Surrealism has long been a potent force in the world of cinema, and when it crosses paths with screenwriting, the results can be both disorienting and exhilarating. A vivid case in point is The Forbidden Zone, a 1980 cult film directed by Richard Elfman. A bizarre and often chaotic exploration of absurdity, The Forbidden Zone stands as a beacon of surrealist cinema, utilizing strange imagery, illogical storylines, and jarring music to transport viewers into a world that defies conventional narrative norms.
In this article, we’ll delve into the relationship between surrealism and screenwriting, using The Forbidden Zone as a case study. We’ll explore how the film pushes the boundaries of storytelling, and what screenwriters can learn from its chaotic yet coherent style.
Surrealism and Cinema: A Brief Overview
To understand the significance of The Forbidden Zone, it’s important first to grasp the surrealist movement and its influence on film. Surrealism emerged in the early 20th century as an artistic movement that sought to tap into the unconscious mind, challenging logic, reason, and traditional narrative forms. Inspired by psychoanalysis, surrealists like Salvador Dalí, Luis Buñuel, and André Breton sought to subvert reality by portraying dreamlike, irrational worlds.
In film, this movement took hold in various forms, from the early works of Buñuel (Un Chien Andalou, L’Age d’Or) to the more modern visions of David Lynch (Eraserhead, Mulholland Drive) and Terry Gilliam (Brazil). These films abandon the linearity of traditional storytelling, opting instead for disjointed plots, enigmatic characters, and unsettling imagery.
In the case of The Forbidden Zone, Elfman follows in the surrealist tradition by crafting a film that upends narrative expectations, using absurdist humor, dreamlike visuals, and bizarre characterizations to create an experience that feels like a plunge into the subconscious.
The Surrealist Blueprint: Plot as Absurdist Journey
The narrative of The Forbidden Zone is deceptively simple on the surface. The film follows the Hercules family as they stumble upon a door in their basement that leads to the “Sixth Dimension,” a realm ruled by a sexually frustrated queen, a diminutive king, and a host of strange, grotesque characters. However, the plot is little more than a framework for a series of disjointed, episodic scenes filled with bizarre encounters and nonsensical dialogues.
This refusal to adhere to traditional story structure is a hallmark of surrealist cinema. In The Forbidden Zone, the plot unfolds like a fever dream, where cause and effect are secondary to creating an experience that is unpredictable and absurd. For screenwriters, this raises an intriguing question: Can a screenplay function without a traditional narrative arc?
Elfman’s film suggests that while surrealism often rejects clear storytelling conventions, it does not abandon structure entirely. Instead, it embraces a kind of anti-structure where scenes flow based on thematic resonance or visual motifs rather than character development or logical progression. Much like Luis Buñuel’s The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie (1972), where characters repeatedly attempt but fail to sit down for a meal, The Forbidden Zone builds its tension through absurd repetition and narrative loops.
For screenwriters interested in surrealism, it’s important to recognize that structure need not be completely discarded. Instead, it can be redefined, as Elfman does, to serve a different function—one that reflects the chaotic and fragmented nature of the human mind.
Characters as Archetypes and Caricatures
In conventional screenwriting, characters evolve and grow, shaped by the events of the story. But in The Forbidden Zone, characters are more like archetypes—representations of concepts or ideas rather than fully developed individuals. Frenchy Hercules, the protagonist, isn’t driven by any particular goals or desires. She, like the other characters, is more of a pawn in the film’s bizarre game of absurdity.
The King (played by Hervé Villechaize), Queen Doris (Susan Tyrrell), and other inhabitants of the Sixth Dimension act as exaggerated caricatures, drawing from a tradition of surrealist exaggeration where characters represent extremes of human behavior, emotion, or ideology. Much like Dalí’s melting clocks or Magritte’s faceless businessmen, these characters aren’t intended to feel real but rather to challenge viewers’ expectations of what a character should be.
For screenwriters, this can be a liberating concept. Surrealism allows for characters that are less bound by psychological realism and more by symbolic or thematic purposes. When developing characters in a surrealist screenplay, think less about arcs and more about how their absurdity can serve the film’s larger themes. In The Forbidden Zone, each character adds to the overarching sense of chaos and disorder, amplifying the film’s surreal atmosphere.
