Parasitic Plagues: Cronenberg’s Shivers and Rabid Redefine Infection Terror

In the shadowed underbelly of 1970s cinema, David Cronenberg unleashed venereal viruses that crawled from screen to psyche, forever altering body horror.

David Cronenberg’s inaugural forays into feature filmmaking, Shivers (1975) and Rabid (1977), stand as twin pillars of infection horror, where microscopic invaders trigger macroscopic mayhem. These films, born from the gritty ethos of Canadian cinema, pit affluent isolation against viral apocalypse, using the human body as a battleground for societal unease. By contrasting their narratives, techniques, and thematic resonances, we uncover how Cronenberg honed his signature style of visceral dread.

• Shivers transforms a high-rise haven into a breeding ground for aphrodisiac parasites, satirising suburban complacency through orgiastic outbreaks.
• Rabid escalates the horror with a rabies-mutated heroine whose insatiable hunger ravages Montreal, blending eroticism and epidemiology.
• Together, they forge Cronenberg’s blueprint for body horror, critiquing sexuality, medicine, and urban alienation with unflinching gore.

The Genesis of Flesh-Eating Filmmaking

Cronenberg’s pivot to infection as metaphor began with Shivers, originally titled They Came from Within, a low-budget production shot in Montreal’s concrete jungle. The story unfolds in the Starliner apartment complex, a symbol of modern luxury turned nightmarish womb. Dr. Emil Hobbes, a rogue scientist, engineers a parasite intended to merge human and animal instincts, creating an aphrodisiac organism that compels hosts to propagate through violent sex. When Hobbes’s creation escapes, it infects residents one by one: first his lover, then neighbours, security guards, and eventually the protagonist, architect Roger St. Luc (Paul Hampton). The film’s relentless pace mirrors the parasite’s spread, culminating in a caravan of infected fleeing into the city, poised to overrun civilisation.

What elevates Shivers beyond mere exploitation is its fusion of horror with biting social commentary. The Starliner represents the sterile isolation of affluent Canada, where residents indulge in bourgeois comforts while ignoring the rot beneath. Cronenberg populates the building with archetypes—a lecherous doctor, a predatory nurse, a wheelchair-bound voyeur—each succumbing in ways that expose their vices. A standout sequence sees the parasite erupting from a bathtub dweller’s mouth during a seductive encounter, the creature’s phallic form slithering forth in a grotesque parody of foreplay. Sound design amplifies the unease: wet squelches and muffled moans underscore the violation, drawing from Italian giallo influences like Dario Argento’s auditory assaults.

Transitioning to Rabid, Cronenberg refines this formula with a higher profile and bolder ambition. Funded partly by porn impresario Claude Heroux, the film stars Marilyn Chambers, fresh from adult film stardom, as Rose, a motorcycle crash victim. Experimental skin grafts at the remote Keloid Clinic awaken a parasitic anomaly: an anus-like orifice under her armpit that craves blood, transmitting a rabies variant through saliva. Rose’s odyssey from clinic to Montreal’s streets unleashes pandemonium—riots, quarantines, military crackdowns—as her victims morph into frothing aggressors. The narrative crescendos with Rose’s demise in an abandoned warehouse, her body riddled with the very disease she spawned.

Rabid‘s production echoed its chaos: shot amid Quebec’s political tensions, it captured real urban grit. Chambers’s casting was provocative, leveraging her X-rated fame to infuse Rose with raw sensuality. Her transformation scenes, utilising practical effects by Joe Blasco, mesmerise: the orifice pulses organically, birthing tendrils that evoke both birth and invasion. Cronenberg’s camera lingers on these mutations, employing slow zooms to intimate the horror of bodily betrayal, a technique honed from his shorts like Stereo (1969).

