Dr. Johann Wier

  This is not to say, however, that such beliefs—the notion of men and women who could transform into animals and who were guided by demons—were completely and uncritically accepted. Even from the mid-16th century, when witch and werewolf trials were getting underway, some voices questioned the entire underlying principle of such notions. One of these early sceptics was a German physician. Doctor Johann Weyer (or Wier, 1515–1588) sought some sort of medical explanation to the eerie and supernatural powers to which some of these unfortunates confessed. In fact, Weyer is thought to have been the first man to use the term “mentally ill” to describe the conditions that some of these people had claimed for themselves. A logical and humane man, he argued that some of the unfortunates had deluded themselves into thinking that they had consorted with devils, had become animals, or had supernatural powers and that, rather than condemning them, the authorities should treat them with compassion In his book De praestigiis daemonum (The Illusion of Demons), first published in 1563, Weyer attacked the Malleus Malificarum, the witch hunter’s guide-book, together with the Church’s persecution of confused and mentally vulnerable people. Weyer was a follower of the Cologne sage. Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa von Nettesheim (1486–1535), who acknowledging the dark arts, had also argued that everything, including occultism, philosophy, and medicine, formed part of a cohesive whole. Weyer’s work is counted as one of the earliest books displaying a much more enlightened view of the alleged imminence of the supernatural and indeed extends many of the underlying facets of modern psychiatry towards the whole credulous theory of witchcraft and shapeshifting.

  Amongst the manifestations of alleged witchcraft that he considered, Weyer made specific references to werewolves. Those who had been accused of such crimes, he argued, had been suffering from a “disorder of their melancholic humour.” He detailed a list of medical symptoms that might encourage them to rise from their beds at night to prowl the country thinking that they were wolves or other beasts. And, he argued, they might be “cured” by a number of means: by the letting of blood to restore the balance of the humours, or by eating juicy fruits and a strict variation in diet. (Weyer was first and foremost a physician, after all.) He further considered the case of the Werewolves of Poligny, who had confessed to eating small children and attending the diabolic Sabbat. His conclusion was that these men were not mentally ill, but were simply deluded. Acknowledging that they might well have met with the Devil or his agent (although what “the Devil” might be taken to be in his terminology is open to question), Weyer continues that the Master of Lies had so muddled their minds that they believed many things about themselves that were not true. According to Weyer, this may have been compounded by the salves and unguents with which the men smeared themselves before the transformation—the elements of such ointments may have held hallucinogenic properties, which confused their minds even further. The explanation that Weyer gave was a logical and medical one combining many strands of early psychoanalysis and references to psychotropic drugs. In these inferences, the German doctor seems to have been far ahead of his time.

  Reginald Scot

  Weyer’s work was soon followed by one or two other individuals who questioned the reliability of witchcraft (and by implication, werewolf) cases. One of these was an Englishman, the Kentish Squire Reginald Scot (1538–1599). Scot was a Justice of the Peace for Kent and, as such, had seen many confused individuals come before him, accused of fantastic crimes. It also has to be remembered that Scot was a Protestant and took every opportunity to criticize what he perceived as the superstition and credulity of the Catholic Church. His most famous work, Discoverie of Witchcraft, first published in 1584, (nineteen years after Weyer) mocked the gullibility of those who believed in the tenets of witchcraft and accused poor and often mentally deficient people of it. He quoted Weyer, and much of his work seemed to mirror the German physician’s argument, suggesting mental problems in those who were accused.

  Sigmund Freud

  Despite the enlightened works of people such as Weyer and Scot, the hysteria concerning werewolves remained in the deepest recesses of the communal mind, resurfacing from time to time with passing hysterias. Indeed the word “hysteria” was to come to the fore in the work of a much later medical figure—the father of psychoanalysis, Sigmund Freud. In 1897, Freud developed the theory that a “hysteria” such as was now suggested in a number of werewolf cases might be a delayed emotional reaction to an earlier sexual abuse or to repressed infantile sexual fantasies. Certain aspects of this theory may agree with the Grenier case in 1603 and perhaps also in the earlier Gandillion trial. Freud may well have been influenced by some of Weyer’s theories—there is no doubt that he had reader Weyer, in a French translation, as he cited the work as one of his ten most influential books during an interview in 1906. According to his own account in 1914, Freud found himself face to face with a patient who expressed a connection to the werewolf motif. In fact, Freud named him the Wolf Man both in his notes and in his account. The patient is described as a twenty-seven-year-old man from a rather well-to-do Russian family, who, during the course of his analysis, described a dream that he’d had in infancy concerning wolves. He dreamt that he’d been lying in bed in his own bedroom when suddenly the bedroom window had slowly opened and, looking out, he’d seen about six or seven white wolves sitting around the foot of a big walnut tree outside. They were all watching him intently. None of the wolves made a move or seemed threatening in any way—nevertheless, the boy screamed, woke himself up, and had to be comforted by his nurse. There is also a curious folk element to the case, of which Freud and the patient were both well aware. The patient’s birthday was 25th December (in many legends anyone daring to be born on the birthday of Christ was destined to become a monster and an agent of the Devil) and also he’d been born with a caul (a translucent membrane across the face which usually comes off at birth) that was considered an ill omen in parts of Russia. Freud also records that the nurse who had attended him as a child was deeply religious and extremely superstitious and took the caul as the sign that her charge would grow up to be a werewolf. With this in mind, the dream of wolves took on an added significance. Freud completed analysis on the Wolf Man by revealing that the child was most probably a wish to return to the womb and completely dismissed the old folk-wisdom that the nurse had passed on concerning the caul. It is interesting to note, of course, that Freud himself was born with a caul.