Dialogue: Absurdity as a Narrative Tool
Dialogue in The Forbidden Zone is as unpredictable and illogical as the story itself. Characters often speak in non-sequiturs or repeat phrases for comedic effect, with the conversations serving less as vehicles for advancing the plot and more as opportunities to amplify the film’s absurd tone.
One scene exemplifies this approach: the queen, in a fit of jealousy, engages in a nonsensical argument with her diminutive husband, throwing insults that veer wildly off-topic. The dialogue here doesn’t progress the story in a traditional sense; instead, it builds the anarchic atmosphere, pushing the viewer further into the film’s strange reality.
This kind of dialogue can be particularly effective in surrealist screenwriting, as it distances the audience from the expectation that every line of dialogue needs to serve a clear purpose. Surrealist dialogue instead works to create a sense of dislocation or confusion, enhancing the film’s dreamlike quality.
Screenwriters can use this technique to break free from conventional dialogue rules. Rather than focusing on how dialogue serves plot or character motivation, consider how it can destabilize reality or create moments of comic absurdity. In The Forbidden Zone, the dialogue’s lack of coherence serves to heighten the film’s surreal effect, keeping the audience off-balance and engaged in the strangeness of the world.
Visuals and Set Design: A Feast for the Subconscious
If the script for The Forbidden Zone is surreal, its visual presentation takes that to another level. The film’s black-and-white cinematography, inspired by 1930s and 1940s cartoons, is intentionally primitive and theatrical. The exaggerated sets, hand-drawn backdrops, and deliberately crude special effects all contribute to the film’s sense of playful absurdity. It’s as if the world itself is an extension of the unconscious mind, where reality bends and warps with every turn.
Visuals play a critical role in surrealist screenwriting because they offer another layer of meaning beyond dialogue and plot. In surrealist cinema, the visual world often represents the inner workings of the subconscious. Much like David Lynch’s disturbing dream sequences in Eraserhead (1977), the world of The Forbidden Zone reflects an unreality where the rules of the natural world no longer apply.
For screenwriters, this underscores the importance of considering how visuals interact with narrative in surrealist films. While not every screenwriter can control the set design or cinematography, it’s worth thinking about how the imagery in your screenplay can enhance the surreal tone. Descriptions in the script should emphasize the absurdity of the visual world, allowing directors and designers to expand on those ideas.
Music and Sound: Breaking the Mold
The Forbidden Zone is not just surreal in its visuals and story; it also uses music in ways that defy expectations. The film is punctuated by musical numbers that range from jazz and cabaret to operatic renditions of nonsensical lyrics. The absurdity of the film’s score, composed by Danny Elfman, who also appears as Satan, adds another layer of strangeness to the narrative, making the music integral to the surreal experience.
The use of sound in surrealist screenwriting offers another avenue for breaking free of traditional forms. In The Forbidden Zone, music is not just background noise or mood-setter; it’s an active participant in the absurdity of the world. This opens up possibilities for screenwriters to think about how sound and music can interact with the narrative in unconventional ways.
Incorporating musical elements into a screenplay can be tricky, but in surrealist film, it can add another layer of disorientation and humor. Consider how music and sound can break the fourth wall or serve as non-diegetic commentary on the action. In Elfman’s film, the surreal music serves as a constant reminder that the world we are witnessing is far from reality.
Lessons for Screenwriters
While The Forbidden Zone may seem like an exercise in chaos, it offers several valuable lessons for screenwriters interested in exploring surrealism. First, it challenges the idea that narrative must be linear or character-driven to be engaging. Instead, it shows how absurdity, repetition, and disjointed scenes can create a compelling experience if the tone is carefully controlled.
Second, it illustrates how characters can function as symbols rather than realistic individuals, freeing writers from the constraints of traditional character arcs. Finally, it emphasizes the importance of visual and auditory elements in crafting a surrealist screenplay, with the set design, cinematography, and music all contributing to the film’s strange atmosphere.
In short, The Forbidden Zone provides a template for screenwriters to break free from the constraints of conventional narrative and embrace the limitless possibilities of the surreal. Whether you’re aiming to write a full-blown surrealist film or simply incorporate elements of the absurd into your screenplay, the lessons from The Forbidden Zone can inspire a more imaginative and experimental approach to storytelling.
By embracing the irrational
, screenwriters can tap into a deeper well of creativity, allowing the subconscious to dictate the direction of the narrative. The Forbidden Zone, with all its chaotic splendor, serves as a reminder that cinema is not bound by logic or convention. It’s a playground where anything is possible.
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