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The Blood-Sucking Women of A Short Film about John Bolton
Rhonda Brock-Servais

“…only a real artist Knows the actual anatomy of the terrible or the physiology of fear – the exact sort of lines and proportions that connect us with latent instincts or hereditary memories of fright, and the proper colour contrasts and lighting effects to stir a dormant sense of strangeness.” –H.P. Lovecraft (198)1

A Short Film about John Bolton is unique in that it is both written and directed by Neil Gaiman (Wagner 414); given this, surprisingly, it is the one item in his oeuvre that hasn’t been examined critically. Released in 2003, it features a young documentary filmmaker, Marcus (Marcus Brigstocke), working on a documentary feature about a fictionalized version of painter John Bolton (John O’Mahony). Done after the style of a BBC Arts Piece, the viewer watches Marcus’ film in progress: long shots of the work, interviews with the painter, attendees at an opening, and his art dealer. John Bolton’s paintings are nude portraits of women – specifically demonic women some with whited-out eyes, others with fangs or animal hides, still others featuring gore around their mouths or on their bodies. While the images of these women dominate the film, another female, this one with a voice, is featured prominently – Carolyn Dalgleish (Carolyn Backhouse), Bolton’s art dealer and a gallery owner. Initially, she seems to be a foil to the demonic women with her frowsy hair and covered body. The demon women mimic sexualized subjugated behaviors, seeming to revel in being gazed at. Carolyn, on the other hand, mimics feminized care-taking behaviors. Her own description of her relationship with John Bolton makes very clear that she is focused on what he can provide for her, namely money. What the demonic women seem to want to gain from Bolton is entry into this world from their own – perhaps to further the power they already have already established over mankind through their images. This faux documentary2 demonstrates that both the demonic women and the art dealer manipulate Bolton and his art for their own ends. In this way, Carolyn Dalgleish is yet another blood-sucking female out to use Bolton, and rather more like a demon woman than one might guess.

“Neil Gaiman’s reputation as a writer of strong, independent female characters is common knowledge” say Prescott and Drucker in Feminism in the Worlds of Neil Gaiman (1). These characters are widely admired for their complex natures and the amount of agency they wield in their stories. Critic Dana David has made study of the powerful, “extraordinary navigators” of his children’s works, but Prescott and Drucker go on to acknowledge that the positive feminine is not monolithic in Gaiman’s stories, saying, “many of his works are not kind to women in their representations” (2). For instance, the Madonna/Whore dichotomy is clearly on display in stories like Mirrormask – the good daughter adventures in a fantasy land in an effort to save her mother, while the bad one is focused on self-gratification – smoking and kissing boys (among other trespasses). More problematic (and complex) women appear in the stories for adult audiences, while the characters from the children’s works tend to fall more readily into categories.

Speaking of Neil Gaiman’s character, Desire, Mary Borsellino writes that “femininity is very much an elemental force” (52). This is definitely the case among the women in the paintings. To begin, they are unencumbered by the trappings of the civilized world, like clothing – most are proudly and unabashedly nude, although some wear capes or fetish gear. Their nudeness is on display; they have open body postures or are caught in a moment of action. One painting entitled Nightingale, features a fanged woman with loose, dark hair in a rather Pre-Raphaelite pose; visible only from the hips up, her neck and back arched at a moment of ecstasy (although both Bolton and the title imply she’s singing). The women in the painting are, on the whole, animalistic – they have unkempt, long hair and fangs. Some have only whites for eyes, preventing the viewer from accessing the cliché window to their souls. Enticement, the piece that Bolton stands next to when he officially opens the exhibit, features a thin, dark-haired woman with fangs standing nude in a graveyard. Her left arm is thrown over the top of a bas relief of a skull and crossbones, one hip is cocked. She looks directly at the viewer. She, like many of the other subjects, seems to be advertising her sexual availability, challenging the viewer to take advantage of it. Various people at the gala describe the paintings as “beautiful but terrifying,” “disturbing” and “arousing” (Film). The gallery owner mentions an assistant who won’t enter when Bolton’s paintings are there, thus demonstrating the power of the image.

