Once Aryan Skynet Goes Live It Doesn't Matter Who Pulled The Switch
October 2017 will mark the tenth anniversary of the premiere of the savage 30 Days of Night, David Slade’s movie adaptation of the graphic novel by Steve Niles and Ben Templesmith. A casual horror fan might remember the film as a decent genre effort, but closer scrutiny reveals a much more interesting find.
The story concerns the plot of a pack of vampires to prey upon the remote community of Barrow, Alaska, which – owing to its proximity to the North Pole – literally experiences a month of uninterrupted darkness. This, of course, makes its isolated inhabitants the ideal platter of victims, with no pesky sun to cramp the bloodsuckers’ style; and the vampires send in their Renfield-like human agent, a Stranger played by the remarkable Ben Foster, to scout and prepare the town for attack by sabotaging potential means of resistance or escape. It falls to Sheriff Eben Oleson, brought to desperate life on the screen by leading man Josh Hartnett, to do what he can to save the ill-prepared townsfolk.
The film opens on Barrow’s last day of sunlight, with the town and its people headed into an allegorically prolonged night. Barrow represents a geographic extreme and a cultural quintessence, echoing the Old West with its sheriff and deputy and its frontier character, while also standing in for the West (or the Global North) writ large. Hartnett, in his audio commentary on 30 Days of Night, describes it as a supernatural western-thriller as opposed to a more conventional horror film, and westerns have always been symbolic, conveying America’s foundation myth. Barrow, then, is a microcosm, its problems both national and civilizational.
One of the first citizens the viewer meets is Beau Brower, played by Sons of Anarchy’s haggard Mark Boone Junior. He is the quintessentially American rugged individualist, but with something of the wild Viking about him, as well. His problem is that he is too individualistic. Beau’s “Keep on Whaling” shirt advertises his selfish, nihilistic rejection of environmental protection, and Eben writes him up for allowing oil to spill onto the ground as he works on his car – “Nothin’ I can’t handle my own fuckin’ self,” Beau scoffs. “He lives all alone out there on the south ridge,” Eben explains to his deputy. “A little citation now and then lets him know he’s a part of this town.”
The town’s isolation – its collective individualism – is at the heart of its identity; but it is also this solitariness that makes it so susceptible. As the vampires unleash their onslaught, man and woman are divided. Eben’s wife, Stella (Melissa George), has left him for reasons the script never articulates, although a clue is provided when she remarks, “I guess it’s good you didn’t want kids, huh? Imagine …” Eben’s devotion to his family and town and his consciousness of the value of social capital, his civic spirit, are incomplete because he has failed to understand that he as well as his co-ethnics must reproduce themselves in order to sustain and perpetuate their community and their civilization as they have known it. Instead, they fight among themselves, divided by politics – worsening an atmosphere of paranoia that descends along with the external threat.
The vampires, a highly exclusive band of hostile exotics with extreme in-group solidarity, arrive on a ship, which is to say that they are boat people – immigrants – and very obviously stand-ins for the Jews with their ethnic malice, craftiness, and parasitic tendencies. The physical appearance of the most prominently featured blood-drinkers in 30 Days of Night is unmistakably Hebraic, and all of them wear tell-tale black clothes. Hartnett, in his commentary, describes the language the vampires speak as “kind of ancient-sounding”. Marlow, the leader of the vampires, is played by Danny Huston, whose previous Jewish roles had included Kalman in the Zionist drama Eden (2001) and Gary Silverman in an aborted television pilot, Torture TV (2002). He would go on to play Ben “The Butcher” Diamond in the gangster series Magic City (2012-2013).
Two other actors – John Rawls, who plays Zurial, and Megan Franich, who is especially memorable as Iris – have had their physiognomies manipulated to appear more Semitic, while others in the pack, notably Andrew Stehlin as Arvin, have a more mongoloid appearance alluding to eastern origins (throwing a bone to the Khazar theorists in the audience, perhaps).
It is another outsider, the mysterious Stranger played by Ben Foster, who renders Barrow vulnerable by undermining its defenses; and, with his eccentric redneck appearance, backwoods manners, and strange supernatural beliefs, he seems to represent the fifth column of evangelicalism. “They’re comin’,” the Stranger warns the sheriff. Then, presumably referring to the Promised Land, the contemptible Shabbos goy continues: “This time they gone take me with ‘em. Honor me – yeah – for all that I have done.” After the Stranger attacks the sheriff’s brother at the station, Eben shoots him and handcuffs him to the bars of his cell in a mockery of the crucifixion of Jesus, leaving him to suffer with his wound without medical attention.
Later, when the vampires return to the sheriff’s office, Marlow assures the Stranger, “We will take care of you.” The tearfully reverential awe with which the hillbilly looks up at the magic Jew-vampire is one of the most disgusting and most bitingly satirical moments in all of horror cinema. “The things they believe,” Marlow says contemptuously before finally killing his slave. A church steeple towers over the town in long shots, indicating that this is a Christian community; but it is interesting to observe that the church at no point in the film serves as a sanctuary from the carnage. “God?” Marlow taunts one of his victims, looking up at the empty sky. “No God.”
