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Year Of The Month

The Incredible Shrinking Man

Becoming the Other.

The Incredible Shrinking Man is a movie that could only ever be about a white, straight, able-bodied man. The movie fits a very specific definition of science fiction I was taught and always found oddly limiting: a single fictional process, extrapolating from scientific principles, which is treated as plausibly as possible. In this particular context, it’s another way of saying ‘what if something really fucked up happened?’, putting it in the tradition later followed by films like The Substance and Old (aka The Beach That Makes You Old). Scott Carrey (Grant Williams), the protagonist, is intended as an Everyman, which only reveals the expectations and impulses of the character and the storytellers as he reacts to shrinking (this could be interpreted as an insult against them, but I consider it a neutral fact of life).

There is no queer subtext in TISM, but there is disability subtext that quickly evolves into text. Scott is miserable, lonely, and humiliated. He was supposed to be able to walk around without anybody staring at him; he was supposed to be normal. One part that gets me is that it goes into detail about Scott losing his job due to his new disability and having to sell his story (and privacy, though that was shot anyway) just to get by. His mood only changes when he meets a woman with dwarfism (April Kent) who takes his condition philosophically, inspiring him to write his story to make it meaningful – to connect him to other people.

There is an extent to which Scott’s situation and the pleasures of the movie are at odds – by which I mean, the situation that makes him so miserable is fun to watch in a movie. Most obviously, there’s the giant props and special effects designed to make him look tiny. If there’s one thing thirty years of computer-generated effects have taught us, it’s that nothing is quite as cool as a physical prop an actor is actually standing in or holding; my favourite part is the dollhouse Scott is forced to live in, which simulates the artificial feeling of a tiny dollhouse despite being clearly built by normal people for an average-sized man to live in.

Part of the reason props are cool is because we imagine a real person building them. Human beings are attracted to stories; part of the wide rejection of generative AI is rooted in the fact that a person didn’t go through making decisions behind everything. I accept a factory-built toothbrush because it’s a practical object I own to deal with a practical problem; why would I give a fuck about a factory-built painting? Audiences in general are with me on this; what people love most of all are artforms that look difficult to make.

The other cinematic thing about this film is its action. Scott begins the film trying to solve the philosophical problem of his shrinking, but as his situation progresses, he’s forced to solve more and more practical problems, until he’s fighting a spider for scraps of stale cake to survive. This combines with the practical effects – we find ourselves looking at familiar situations from a totally different angle – but it combines even better with the emotions of the movie. Scott has spent the movie desperately running from the shame of being disabled – as he puts it, getting increasingly tyrannical with his wife – and, at the end, his pride ends up taking over completely, and he takes on the spider less for food and more to prove he’s been alive this entire time.

Part of the reason this film works so well is because the storytellers don’t actually take him quite as seriously as he takes himself. His emotions are real – his fear, his shame – but that doesn’t necessarily justify his actions. He admits before killing the spider that his actions aren’t really rooted in hate, and afterwards, he feels curiously empty. One of the fascinating things about the film is its bleak, cosmic ending; Scott recognises that he’s going to continue shrinking to the atomic level, and must try to believe that God’s observation of him is the only proof he needed that he was alive.

This is what the struggle of the Other is. It’s hard for me to resent marginalized people for being petty, egotistical, or even mean; this world demands that you be a very particular kind of person, and if you don’t fit in this mold, you’re at least a little lonely and resentful. It’s work every single day just to convince yourself that you’re worth being alive for. It would be easy to be dismissive of Scott – oh, yeah, welcome to the club – but I don’t think it would be fun.

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