There are a few other women in the film – attendees at the show’s opening reception. Their take on the paintings is of a decidedly different nature. One woman comments that the paintings are “pretty, but in a sort of sick, demonic way.” Continuing, she says, “once you look at them, you can’t look away, which is a bit disturbing when you’re a woman” (Film). Another woman, this one older, responds to the interviewer, “[Bolton] seems to get the underside of us. You never really want to see that bit, but here it is.” She ends the conversation by turning away with an uncomfortable laugh. They both acknowledge that the darkness in and power of the paintings are associated with femininity and/or sexuality. Jonathan Ross, playing himself, seems particularly to illustrate the effect of the sexuality of these women. In talking with Marcus, Ross states explicitly that he’s initially drawn to the beauty of the women, but upon spending time with the paintings realizes that something “darker” is present in them. He admits to owning one painting and plans to purchase another. When questioned about his potential acquisition, he replies, “How do you choose the one you’re going to be lucky enough to live with?” speaking as if the painting were a person, a potential partner. However, his statement is also strangely passive – as if he’s the one waiting to be chosen. On some level, the character of Jonathan Ross is clearly aware his attraction to the art may be viewed as questionable, as he begins his visit by telling Carolyn how he’s “so excited to be here,” but then follows that with a self-depreciating, “but I probably shouldn’t tell you that” (Film). He acknowledges that the paintings invoke a sort of dangerous sexuality. At the end of his interview with Ross, Marcus wishes him “many years of pleasure” with whatever piece he ends up purchasing (evoking the idea that the paintings are somehow alive and echoing good wishes on a marriage).

John Bolton, too, speaks of his subjects as if they were living beings. Talking of his paintings, he says, “it’s a private process,” and his studio is set up as if for romance: it is candlelit and he sips wine while waiting for the women’s arrival. However, he doesn’t seem to have enjoyed his relationship with the virile women he’s created. Much of the film’s understated humor comes from John O’Mahony’s low-key, somewhat befuddled performance. It’s as if his interactions with the women over the years have left him drained or numb. Perhaps because of this, Carolyn talks about and to him as if he were a fractious child; she talks to him in a calm, measured voice. Speaking of him she says “I make things as easy as I can for him;” speaking to him, she gushes with praise, leans into him and repeatedly nods her head. For a renowned artist, Bolton seems to have a distinct lack of imaginative energy. When interviewed in his home, the walls are shown as almost bare, with one small photograph, out of proportion to the size of the wall it’s hanging on, behind each speaker. He’s also inarticulate, speaking with hesitation and repetition. When asked about his inspiration and subject matter he repeatedly says, “well, I just paint what I see” and “I really don’t have any imagination” (Film). Martin reads Bolton part of a Guardian article about his oeuvre, and Bolton becomes confused and is entirely unable to concentrate. Similarly, Bolton can’t coherently formulate and answer to the question, “As an artist how would you summarize your career?” other than to attribute his success to luck (Film).

Echoing Bolton’s demeanor, Marcus, too, is low-key and somewhat befuddled (becoming even more so as the film progresses), although considerably more assertive. The young film-maker/presenter seems somewhat baffled by Bolton’s reactions; he seems to believe that they cannot be taken at face value, so he persists with variations of the same sort of question, entirely invested in the idea that Bolton is a traditional artist of the sort featured on arts programs who genuinely wants to see himself in terms of inspiration and method. As Bolton will only allow a single person with him in the studio, Marcus takes a handheld camera and goes it alone, leaving his crew behind. He repeatedly tells the camera how excited he is to be allowed into Bolton’s studio, a place no one has visited before. He seems to anticipate revelatory answers to all the questions he’s been asking. In a rather long scene, he ineptly plays with the camera (while they are waiting for Bolton) – first, failing to turn it on, then forgetting to take off the lens cap. Later, he films his crew filming him, the cat, and the front door of Bolton’s home. Still, he’s at his most assertive and determined while walking to the studio, and after their arrival, repeatedly asking Bolton about his artistic process but continuing to receive few answers. Marcus is somewhat surprised to find that the studio is in the basement of an old church, although remains oddly unfazed when a brown-robed monk approaches to give Bolton a lantern. Until this point, Marcus has been speaking about the paintings as imaginative creations, but he begins to realize they may be something more. In the studio, for the first time, Marcus speaks of the characters as if they were individuals (the same way Bolton has always spoken of them). Looking through pieces that weren’t placed in the gallery exhibition, he says, “This one actually looks like she’s going to start eating this poor girl” (Film).

