Yes, but when it switches over to The Thing, it doesn’t act like a rational, intelligent being – it acts like a stereotypical monster, inarticulate and apparently unreasoning and surprisingly easily defeated.
As I say, you could argue that it’s a cultural or even a species difference, and it’s a feature of Campbell’s original story, as well. But it’s weird that a space-traveling species would act that way (and that’s true even if it’s not the original species that made the saucer – it was flying it, after all, or at the very least a passenger). It’s profoundly at odds with the behavior of just about any other space travelers in fiction from the same period. The only case of something similar are stories of “interstellar zoos” and interstellar animal transport, which I’ve never found satisfying.
I was so struck by this that I made a point about it in a science fiction play I once wrote.
Maybe that tentacle twitching is actually Galactic Sign Language, and we humans are just too ignorant to recognize it.
So, the Thing gets frustrated — and eats us.
I’m not sure how intelligent the creature actually is. As Blair, it builds a spaceship from scratch, but I wonder if it really knows what its doing, or if it’s just emulating the behavior of some creature it had previously absorbed. It knows how to build a spaceship, but does it know how to *invent *a spaceship? To what extent is it capable of integrating the intelligence of the beings it consumes? Does it really know what they know, or does it just know enough to decide which “program” it needs to run to resolve a particular situation?
I think we actually see that macro infection in the beginning of the film, when the dog from the Norwegian outpost is put in the kennel. It immediately impales the other dogs, but it leaves the tentacles implanted in their bodies - and, IIRC, you can see their flesh start to pulse and shift around under their fur. It seems clear that it was attempting to subvert all of the dogs in the station, which would give it excellent cover for infecting the human crew. If the kennel had been placed a bit more remotely in the facility, so no one could hear the commotion, then the next morning there would have been no sign of anything untoward happening, just a bunch of happy dogs in a kennel with their new friend.
Of course, that argues against the “simple animal” theory I put forth above. Clearly, the thing is an ambush predator, but this idea suggests that the creature at least understands human dynamics well enough to recognize that the dogs are service animals or pets, and would receive a lower level of scrutiny from the humans.
Which brings me to another unusual feature of the movie that no one else has brought up: why does the thing have a heart attack? In the lead up to the infamous scuttling head scene, an infected crew member suddenly keels over from what appears to be a coronary. During attempts to revive him, it suddenly reveals itself as the monster. Why would the creature do this? It never willingly reveals itself in front of more than one person at a time, but here it burst out in front of half a dozen people, one of them armed with a flamethrower. Interestingly, this scene can be interpreted as supporting either theory about the thing’s nature.
The first possibility is that the creature can copy us, but it doesn’t understand what its copying. When it took over that guy, it copied him completely, including a weakness in his heart that was nearly ready to fail.
The second is that the creature knows us well enough to fake a heart attack. Which is a pretty clever strategy. If one of the humans suddenly keels over dead, we’d just put him out of the way in some cold storage room. That instance of the monster could just wait there, safely, while its other selves attempt to finish off the station’s crew. That way, if the crew succeed in purging the rest of the things from the station, it still can get to the mainland when the storm clear, and a rescue chopper shows up. The body will get taken back along with the survivors, and it can take over the world. What it didn’t anticipate was the defibrillator paddles, which I think were genuinely damaging to it - a call back to the original film, where the creature’s vulnerability was electricity.
I can think of a few stories from that era that feature space travelers who are as inhospitable as the one in The Thing.
Perhaps the transition from “imitation mode” something closer to its normal state of operation is painful, at least when done at emergency speed. Or frightening, or otherwise stressful. Remember, all we know about this creature is that it was flying (or a passenger aboard) a spaceship. I’m sure there are many airline pilots who could handle themselves quite well in a fistfight - but I’m equally certain there are at least some who would panic and be entirely ineffectual. (Pilots are trained not to panic while piloting, and most of the training consists of drilling them in how to pilot during emergencies. Fistfights don’t come up.) By a similar token, perhaps the Thing is intelligent, but just way, way out of its depth.
I am surprised and delighted by how interesting this thread is! One of my very favorite movies.
For me, all of the incongruities, apparent contradictions, etc. are part of the film’s appeal, part of what makes it work.
HOWEVER … the one thing that always yanks me out of the story has already been mentioned: Fuchs somehow managing to cremate himself with a flare.
For what it’s worth, I’ve always felt that MacReady was never in danger of being absorbed – The Thing would’ve done anything to avoid having to wear that hat.
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The hat is awesome, I doubt it could have handled the BAC though.
2 minutes The Thing would be barfing like a Long Island drinking freshman on spring break in Cancun.
For anyone who’s still curious, there’s a pretty good fan website for the movie here.
Wow. These guys even have (transcription of) the on-set audio immediately after the dynamite stick exploded with more force than had been expected, nearly blowing Kurt Russell off his feet.
For the genuine JCTT fanatic. I’m not that far gone, but spent an enjoyable while on the site last night.
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When all else fails, turning into a 12 foot tall Lovecraftian monster probably makes for a pretty effective escape mechanism. Bad dates, chemistry exams… I would’ve used it a lot in my teen years.
That little trick would scatter most people like kittens. The Thing had the misfortune of running into a bunch of tough guys who had no place to run.
In the Steven Spielberg movie E.T., why is the alien brown? No reason. In Love Story, why do the two characters fall madly in love with each other? No reason. In Oliver Stone’s JFK, why is the president suddenly assassinated by some stranger? No reason. In the excellent Chainsaw Massacre, by Tobe Hooper, why don’t we ever see the characters go the the bathroom, or wash their hands, like people do in real life? Absolutely no reason. Worse - in The Pianist, by Polanski, how come this guy has to hide and live like a bum, when he plays the piano so well? Once again, the answer is - no reason. I could go on for hours with more examples. The list is endless.
Thank you for that enlightening addition to the discussion.
Question 1: because his parents are brown
Question 2: mutual attraction
Question 3: political conspiracy
Question 4: footage edited out
Question 5: hiding from NAZIs, duh
When Carpenter went on Letterman he played the entire kennel scene, complete with face peeling, chest splitting goodness. After the clip, the audience seemed to have been shocked into silence by what they had just seen. Dave’s reaction was classic: “So it’s a story about a boy and his dog…”