  Werewolves in Film

  Although both psychiatry and science were seeking to find alternative explanations for the supposed lycanthrope condition of a man who could turn himself into a wolf, whether willingly or unwillingly, still held a dark fascination for many people. And, as an idea, it was ripe for commercial exploitation. By the early 1930s, the werewolf’s counterpart, the vampire, was making big money at the cinema box office. Cinema was now a popular form of entertainment; popular films were big earners and horror was an up-and-coming genre. A film adaptation of Dracula starring the sinister Bela Lugosi, together with a similar offering of Frankenstein starring Englishman William Henry Pratt (who had changed his name to the more East European-sounding Boris Karloff) had proved great successes. The film industry searched around for a comparable horror to unleash on the cinema-going public. They found it in the werewolf.

  Lon Chaney, Jr.

  Throughout the 1930s and into the 1940s, Universal Studios was the leaders in the field of Gothic horror. It was Universal who had released both Dracula and Frankenstein to popular and critical acclaim in 1931, and the company was now looking for another box-office smash. In 1935, they had released the Werewolf of London to moderate success but, by 1941, they were determined to release what today might be described as a werewolf blockbuster. It was to be called Wolf Man and was to bring the werewolf motif into cinematic legend. The man whom they had chosen for the central role was not a huge and menacing figure—he had nowhere near the sinister screen presence of either Lugosi or Karloff—but he was an actor of moderate talent. His name was Creighton Chaney and he was the son of the legendary silent movie actor Lon Chaney. Although his father had advised him not to take up film work, Creighton was determined to make it in the movies and, never one to discard a family connection, took the name Lon Chaney Jr. after his father’s death in 1931. His mixture of rather brutish looks and child-like innocence, however, made him an ideal candidate for the cursed man.

  From the beginning the movie had a disadvantage. Universal’s other two big money-makers—Dracula and Frankenstein—had been based on recognized works of literature by Bram Stoker and Mary Shelley. Cinema-goers would have been familiar with the story or could go home and read the book. There was no comparatively famous literary work associated with the werewolf, and so, the film had to stand on both the plot and on Chaney’s performance.

  The Wolf Man

  As with the vampire and, to some extent, Frankenstein, Universal introduced some folklore-like elements of its own into the story. The screenplay, written by Curt Siodmak, passed off certain inventions of his own as gypsy tradition. For example, although many of the werewolf trails and panics occurred in France, the werewolf becomes a creature mainly confined to Germany and Eastern Europe. This was to fit in with Universal’s other two major horror creations that had an Eastern European location. The protagonist did not use a magic salve or a wolf-skin cloak or a belt, but was actually transformed unwillingly into the beast by the rays of the moon. This led to the famous quatrain that was widely attributed to ancient Romany gypsies but in fact had been created specially for the film by Siodmak and his team of writers:

  “Even a man, who’s pure in heart,

  And says his prayers at night,

  Can become a wolf when the wolfsbane blooms,

  And the autumn moon is bright.”

  Coupled with this was the notion that a man could become a werewolf if he was bitten by another such creature. The change would then occur at the first full moon after the bite. This again had no basis in myth and legend, but it added to the suspense and horror of the situation. As well as this, Siodmak introduced another invention—an apotropaic that could repel and destroy a werewolf. This was once more to blend the werewolf legend in with that of the vampire (that could be repelled and destroyed by the crucifix). This was the use of silver, which Siodmak was to claim was Romanian gypsy lore. It was nothing of the sort. Although the werewolf featured in gypsy tradition, it was not a significant terror. Indeed, the people of rural France were much more terrified of the creature than the gypsies. As well as this, Universal introduced the notion of a pentagram, an ancient Romany talisman for warding away werewolves. Once again, this has no basis in tradition, it simply brought it into line with a number of “devil films” that were starting to appear, mainly from Universal.

  Most importantly, the film created the impression that the change from man to beast did not involve a man transforming himself into a real-looking wolf but into some form of hybrid figure—not wholly human, not wholly wolf. This, according to the film, was a man-like being with added feral traits. In fact, in some of the earlier films, the werewolf looked more similar to a shaggy ape than a member of the canine species.

  Wolf Man was a reasonable commercial success for Universal—enough to ensure several follow-ups and a team-up with Frankenstein. It would serve to keep the figure of the werewolf in the popular mind through the succeeding years. Although never as big or as menacing a creature as the vampire or even The Mummy (which again featured Boris Karloff) the werewolf exuded a certain primal horror.