Yet in the studio, Marcus continues to press Bolton with typical artist questions: “what is going through your mind?” and “Are you nervous?” In response, Bolton appears to be gaining in assertiveness; however, now Bolton’s answers begin to unnerve rather than frustrate Marcus. Bolton makes jokes about how the phrase “a private feast” would make a good title for painting (thus, foreshadowing Marcus’ end). He stands sipping wine and playing with his (phallic) ermine-skinning knife. The fact that these women actually exist becomes more evident as he says in response to a question, “they need me. Why would they hurt me?” Critic Mary Borsellino says that in Gaiman’s works “sexuality is a force of both immense creative possibility and enormous destructive potential” (52). The film thus far, on the whole, has led the viewer to consider Bolton’s work in light only of the former – to believe that Bolton’s sexual paintings are associated with his creativity. Surprisingly, while this is true, the latter is true as well. One could assert that John Bolton, the man, has been destroyed by the demon women, who do, truly, present themselves to him to have their portraits done. Certainly, the young artist, Marcus, is destroyed by them. Realizing that something exceptionally strange is going on, Marcus chooses to leave the studio. On his way back through the graveyard which surrounds the church, muttering about the difference between the words “dank” and “damp,” he comes across two women – one with zebra stripes and a wild mane of dark hair and another with fangs wearing a diaphanous gown. As they close on him, he tries to explain that he, too, is an artist, making a film. Without regard for his similarity to John Bolton, the camera is knocked from his hand, and the viewer hears the sound of his fall. There are only two shots after this: first, the fanged woman smiles into the fallen camera; second, a painting that literalizes the destruction of the young artist is shown: the zebra woman hunches over a man’s torso (only the legs are clearly apparent) while the fanged woman stands by with bloodied mouth. This final painting explains to the viewer why the arts program form is incomplete – why there is no opening or closing voice-over. The artist who is not cooperative with the demon women’s agenda becomes literally consumed by art – the feminine controls the male’s art.

Of course, from the beginning, the viewer has been told of the danger these women present. In contrast is Bolton’s art dealer and the gallery owner, Carolyn Dalgleish. She is never marked by the film as menacing or disturbing or erotic, for that matter. She begins the film in a business suit, her hair piled atop her head. When interviewed, she has a closed body posture – legs crossed at knees and hands clasped atop. In John Bolton’s presence, she fusses over him, praises him and caters to him, even picks imaginary lint off his jacket and then straightens it (although oddly, he seems unaffected or perhaps confused by this behavior). To the interviewer, she creates him in the image of a demanding artist, presenting exactly what Marcus seems to expect: he had to choose the color of the napkins for the reception, he doesn’t talk about his process with her, he likes the hangings to be done just so. Clearly, she’s deeply invested in the success of Bolton’s art work; however, she reveals that she doesn’t particularly like or appreciate it. When asked if she owns any of his pieces, she says simply, “No.” Most of what she says about his art is couched in terms of commerce. When asked whether she likes Bolton’s work, she replies, “It’s not a question of liking it. There’s a demand for it, an enormous demand.” Later, when asked whether she finds the paintings disturbing, she says, “it’s all in the eye of the person who buys the painting.” Finally, when she’s asked what sorts of people collect John Bolton paintings, she replies, “very rich people” (Film). Even the young, more traditional artist doesn’t escape her disregard for creativity – when Jonathan Ross arrives, she refers to Marcus and his film crew as “a little problem.”

She seems to only see art as a means to her own end of acquiring wealth, not to appreciate it aesthetically. This callousness aligns her with the demon women depicted in the paintings. To begin, she, too, can be assertive, although that behavior is subtle. For instance, she insists that Bolton do the opening speech, despite his obvious discomfort. More telling, when Bolton first enters the gallery, she is off camera, but the audience can hear her voice, either on the phone or with an underling. She is commanding and authoritative. As the demonic women mimic sexualize subjugation, she mimics stereotypical feminine care-taking behaviors, maneuvering Bolton to her own ends. This is readily apparent to a viewer, especially through her responses. Marcus asks if she is friends with Bolton; while she doesn’t explicitly say no, she does respond that she admires and respects him and that they “have an understanding” (Film). In the included commentary, Neil Gaiman says of the scene where she’s fussing over lint on his coat and patting his arm that it’s a “lovely bit of maternal picking there – a sort of mother ape;” thus aligning her with the animalistic.3 Her sympathy with the demon women of the paintings is further established not only by the fact that she is not disturbed by them, but by the fact that she identifies them as individuals, like Bolton does, and, indeed, has some degree of empathy. Looking at a painting she says, “…you know she’s lived underground…sometimes I imagine I can smell the rot as if something here were really rotting” (Film). The moment that creates the clearest parallel between the women of the paintings and Carolyn comes at the reception. Carolyn is standing on a step, next to the painting described earlier in order to introduce John Bolton’s speech. He stands, head lowered, sandwiched between the two women, who have identical (artificial) body postures. Carolyn has changed to a long, more feminine, gown for the evening, her hair hangs loosely down. Both women stand boldly; their right arms held rigidly down with the fingers of the hands splayed. The dangerous woman of the painting has her other arm thrown over a piece of art, while Carolyn’s arm is thrown correspondingly over the artist’s shoulders in an act of possession. Bolton makes an extremely short and awkward speech, saying in a hesitating voice, “Obviously, I never could have done it without…um…” (Film). As he trails off, he looks first at Carolyn then turns to gaze at the painting acknowledging that his art belongs to them.

