stifle it –
I endeavoured to be firm.
At the appearance of a lantern-like gleaming apparition within the room, manifested outside the mirror in the real world, Jane feels “oppressed, suffocated”. Conversely, Jane seems to at least somewhat readily acknowledge her ghostly self in the looking-glass. It is this self that Jane chooses to develop, showing her feminine supernatural abilities to rival the male's.
Sexual Awakening in The Phantom of the Opera
This complication of reflecting maleness against a female protagonist via mirror imagery is a trope that has become readily accessible, especially in the Hollywood movie scene. This imagery isn't reserved for horror film, but for all types, from drama to musical. In The Phantom of the Opera, the use of reflection figuratively and literally plays a major role in the film adaptation, especially in the scene in which the titular Phantom and our protagonist, Christine, meet for the first time.
Like Jane Eyre, Christine, a chorus girl, is locked in her dressing room, but her circumstances of imprisonment are quite different. Instead of being punished, Christine has just been rewarded for her first performance as prima donna, lead female singer of the opera company. It is revealed that she has been trained by a “great teacher” the name of whom she does not know. She tells a fellow chorus girl, Meg Giry, that an “angel of music” foretold by her deceased father comes to her in her mind, more a sense or feeling than an actual being, at least until the physical Phantom is revealed in the “The Mirror (Angel of Music)” scene. Upon hearing this tale, Meg assures Christine that “you must have been dreaming; stories like this can't come true. Christine, you're talking in riddles and it's not like you.”
Christine and Meg discuss the "Angel of Music"
Up until the mirror scene, the Phantom seems indeed to be little more than a eerily omnipotent voice which follows Christine in her waking as well as her dreaming life. What's interesting is that it seems Christine has never seen this Phantom or “Angel of Music”, and yet he has been a growing part of her life and career since she was a child. He is a voice from within that gives her comfort in her father's stead, something like a conscience to “guide” her. When she is locked in the dressing room, the Phantom finally addresses her directly, mocking her suitor and childhood friend, Raoul. Christine, in turn, begs her “Master” to enter at last:
Christine meets the Phantom
He only appears to her in physical form when Christine is 16 years old and begins to find success with her singing through his many years of training her. At this age, Christine has most likely already passed the age of puberty; however, the next stage of her developing womanhood constitutes a sexual awakening. He himself states that he “is there inside”, a loaded phrase with many interpretations: he is inside Christine's mind as a part of innermost soul, inside the tangible mirror which reflects the true nature and warring duality of this soul, and also connotates sexual intercourse. This sexual imagery comes full circle in the following iconic scene, “The Phantom of the Opera”, in which the Phantom leads Christine down a golden tunnel to a misty mirror-like lake surrounded by candlelight. The scene culminates in their consummation in a bed of white linen and red draperies, very reminiscent of young Jane's red-room:
Gazing into the mirror on command, she sees, not herself alone, but the male Phantom, a twisted, mature, mysterious figure, powerful and a “genius” in Christine's eyes. What Christine does not realize is that the Phantom is in fact a manifestation of herself; he is her mirrored “darker and colder” half, much like Jane's ghostly spirit. This manifestation of her heretofore suppressed sexuality and sexual maturity is much more powerful but also much more dangerous, all-consuming in his search for lust and love. Christine has difficulty even finding a voice against him, let alone the strength to act against him. She is drawn to this side of herself inexplicably, and yet her mind continuously attempts to pull her towards the more innocent stable Raoul, who embodies her logical love rather than her beastly lust.
The Phantom must remain masked just as Christine's blooming sexuality must remain secret and concealed within her, and yet she wishes for it to be accepted as truth, just as the Phantom wishes to be recognized and loved as one who strives for and “dreams of beauty”. The mirror scene allows Christine to fully acknowledge this dark sexual side of herself, but his sheer power and maleness make him a force to be reckoned with. It is not until the final scenes of the film, namely the Don Juan “Point of No Return” scene, that Christine is at last open with her sexuality on the stage and overpowers the Phantom's weakening hold on her mind and soul by tearing his mask from him and revealing him to the audience. Without fear of her sexuality and with newly instilled power in her voice and actions, Christine overcomes her inner Phantom's hold on her soul and marries Raoul, living a long life as wife and mother. However, the Phantom is always lurking within her, a true part of her soul and self that perhaps may only be revealed in the self-reflection of the looking-glass.
Self-Identification and Hidden Patriarchy in Snow White and the Seven Dwarves
Probably one of the most famous mirrors in film history is the evil Queen's “Mirror, Mirror on the wall” from Walt Disney's Snow White and the Seven Dwarves. Again, the Mirror, although a stationary possession of the Queen, seems to have a mind and voice of its own; the Queen summons the voice from within it, asking “Who is the fairest one of all?” The Mirror is personified as a male figure, a floating mask enshrouded with flame, who repeatedly assures the Queen that “Snow White is the fairest of them all”.