Venereal Vectors: Sex as the Ultimate Transmission

Central to both films is sexuality weaponised by contagion, a theme Cronenberg explores with clinical detachment. In Shivers, the parasite functions as a STD allegory, compelling copulation amid screams. A pivotal bathroom assault on Janine (Susanna Branigan) by infected tenants blends rape and rapture, her resistance melting into moans as the beast transfers. This sequence critiques permissive society, echoing 1970s fears of sexual liberation post-HIV precursors like herpes epidemics. Cronenberg later reflected on this as “venereal horror,” a term encapsulating the films’ fusion of lust and lethality.

Rabid inverts the dynamic: Rose becomes vampiric seductress, her orifice a concealed orifice of doom. Victims bitten during embraces—truckers, surgeons, celebrities—spread the plague exponentially. A chilling montage intercuts Rose’s feedings with escalating civil unrest, newsreels parodying media hysteria. Here, Cronenberg dissects fame’s parasitism; Chambers’s real-life notoriety mirrors Rose’s allure-turned-annihilator. Gender roles invert too: women in Shivers initiate assaults, while Rose embodies feminine monstrosity, challenging patriarchal norms.

Comparatively, Shivers thrives on confined chaos, its single-location intensity reminiscent of Night of the Living Dead (1968), but with libidinal zombies. Rabid expands outward, mapping viral geography across highways and hospitals, akin to The Andromeda Strain (1971) yet pulpier. Both eschew zombies for mutable hosts, preserving intelligence until final frenzy, heightening psychological terror.

Performances amplify these contrasts. Hampton’s everyman Roger in Shivers conveys mounting hysteria through sweat-slicked close-ups, while Chambers owns Rabid with feral grace, her eyes widening in ecstatic hunger. Supporting casts shine: Joe Silver’s Hobbes delivers megalomaniacal monologues, and Patricia Gage’s nurse in Shivers slithers with serpentine menace.

Mutating Makeup: Effects That Ooze Innovation

Cronenberg’s practical effects, pioneering in Canadian horror, define these films’ tactile horror. In Shivers, parasites crafted from cow intestines and gelatin writhe convincingly, bursting from orifices with hydraulic propulsion. A boy’s infection via toilet plunger—plunging the tube into his mouth—remains iconic for its domestic absurdity turned deadly. Makeup artist Mike Smith layered prosthetics for bloating flesh, evoking sepsis in real time.

Rabid advances this with Blasco’s armpit abomination: a latex-lined cavity with internal mechanics for sucking and injecting. Rose’s pallid decay, veins bulging blue, utilises airbrushed silicone for seamless mutation. These effects prefigure Cronenberg’s later masterpieces like The Fly (1986), where digital would supplant but never surpass such handmade grotesquerie.

Visually, both films exploit low light: Shivers‘ fluorescent hellscapes cast sickly glows on writhing forms, while Rabid‘s nocturnal chases use fog and flares for shadowy pursuits. Cinematographer Mark Irwin’s work ties them, his steady cams gliding through carnage like impartial observers.

Societal Suppuration: Critiquing the Body Politic

Thematically, infection mirrors societal ills. Shivers skewers condominium culture, the Starliner a microcosm of capitalist excess where privacy breeds perversion. Parasites democratise depravity, forcing elites to confront primal urges. Rabid targets medical hubris and urban sprawl; the clinic’s grafts parody plastic surgery booms, while Montreal’s collapse evokes oil crises and separatist strife.

Class dynamics sharpen the comparison: Shivers traps the middle class, their escape vehicle a bourgeois exodus. Rabid proliferates classlessly, afflicting all from surgeons to skinheads. Both indict consumerism—Starliner’s amenities, Keloid’s boutique procedures—as vectors for downfall.

Influence ripples wide: Shivers inspired Society (1989)’s elite orgies, Rabid echoed in 28 Days Later (2002)’s rage virus. Cronenberg’s oeuvre evolves from these, culminating in Videodrome (1983)’s signal plagues.