To Carolyn art is money; to the women it is an entry into this world, a way to exert their powers. Both control Bolton’s art, and ultimately the art of the young film-maker. Carolyn does not supply the cooperation or the type of answers young Marcus is clearly looking for; the demon women literally consume him, destroying his film and making themselves, rather than Bolton, the centerpiece of it. One critic has said in praise of Gaiman that “some of his characters are male, and some are female, but they’re all people” (Borsellino 52). This certainly doesn’t seem to be the case in this film. Here there are empowered women, but empowered to do what? The prominent women in the film are more types than individuals. They are destructive toward the male leads. Their use of feminine behaviors and characteristics is belied by their true intentions. In writing of Gaiman’s more famous book Coraline (2002), critics Elizabeth Parson and her co-authors suggest that novel works to present “normative and consolidated feminine and heterosexual identities” (371). In that book, the Other Mother represents the too powerful woman, going even so far as to suggest “infantal[ization]” is one of the ways feminine power is misused. In that work, the demonized feminine is clearly overthrown; in A Short Film about John Bolton it has final control. Mary Borsellino insists that Gaiman “disregards (not contradicts or subverts)” gender in his fictional worlds (51). In this particular film, the opposite is true. The gender ideologies that hold sway are some of the oldest and most insidious. Sexuality grants power; women with power, such as the demon women featured in the paintings are dangerous and destructive toward the male. Each character’s interpretations and reactions reinforce this message. Usually that belief is coupled with the corresponding one that positive feminine power is useful to men – the traditional Madonna/whore split. This binary is undermined by the film when Carolyn Dalgleish seems to be a care-taker but is revealed to truly share characteristics with the women of the paintings. Both types of women prove beyond a doubt that in the world of A Short Film about John Bolton the feminine can be destructive and dangerous, especially to the masculine undertaking of art.

Notes
1 The film is clearly homage to the story “Pickman’s Model” by H.P. Lovecraft.
2 Ironically, the DVD is distributed by DOCURAMA; the company’s marketing slogan is “Everything else is pure fiction.”
3 I was disappointed to find that the commentary track (featuring Neil Gaiman and actor Marcus Brigstocke) featured discussion of props, costumes and incidents on set rather than meaning or interpretation.

Works Cited
Borsellino, Mary. “Blue and Pink: Gender in Neil Gaiman’s Work.” The Neil Gaiman Reader. Darrell Schweitzer, ed. Rockville, MD: Wildside Press, 2007. (51-53). Print.

David, Dana. “Extraordinary Navigators: An Examination of Three Heroines in Neil Gaiman and Dave McKeans’ Coraline, The Wolves in the Walls, and Mirrormask.” in Looking Glass: New Perspectives on Children’s Literature. V12:1. (2008): No pagination. Online.

Lovecraft, H.P. “Pickman’s Model.” Tales. Peter Straub, ed. NY: Library of American, 2005. 197-210. Print.

Parsons, Elizabeth, Naarah Sawers, and Kate NcInally. “The Other Mother: Neil Gaiman’s Postfeminist Fairytales.” Children’s Literature Association Quarterly 33:4 (Winter 2008): 371-389. Online.

Prescott, Tara and Aaron Drucker. “Preface.” Feminisim in the Worlds of Neil Gaiman. Jefferson, NC: McFarland, 2012. 1-2. Print.

Short Film about John Bolton, A. Dir. Neil Gaiman. Perf. John O’Mahony, Carolyn Backhouse, and Marcus Brigstocke. SKA films, 2003. Film.

Wagner, Hank, Christopher Golden and Stephen Bissette. Prince of Stories: The Many Worlds of Neil Gaiman. NY: St. Martin’s, 2008. Print.

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