Music video making use of the Mirror's patriarchal imagery; listen to the lyrics,
as they refuse to accept the Mirror's judgment
Though the mirror seems to be its own entity, it is still a glass which casts a reflection, and this reflection is the Queen's inner voice and soul, a part of herself controlled by the voice of patriarchy and maleness. As a Queen without a King, this character is automatically meant to be seen as powerful not only in personality but socially as well. However, this inner voice, revealed by the truth of the mirror, holds more power over her, defining her “fairness” and feminine qualities. Unlike Snow White, with “lips red as the rose, hair black as ebony, skin white as snow”, and a general air of fragility and innocence, the Queen possesses subtly masculine qualities, or qualities which would have been seen as unattractive – she is tall, daunting, darkly clothed, with sweeping prominent eyebrows and wide pale eyes glaring from above high vaguely ethnic cheekbones. While Snow White's specialties include making pies and dusting windows, the Queen uses a method of magic so similar to chemistry it is difficult to tell the two apart.
The Queen vs. Snow White. Notice especially the eyes and the position of the hands.
This opposition is between two women who act as foils (mirror images) to one another, translating into an oversimplified good vs. evil, but this opposition is spurred on by the entity of the Mirror, an entity which exists inside the Queen's soul and mind as revealed within the reflection. Her jealousy and rage, then, though her own doing, are partly the blame of the male-dominance and patriarchy which permeates many societies. It is not the Queen, but rather this internalized male figure that is the judge of her own sense of self and beauty. Eventually her jealousy, fear, and lack of acceptance of self leads her to become a horrible witch, followed by her death -- no doubt a fate that would also meet Jane Eyre and Christine Daae if either refused to accept their inherent womanhood and reject male judgment and patriarchy.
Conclusions
A person sees more than just a physical reflection when gazing into a mirror. There is also the inherent self-reflection of the spirit and soul of that person. When this person is a woman, however, the self-reflection becomes more complicated, tainted with remnants of the patriarchal society she inhabits. Jane Eyre, Christine Daae, and even the wicked Queen look for answers within their looking-glasses and see staring back them the complexities of what they must overcome – physical maturation, stigmatized sexuality, and male dominance. This last social obstacle of the rising above patriarchy is one that remains looming above women in their search for self-definition, a frightening truth that continues to permeate the modern horror film. It is the task of these self-reflecting women to see past these obstacles and concur them. They must accept who they are within themselves, the true self reflected in the mirror, and reject the negative “colder and darker” fear-inducing duality of this same reflection. Until we stop fearing this mirror-image opposition from both our own womanhood and patriarchal ideals, this trend will continue to act as a negative model in the lives of women.
Further Reading and Watching
- Vanessa K. Dickerson's Victorian Ghosts in the Noontide: Women Writers and the Supernatural discusses at length the implications of the mirror in the red-room as it relates to Jane's need for sexual and familial attachment as a means of self-definition and self-discovery.
- A discussion of the role of mirrors and self-identity in Jean Rhys' Wide Sargasso Sea, the 1961 post-colonial re-imagining of Jane Eyre from the point of view of Bertha, Rochester's mad Creole wife: http://www.scribd.com/doc/23598128/Wide-Sargasso-Sea
- An interesting analysis of Jungian elements of self and sexuality in The Phantom of the Opera; this also interprets the Phantom as being “the dark part of all of us”: http://www.cgjungpage.org/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=741&Itemid=40
- A discussion of the “Bloody Mary” mirror ritual as a form of adolescent self-discovery which interestingly continues as a tradition in some college/university communities: http://muse.jhu.edu.proxy.library.ucsb.edu:2048/journals/journal_of_american_folklore/v118/118.468tucker02.html
- There are many works that utilize the mirror image as an alternate dimension. In some cases, this alternate universe is portrayed as the evil dark side of our own, as in Star Trek: The Original Series episode “Mirror Mirror” and Neil Gaiman's Coraline (there's a good online discussion of mirror-image reversal, the psychology of female child development and the role of “mother” in the Coraline novel here: http://muse.jhu.edu.proxy.library.ucsb.edu:2048/journals/childrens_literature_association_quarterly/v033/33.4.parsons.html). Sometimes, however, this reversal is less obviously “evil”, as in Terry Gilliam's The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus, which features a male protagonist who's identity changes throughout with the use of a magic mirror, and Lewis Carroll's Through the Looking-Glass, in which young Alice encounters a slew of absurd satirical characters in the looking-glass world and must conquer their absurdity with reason and logic.
