The Cell Phone in Modern Thriller Cinema Matt Schley A young woman tears through the woods, screaming for help. Not far behind, her pursuer: a maniacal, chainsaw-wielding fiend. He's big and lumbering, but filled with desire for blood, and she doesn't know how much longer she can run. There's no one around to help, and it all seems helpless... Then she remembers her cell phone. She makes a quick call to 911, the cops show up, the baddy is apprehended, and the credits roll. This is the problem facing modern creators of horror and suspense films. Or, for that matter, any film that requires its characters to not be able to communicate. In this era of always-on, instant communication, how does the modern director achieve that sense of tension, mystery, or fear when a character realizes that he or she is really, truly alone? There are a number of ways today's directors and screenwriters have tackled the issue. The most common, of course, is the most base and ultimately the least effective: at a pivotal moment, our protagonist's cell either runs of out battery power or can't find a signal. This phenomenon happens so frequently in film and television that if someone were to create a drinking game based around it, well, we would all be pretty drunk. More to the point, if cell phones were as unreliable as they appear in film, we wouldn't use the damn things. As this paper will attempt to prove, our modern filmmakers create far more effective, suspenseful and frightening films when they work with technology, not against it. Instead of throwing them out with a quick "no signal," the most innovative new horror films use cell phones as an integral part of the story. After all, cell phones are everywhere: the thought of something so ubiquitous as a force of evil is powerful indeed, and taps directly into our modern zeitgeist. This paper will take a look at a number of films that use cell phones to their advantage, and what strategies they use. It will also trace the use of telephones in horror and thrillers, and prove our new "cell phone cinema" is just a logical extension of a 100-year old trend.  History Film and the telephone have been connected since the beginning. They were invented at virtually the same time, and grew up together, proliferating through the world side by side. In fact, pieces of both technologies originated at the labs of Thomas Edison. The dates are stunning. In 1876 Alexander Graham Bell, generally considered the inventor of the telephone, won his patent ("Bell"). In 1877, Edison filed a patent for a similar technology based on a graphite transmitter. The next year, Eadweard Muybridge premiered his famous proto-film, The Horse in Motion ("Muybridge"). 15 years later, Edison's transmitter patent was finally approved, and at that year's World's Fair, he revealed the Kinetoscope, an early camera. Both were huge steps for their respective technologies ("Edison"). However, for obvious reasons, phones were not prominently featured in films until the invention of synchronized sound. Soon thereafter, phones began their relationship with the thriller. The telephone, for example, often plays an sinister role in the films noir of the '40s, by showing the alienation between people or bearing bad information (after all, how many noir P.I.s receive phone calls about good news?). Soon films whose entire plot revolved around phones, such as Sorry, Wrong Number or Dial M for Murder, began to appear (Gotz). The '70s introduced a whole new layer of fear and paranoia into telephone movies. Films like Klute, The Conversation and All the President's Men tapped into post-Watergate angst and feature wiretaps and hidden recording devices (in a fascinating act of prescience, Alan J. Pakula's Klute, which revolves around revealing tape recordings, was actually made in 1971, a year before Watergate). The '70s also gave birth to an extremely important genre for the telephone-film relationship: the teen slasher flick. For the teenagers in these slasher films, the phone is an essential communication tool, and the killers use it to their advantage. In a move that prefigured the "dead cell battery" cliche, the antagonists in films like Friday the 13th and My Bloody Valentine cut phone lines, stranding their teenage victims without help. When a Stranger Calls focused on a teen girl receiving a series of increasingly frightening phone calls whilst babysitting, culminating in the famous reveal that the call was coming from inside the house. John Carpenter and Wes Craven, two masters of horror, used phones interestingly in Halloween and Nightmare on Elm Street, respectively. The teenage girls in Halloween are glued to their phones, chatting while babysitting. Eventually Michael Myers strangles one of the girls with the telephone cord while the Jamie Lee Curtis characters listens in horror on the other end, juxtaposing phones with death. In Nightmare on Elm Street, Freddy Krueger physically comes through Nancy's phone, warping it - her connection to the outside world and comfort zone - into something evil (Spiteri). Finally, the 1990s brought our subject, cell phones, to film (who can forget Michael Douglas with his awesome, brick-sized phone in Wall Street?). One of the first and most effective uses of the cell phone in horror was the opening of Scream, where Drew Barrymore was taunted, When a Stranger Calls-style, by a killer who ended up being right outside her house. This decade brought a rash of cell phone-themed films like Cellular, Phone Booth, a remake of When a Stranger Calls, and titles from Asia like Phone, One Missed Call, and the aptly titled Cell Phone. But it also introduced a problem. As noted in the introduction, the ubiquity of cell phones made it hard to achieve tension and drama where it had previously been no problem. "It takes away a possible source of conflict -- the difficulty of