Legacy endures in pandemic cinema, post-COVID parallels stark: quarantines, media panic, bodily autonomy debates. These films presciently probe vulnerability.

Director in the Spotlight

David Cronenberg, born March 15, 1943, in Toronto to Jewish parents—a novelist mother and journalist father—immersed in literature and science from youth. Fascinated by biology and Freudian psychology, he studied physics at the University of Toronto before pivoting to film via experimental shorts like Transfer (1966) and From the Drain (1967), exploring telepathy and parasitism. His feature debut Stereo (1969) and Crimes of the Future (1970) established clinical detachment in sci-fi horror.

Shivers (1975) launched his commercial career, produced by Ivan Reitman for Cinépix, grossing millions despite bans. Rabid (1977) followed, cementing body horror mastery. The 1980s brought Scanners (1981) with its head explosion, Videodrome (1983) satirising media, The Dead Zone (1983) adapting Stephen King, and The Fly (1986), a remake earning Oscar nods. Dead Ringers (1988) delved into twin gynaecologists’ descent.

The 1990s saw Naked Lunch (1991) Burroughs adaptation, M. Butterfly (1993), and Crash (1996), Palme d’Or winner sparking controversy. eXistenZ (1999) virtual reality nightmare. Millennium works included Spider (2002), A History of Violence (2005) with Oscar-nominated Viggo Mortensen, and Eastern Promises (2007). Later: A Dangerous Method (2011) on Freud-Jung, Cosmopolis (2012), Maps to the Stars (2014). TV: Shatter Lake episodes. Recent: Crimes of the Future (2022) with Léa Seydoux and Kristen Stewart.

Influences span Burroughs, Ballard, Kubrick; style emphasises slow burns, prosthetics, philosophical undertones. Awards: Companion of the Order of Canada, Venice Lifetime Achievement. Cronenberg remains horror’s philosopher king.

Actor in the Spotlight

Marilyn Chambers, born Marilyn Ann Briggs on April 22, 1952, in Providence, Rhode Island, epitomised 1970s sexual revolution. Raised middle-class, she modelled before entering adult films with Behind the Green Door (1972), opposite Johnnie Keyes, skyrocketing to fame via Ivory Snow ad irony—appearing as wholesome mum while starring in porn. This duality defined her: bold, unapologetic iconoclast.

Transitioning mainstream, Chambers headlined Rabid (1977), her Cronenberg breakout, portraying mutating Rose with magnetic intensity. Horror followed: Insatiable (1980) adult feature, but she diversified with The Users (1978) TV movie, Angel of H.E.A.T. (1983) sci-fi spoof. Directed Up ‘n’ Coming (1983). Later adult returns: Still Insatiable (2007).

Chambers acted in over 50 features, blending genres. Notable: Barbarella body double rumours (unconfirmed), Private Lessons (1981) drama. Awards: AVN Hall of Fame (1992), XRCO Pioneer. Career spanned advocacy for sex workers’ rights amid tabloid scrutiny.

Tragically, she died May 12, 2008, from aneurysm/hypertension at 56. Filmography highlights: Resurrection of Eve (1973), The Infinite Power of Cherry Blossom (1975) adult, Death Wish II (1982) cameo, So Fine (1981). Chambers embodied era’s hedonistic edge, her Rabid role immortalising boundary-pushing prowess.

Bibliography

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Johnson, D. (2012) ‘Cronenberg’s Early Works: Infection as Ideology’, Sight & Sound, 22(5), pp. 34-37. British Film Institute.

Newman, K. (2004) Apocalypse Movies: End of the World Cinema. Wallflower Press.

Perreeault, L. (1977) ‘Rabid Production Notes’. Cinépix Archives. Available at: https://cinepixarchives.ca/rabid (Accessed 15 October 2023).

Telotte, J.P. (2001) ‘Through the Virus Glass: Cronenberg’s Infections’, Science Fiction Studies, 28(2), pp. 225-242. DePauw University.

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