  Later filmmakers were to take a tongue-in-cheek approach to the werewolf theme with such movies as I Was A Teenage Werewolf (1957, starring Michael Landon, who would go on to make his name as Little Joe Cartwright in Bonanza) and the classic American Werewolf in London (1979). Some films such as the UK production Company of Wolves (1984, and based on a book by Angela Cartwright) and The Howling (1981) did try to add some depth to the figure, but they still contained the pseudo-folkloric additions of previous movies. For instance, it was now claimed (using an allegedly Romany tradition) that only a silver bullet could kill or injure a werewolf. No such tradition ever existed—the only means of disposing of the beast, said conventional wisdom, was to burn it, the same as with each of Satan’s minions. The picture that was starting to emerge in the latter half of the 20th century was an extremely confused one. Nevertheless, interest in the werewolf never died.

  And even in today’s relatively sophisticated society, a fear of the beast still lingers. It is not a great distance in many instances, from the thronging streets of a busy city to the cool of the remote and shadowy forest. And who knows what lurks in the dappled shade under the low boughs—a crouching beast, waiting to strike and to tear us limb from limb. Werewolves may be far closer to us than we would prefer.

  Zombies and Voodoo

  Cockroach, he don’t wear no crockin’ shoes when he creep into the fowl house.

  —Creole proverb

  The image of the zombie—the walking dead of Afro-Caribbean lore—with its shambling gait, dead eyes, and slack jaw, is perhaps one of the most frightening in all of terror iconography. The idea of a corpse, raised from the dead and somehow animated by magic is enough to send shivers down the spine of even the hardiest of individuals. Maybe this is why the zombie has maintained a constant appearance in many horror films through the years. There are other elements that have been added to the basic motif—that the zombie has inhuman strength; that it has supernatural powers (for instance, it can enter a room through a keyhole in the form of smoke); that the zombie did not die naturally but was magically murdered and turned into the monster through hideous sorcery; and that zombies eat human flesh similar to cannibals. Through the years, the notion of the zombie has assumed a menace that cannot easily be rivalled by more “sophisticated” monsters.

  Zombies are, of course, inextricably linked in the popular mind with Voodoo, a religion found in West Africa, the Caribbean, and some parts of America. Therefore, no examination of zombies can be carried out without first examining the belief system. However, because of its complexity, Voodoo is incredibly difficult to study. In its purest state, the religion that we refer to as Voodoo is only one of a myriad of beliefs that reflect either the ideologies of their practitioners or the area from which they have come. Some are even fragments of what may have once been broader and more wide-ranging beliefs; others have been adapted to suit the area in which they flourished.

  Thus, Santeria, Umbanda, Quimbanda, Mami Wata, Shango, Moyambe, and Candomble are all considered as variants and aspects of the Voodoo religion. Even the name creates problems because “Voodoo” is something of an Anglicised construction, and other variations are given as voudon, voodun, vudoun, and voodoux. An even further Anglicised word, Hoodoo, is also sometimes used. The original terminology comes from the language of the Ewe/Yaroba peoples of the Arada area of Dahomey (now Benin) in West Africa and literally means, “to draw water.” Eventually, it became modified to mean “to draw down spirits.” This was done by means of a weave or coloured pattern that was spread upon the ground.

  Loa

  Although they were extremely powerful, the forces and powers (loa) in which the various tribes believed were also very child-like—they were curious and easily offended, but they could also be easily placated. They sulked, threw tantrums, and misbehaved similar to human children. They were also attracted by many things—bright colours, unusual patterns, and loud noise. Any of these might be used to placate and control them. Any person who could both read and control their moods was, through them, assured of great powers. They were the witch doctors, sorceresses, and Shamans who were treated with awe and reverence by their fellow tribesmen and followers.

  Houngans and Mambos

  The mediation of the relations between humans and spirits became the centre of the voudon faith of the Yaroba people, and those who controlled or interposed in that relationship were known in Voodoo terms as houngans (male) or mambo (female). The places to which the spirits were called—the Voodoo temple—was known as the hounfor, all of which gave Voodoo the recognizable trappings of a loosely organized faith.

  It has been argued that Voodoo is a slave religion that adapted to the servile conditions amongst the peoples that were carried from the West Africa coast by European slavers. They brought indigenous religions, often centered on natural forces that became moulded into their servile situation in the plantations into which they were subsequently sold—estates in the Caribbean: the West Indies, South America, and parts of Northern America. Mixed in with the native faiths were some elements of Christianity. Dahomey had been largely colonized by the French, and French Franciscans had sought to establish their creed and culture there since the 1660s. Consequently, there was a certain “Frenchness” to the religions that the Africans practiced and this conveyed itself to the slavers to other parts of the world. This “Frenchness” often appeared in the language that was used; in some of the rituals and in the outlook of the slaves themselves. French Catholicism also influenced some of the belief systems that the slaves held—indeed some elements of Voodoo were simply a mixture of African Pagan observances and a form of Christian theology. Thus, ancient native gods became fused with Christian Saints; certain aspects of Christian ceremonies were moulded into the fabric of what was essentially “Pagan” belief, and Saint’s days became the focus of Voodoo ritual and were celebrated as “special times.”