communicating, the difficulty of calling for help," notes Robert McKee, a script consultant (Pincus-Roth 1). And the problem is exacerbated in the horror genre: "The cellphone has created more problems than benefits for horror screenwriters, because so many horror films involve so many people stuck outside civilization, who are being hunted and have no recourse," says Scott Kosar, who wrote the recent remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, a film whose original menace came largely from its distance from civilization (Pincus-Roth 3). But there is reason for hope. Let's take a closer look at some recent films that have used cell phones in a interesting way, proving with some thought and inventiveness, the cell phone can actually enhance thrillers. Cellular (2004) and Connected (2008) Cellular and its Hong Kong remake, Connected, are thrillers that embrace, rather than reject, cell phones as a piece of the thriller puzzle. These films go so far, in fact, that their entire premise revolves around one pivotal call. The idea: a woman (Kim Basinger in the original, Barbie Hsu in Connected) is kidnapped and locked in a bare room. Looking around for something to help her escape, she finds a broken telephone, which she manages to rewire so that she can dial out, but only to random numbers; that is, she cannot choose who she dials. After several failed attempts, she connects with a carefree teen (in Cellular) or a hapless single father (in Connected). He initially takes her pleas for help as a prank call, but she eventually convinces him this is the real deal. The cool thing is: He cannot, under any circumstances, lose the connection. She can't redial the same number twice, and he doesn't know where she's calling from. If they get disconnected, she's doomed. The creators of the two films use this premise to stage some smart set pieces, have some fun, and even manage to squeeze in a theme or two about the effects of cell phones on our society. Let's look at the main hook in greater detail. Ryan (or Bob, in the HK version) cannot get disconnected under any circumstance, or, as the tagline puts it, "if the signal dies so does she." How do the filmmakers use this to heighten the suspense? The first example comes when Ryan initially picks up the phone. Jessica/Grace attempts to explain her situation, a conversation that to Ryan/Bob sounds like a mean-spirited prank call. We, on the other hand, know the very real danger she is in and grip our armrests ever tighter as Ryan debates whether to hang up, which would seal Jessica's doom. This is textbook dramatic irony and not a new cinematic invention by any means, but it does say something interesting about our phone culture; specifically, about anonymity. Just as we scream things at other drivers we'd never say to their faces, talking to people on the phone instead of in real life arms us with a certain freedom. If a woman ran up to Ryan crying for help, he wouldn't doubt her sincerity for a moment. But on the phone, it isn't so simple to establish trust. In the introduction, I discussed (read: complained) about the film cliche in which a cell phone suddenly loses reception or runs out of battery power. This occurs in Cellular as well, but instead of being used to worm out of a situation, here the cliche is turned on its head and used as the basis for one of the best scenes in the film. It goes like this. Ryan is driving furiously around LA, trying to find Jessica's child before the kidnappers do, when his phone starts to beep: it's running out of juice. Here's where the fun comes in. In any normal suspense film, Ryan would yell an expletive and throw the phone out the window. Here, he doesn't have that option: Remember, if the signal dies, so does she. Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan spots a cell phone store and pulls in. Inside, he is confronted by consumer hell: an long line, inattentive sales clerks, and ten different varieties of phone charger. Ryan pleads with the clerk while staring at his ever-more-depleted cell phone. The scene is both humorous and suspenseful. Finally, he resorts to brandishing a gun to get what he wants. In a piece of absurd humor, he apologizes, greatly overpays for the charger, and says, "keep the change." This scene is important for a couple reasons. Firstly, as previously mentioned, it turns the "low battery" cliche on its head. Throwing the low battery problem into the film could even be considered self-reflexive: the filmmakers have surely seen it used as many times as we have, and are giving us viewers both a sly wink, and more importantly, an actual solution to the problem. To be fair, Ryan is in a fairly unique situation, and not every character in a suspense film would need to plug his phone in if it was dying, but it's nice to have a solution presented nonetheless. Secondly, the debacle in the cell phone shop (aside from being pretty funny) highlights another cell phone theme: frustration. Anyone who has signed up for a cell phone contract (or God forbid, tried to cancel one) knows the pain of the phone store and its long lines, indecipherable contracts and apathetic sales associates. Sure, Ryan's situation here is unique, but fatigued consumers can sympathize: Wielding a handgun to get the attention of a slacker retail clerk does seem, at least for a moment, like it might make for some a darn satisfying shopping experience. Again, the film does an admirable job (in an overblown, dramatic, filmy way, to be sure) of touching on some of the realities of cell phone use. There are many other examples of the film(s) using phones in clever ways. Near the end of Connected, one of the kidnappers finds Bob, sneaks up on him, and is about to kill him when the kidnapper's phone starts ringing, revealing his presence and giving Bob a chance to run. Later, a cop uses a similar trick to