By DeeDee Baldwin
** This article contains mild spoilers. **
There is a scene at the beginning of director Elizabeth Banks’ Cocaine Bear when a hiker’s bitten-off lower leg is flung into frame, and the viewer thinks, “Should I be laughing at this?” It’s the first of many such moments to come.
Horror-comedy is, of course, nothing new. Cocaine Bear follows in the bloody footsteps of cult classics like the Evil Dead series, Tucker and Dale vs Evil, and even, in some respects, Fargo. “What is it in the human condition,” asks author Bruce G. Hallenbeck in Comedy-Horror Films: A Chronological History, 1914-2008, “that makes us want to laugh at the darkness around us?” If we laugh in horror at a woman’s foot sticking out of a woodchipper or at a man’s dismembered body falling from a tree, is something wrong with us?
Sari (Keri Russell) in Cocaine Bear.
Not at all. "The common misconception about laughter is that laughter is, for the most part, a response to humor," researcher Diana Mahony told ABC’s Joseph Brownstein in 2008. Rather, laughter is more like “a steam gauge, where a buildup of feelings prompts an outburst.” This is why some people smile or laugh at funerals or when they’re around a friend who is crying. They aren’t sadistic, and they don’t suffer from antisocial personality disorder. In the perceived absence of other outlets—especially because so many people are extremely uncomfortable crying around others—laughter might be all they have left. Most of us have watched horror movies, even ones that are meant to be totally serious, and laughed at an intense death scene. Did young people in your movie theater laugh when Boromir wept in Fellowship of the Ring or when Katniss sobbed and screamed at her sister’s cat in Mockingjay – Part 2? Intense emotions like grief and fear can be too overwhelming for some people to process. The more effectively such intensity is conveyed, the more likely you are to hear giggles in your theater.
But laughter in movies like Cocaine Bear or Tucker and Dale isn’t only an outlet for big feelings. It is the intended response. There is obvious humor like Margo Martindale’s “dusty beaver,” the billboard advertising a glory hole, and the coked-out bear collapsing, exhausted, on top of a man. There is an ambulance sequence that ratchets up both tension and absurdity until the viewer is simultaneously hiding her eyes and laughing like a valve releasing steam. In one wry scene, a character mentions his two friends (both dead, unknown to him), and Banks cuts to a shot of their corpses that looks like a macabre Halloween yard display.
Stache (Aaron Holiday) and Jr. (O’Shea Jackson) in Cocaine Bear.
While most of the movie’s deaths are comedic in their horror, not all are played for laughs. One character’s death is quiet, dignified, and poignant – and it is well-earned. For another towards the end, Banks goes all-in on the gore, but there’s more schadenfreude than humor in it.
Cocaine Bear is a comedy in the most classical definition of the term: a humorous take on flawed humans—Aristotle’s “inferior people”—and their foibles, with the requisite happy ending. It is also a morality play in which each of our heroes must fall and be redeemed. I use the term “heroes” lightly; one of them is, after all, a hired gun for a drug lord. Children learn not to skip school and do drugs, and career criminals ride off with a cute little dog. If it took some decapitations, stray body parts from legs to fingers, and a disemboweling, isn’t the most important thing that we’re all better humans in the end? Dante would say yes.
Oh, and I’m forgetting the most important part of this comedic, horrific morality play: it will leave you cheering for a coked-up bear family. And that’s the best part of all.