“We should have come here ages ago,” Marlow reflects. “It took centuries for us to make them believe we were only bad dreams,” he tells his companions, referring to the way in which Jews have successfully marginalized “anti-Semitism” and long-standing “conspiracy theories” concerning their race’s covert activities. “We cannot give them [i.e., gentiles beyond the immediate killing zone of Barrow] reason to suspect. Destroy them all.” They even shriek as they swarm on their quarry – literally crying out in pain as they strike you! “Do not turn them [i.e., convert them into vampires],” Marlow also instructs his followers, alluding to Judaism’s non-universalizing and exclusivist tendency among the world’s religions; or, as Arthur Aouizerat puts it, ideological Jewishness vis-à-vis the goy “is a purely racial quality and cannot therefore be related to any acquired moral or universal qualities. So, when a Jew addresses a goy ‘as a Jew’ he/she simply highlights this racial quality and thus automatically defines the goy, without that, as inherently inferior.” “What a plague you are,” says Marlow, echoing Susan Sontag’s Jewish supremacist assertion that “The white race is the cancer of human history”. Marlow’s nihilist formulation of Manifest Vampire Destiny is, “What can be broken must be broken.”
In perhaps the most overtly philosophical piece of dialogue in 30 Days of Night – a line that for gullible post-9/11 audiences probably signified nothing other than Muslim beheadings – Marlow says, “The heads must be separated from the bodies.” This, in the literal sense, is his instruction that wounded humans should not be permitted to live long enough to turn into vampires; but, read figuratively, the line could just as easily and more satisfyingly be read as a metaphor for cultural Marxist currents dividing man’s intellect from his common sense and his natural understanding of the world. Indeed, European man and woman have become too sophisticated, too preoccupied with moral abstractions, to worry about their racial survival – either that or too greedy to bother to factor their betrayal of posterity into the equation. The heads, too, have been “separated from the bodies” in the sense that those genuine in their compassion for the immigrant/settler-colonizer and the “refugee” have become too accustomed to thinking with their hearts alone, impervious to the importunings of their shriveled amygdalae.
Barrow’s Inuit minority, while not in itself very problematic, becomes a liability on the arrival of the Jew-vampires, with semi-assimilated Inuit Carter Davies (Nathaniel Lees) becoming infected and turning into a bloodsucker himself. It is another character of Inuit descent, Malekai Hamm (Pua Magasiva), whose bad driving results in the auto accident that strands Stella in Barrow and ironically facilitates her reconciliation with Eben. The graphic novel features the Inuit more prominently, Complex’s Tanya Ghahremani reveals of the whitewashing of the Eben character for the movie:
An excuse for whitewashing and racebending often used by filmmakers is that they couldn’t find an actor of the correct race as gifted as the white person they cast. While casting 2007’s 30 Days of Night, producer Sam Raimi felt that Josh Hartnett was the best fit for the role of Alaskan sheriff Eben Olemaun, who in the comic book the film is adapted from is of Inuit descent.
In fact, to make Hartnett’s casting work, they changed the character’s surname to Oleson. The film is still set in Barrow, Alaska – just like it is in the comics. Neat fact about Barrow: The town has a population that’s 57% Native American. White people account for 22% of the population. But in 30 Days of Night, there’s only one Inuit character, and he’s portrayed by a Samoan actor [Nathaniel Lees].
Eben, ironically, is a Hebrew name meaning “stone”; but, in writing and casting the movie, the filmmakers have made a conscious decision to Aryanize the protagonist, even going as far as to give him a Scandinavian surname. Marlow calls him “the one who fights”; and, when the time has come for the two to have their final confrontation, he chooses to address the sheriff in German, strangely enough, saying, “Kommen sie” or “Come [here]”. Is this, as some in the audience would probably like to believe, because vampires are evil, mean, and murderous and therefore somehow Naziesque? Or does Marlow recognize in “the one who fights” some resurrection of a previous adversary, addressing Eben in a language he expects him to understand?
Before his fight with the vampire chief, Eben has come to the conclusion, “We can’t fight them the way we are.” “It’s hard to stop someone when their family’s at stake,” he reflects, musing aloud, “The things you’ll do to save your own …” The thing Eben chooses to do to save his own is, paradoxically, to become his enemy by injecting himself with vampire blood, the aim being to take on their attributes long enough to defeat Marlow on his own terms before finally succumbing. 30 Days of Night appears to suggest that one way – perhaps the only way – for Europeans to beat the Jew is to take on certain Jewish characteristics – a kamikaze strategy that entails at least a partial loss of identity and potential self-destruction. One is reminded of Nietzsche’s aphorism: “He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster. And if you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss also gazes into you.”