find his gone-rogue partner: he simply gives him a call and listens for the ringtone. One final example: In the end, it turns out Jessica has been kidnapped because her brother possesses footage of Interpol officers dealing drugs. The rogue officers eventually recover the tape and destroy it. Finally, though, they're brought to justice, because Ryan has made a copy of the video - you guessed it - on his phone. These moments are rewarding and exciting because they depict cell phone use in a way we haven't seen often in film. But put together, what do they mean thematically? Both these films are making a statement, I think, about ubiquity. All these moments (indeed, the entire conceit of the film) are possible only because cell phones are everywhere. It's no mistake the remake of Cellular is set in Hong Kong, a massive, tech-obsessed metropolis. After all, these things occur every day. Sure, loud ringtones usually interrupt a lecture or a movie, rather than revealing a killer's location, but in any case, they cause a disruption. Phones run out of juice during important calls all the time, and we're forced to plug 'em in (again, hopefully without such dire consequences). Also, catching criminals with cell phone footage may have seemed novel in 2004, but now it's reality. There have been myriad cases in the last few years where a video-enabled bystander recorded footage of an incident that otherwise would have gone unnoticed, uploaded it to the internet, and propelled it to national attention. This January, for example, a video of the shooting death of a 22-year old man in Oakland lead to riots (Harvey). In the end, Cellular and Connected fall squarely within the genre of the "popcorn movie," with product placements everywhere (and it's funny to note how just four years later, how much cooler the phones in Connected look) and more over-the-top thrills than thematic depth. Still, both films succeed in incorporating, rather than sidelining, cell phones, proving the phone can be an asset, rather than a nuisance, in thrillers. One Missed Call (2004) One Missed Call is a horror film directed by Takashi Miike, a favorite in cult film circles for his ultra-violent works who's also popular in the critical realm for films that transcend their genre origins. Miike tends to alternate between low-budget, personal films and medium-budget, stock genre pieces. One Missed Call is one of the latter. It's one of many offshoots (read: ripoffs) of the 1998 film Ring, which established the template for Japanese horror and solidified it as a worldwide phenomenon. Despite falling squarely within "J-horror" conventions, One Missed Call manages to use cell phones in an interesting way and is worth a look. Much like Cellular, One Missed Call has a lot to say about ubiquity. Unsurprising, considering that for all the technical innovation in the US, Japan is the undisputed king of consumer electronics. Mobile phones became an integral part of youth culture in Japan years before the US, and are so ubiquitous that, for example, a woman recently published a novel written entirely on her phone between train stops (Onishi). One Missed Call doesn't feature any cell phone novelists, thrilling as that would be, but it never passes up a chance to display ubiquity. The film opens with several university students drinking together in a restaurant. Their phones are out, sprawled across the table, and Miike specifically frames them in an insert shot, sitting there in a pack, blinking and chirping together. The way he does it, the phones look a bit malevolent before the story even begins. And then they start killing people. The premise is Ringesque to say the least: these unlucky university students start receiving calls from themselves, dated a few days in the future. The calls are apparently made at the time of death: on the message, we always hear a scream, then a dial tone. When the appointed hour rolls around, sure enough, the victim dies as predicted. And, much like Ring, the ultimate antagonist is a creepy dead girl. The main (read: only) difference is an important one. Ring's death transmission device is a VHS tape, which was on its way out even in 1998; in the countless Ring sequels, it becomes increasingly dated and silly. In One Missed Call, the method of transmission is more sinister, and preys on the aforementioned cell phone "ubiquity factor." Namely, the deadly call is transferred through contact lists: if your number is in a victim's phone, you could be next. One Missed Call makes the proliferation of cell phones and social networking, into a source of fear, especially for youth, who are most likely to have a phone full of numbers (though, five years later, One Missed Facebook Message might be even more chilling). Back to youth in a moment, but a few more ubiquity points. Miike peppers the film with phones even when they don't serve the story. Someone always seems to be talking on a cell, even if in the background of a shot. Interestingly, characters are constantly holding phones, even if they aren't using them. This is a keen observation on Miike's part: walking down any street, it's hard not to notice a plurality of folks holding some sort of electronic device. Characters seem to grip their phones especially in moments of fear. They're used here as a comfort blanket of sorts, I think, because they represent a connection to the outside world, and friends who are only a call away. Finally, as the film progresses and more people start to die, the main characters, Yumi and Hiroshi search desperately for clues. When they split up to cover more ground, they continue to update either other via cell phones, a true testament to ubiquity. Despite the imminent danger, there is simply no better way to keep in contact. But back to youth. Unlike Ring, which was a tale of a mother protecting her son, One Missed Call features very few adults. The victims, of course, are all students, but moreover, adults hardly appear in the film at all. When they do, they are portrayed as evil or ignorant. Yumi's mother, we learn, abused her; the police chief (played by Miike regular Renji Ishibashi) refuses to believe or help the poor dying students; another abusive mother is discovered to be the cause of this whole cell phone curse. On the surface, the reasoning here isn't too complex; it's a horror film aimed at youth, after all, and isn't going to star a pair of geezers. Going a little deeper, though, it makes the point that youth are always the first to embrace new technology, and as technology's "beta users" are the ones first liable to encounter its problems. Sure, these problems don't usually involve being killed by an evil curse, but maybe One Missed Call is an allegory for the cell phone brain cancer scare. Maybe. One Missed Call uses sound in a lot of interesting ways. The first (and most obvious) is using ringtones to scare. There are several times in the film when a quiet scene is given a "jump moment" when a phone starts to ring loudly. The film also features a specific ringtone for the cursed calls which, as one might imagine, sounds particularly frightening. The film uses other interesting sounds, though. For example, we hear an indefinable clicking sound whenever one of the victims is killed. Eventually, we learn it's the sound of an inhaler: the little girl whose curse started this whole mess was asthmatic. The sound of toenails being clipped also takes on a sinister meaning later in the film, when we meet Yumi's abusive mother. Actually, the entire film is very underexposed, with even day scenes looking dark and night ones practically black. Therefore, the soundtrack becomes far more important than the visual. This could be a clever insight into the nature of cell phones themselves: when speaking on the phone, just as when watching this film, we're forced to listen to the audio and imagine an accompanying visual for ourselves. One last point to consider: this is a film that, while about mobile phones, has very little regard for their actual functionality. In other words, it doesn't pay much attention to the "rules." Phones ring after being turned off, canceling one's plan doesn't seem to make a difference; at one point a totally smashed phone still receives a call. This is interesting because Cellular, another cell phone-based film, obeys the rules and remains at least plausible, if not particularly likely. One Missed Call makes no attempt to do so, and is far more concerned with its own mythology. A difference between two societies, or simply two films with different goals? One Missed Call is no masterpiece, and borrows liberally from the J-horror bandwagon (but hey, with two sequels, a television show, and an American remake, it certainly seems to have succeeded in some sense). However, by taking the Ring mold and replacing a VHS tape with cell phones, One Missed Call, whether it means to or not, does manage to occasionally use them in an interesting way.  Conclusion What have we learned? I think there are some interesting trends displayed in these three films. First, let's note these films are all straight entertainment, aimed squarely at the coveted teen audience. Which makes sense. Teens are also the demographic that's most readily embraced cell phones, forming an affinity for the machines that goes beyond simple utility. As a consequence, films that make phones frightening or exciting resound strongly with that audience. So the great Oscar-winning cell phone film has yet to be made, which prompts a question: is it possible to make a quieter, subtler cell phone film, or does the technology naturally lend itself to these big, flashy teen films? It's impossible to be definitive here, but let's keep in mind that two people talking on the phone is visually pretty uninteresting. All the movement and adrenaline in these films, especially Cellular and Connected, helps offset the inherent boringness of a cell phone conversation. Where do we go from here? Cell phones aren't going anywhere, and filmmakers are going to have to adapt. These films show a lot of promise. On the other hand, they're films entirely devoted to cell phones: by their very nature, they're gimmicky. Ideally, filmmakers will transpose some of the lessons from these films into their non-cell phone movies. We're also seeing the technology of phones and film come together as if they were back in Edison's lab. Dozens of phones can now both display and shoot video. The newly-announced iPhone even has built-in editing software, eliminating the need for any intermediate step between the phone and the finished product. Indeed, two Italian directors recently premiered New Love Meetings, a remake of one of their favorite Pasolini films shot entirely on cell phones ("Full-length film..."). Finally, let's remember that those who have really grown up using cell phones are only now entering the film industry. As this generation, for whom the cell phone is a such an ingrained part of life, sets out to make thrilling films, I suspect this whole topic will become a moot point. Until then, whether you're watching in a theater or on your phone's screen, stay tuned.  Works Cited "Alexander Graham Bell." 2 Sept. 2001. Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. 8 Jun. 2009. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alexander_Graham_Bell. "Eadweard Muybridge." 2 Jul. 2002. Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. 8 Jun. 2009. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eadweard_Muybridge. "Thomas Edison." 30 Oct. 2001. Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. 7 Jun. 2009. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thomas_Edison. Goetz, Kihr. 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