6
SELLING A MONSTER: THE COMMODIFICATION OF TED BUNDY IN VISUAL CULTURE
JESS DAVIS
Perhaps second only to Jack the Ripper, Ted
Bundy is one of the most recognizable names in modern serial killer lore. His
trial and two escapes from custody during the latter half of the 1970s drew
fanatical attention from the media, cementing his persona and image in both
judicial history and the pop culture consciousness. While this public persona
began as an enigmatic contradiction—his all-American good looks, charm,
and intelligence seemed at odds with the monstrous crimes he was accused of
committing—it has since evolved into a larger-than-life anti-hero with a
macabre cultural appeal. Although much of this latter characterization may seem
like nothing more than a collective interest in the morbid side of humanity, it
is actually symptomatic of consumerist cultureÕs drive to make Bundy a socially
acceptable product. When examined honestly, Bundy is almost too horrifying a
person to comprehend: he raped, bludgeoned, and murdered over thirty women and
girls before repeatedly defiling their corpses—all without showing an
iota of remorse. Visual media are used to commodify Ted Bundy, detaching his
image from the horrific reality of his crimes and their socio-cultural significance. So depoliticized, BundyÕs image may be
comfortably consumed by a mainstream audience.
Why Look at Bundy
While examining the representation of Ted
Bundy in visual culture may seem trivial, even sensational, it is important
because the visual treatment of his persona speaks to larger social issues of
serial and gender-related violence. Carla Freccero asserts about the publicÕs
relationship to serial killers, ÒThrough the serial killer, then, we recognize
and simultaneously refuse the violence-saturated quality of the culture, by
situating its source in an individual with a psychosexual dysfunction. We are
thus able to locate the violence in his disorder rather than in ourselves or in
the social order.Ó[1] While
Freccero states this about all serial killers, her comments especially apply to
Ted Bundy, because he is arguably the poster boy for the modern serial killer.
Ann Rule, acclaimed true crime author and law enforcement instructor,
corroborates this idea when she states, ÒThe term Ôserial murderÕ was
relatively new [in 1985], and seemed to have been coined for Ted Bundy, even
though there had been a few dozen more men who had racked up horrific tolls
since TedÕs incarceration. Ted Bundy remained the celebrity killer.Ó[2] Because of
this enduring celebrity Rule describes, Bundy is a reliable fixture for the
social denial Freccero describes: Bundy is a constant and recognizable figure
the public can easily return to when reaffirming that dysfunctional
individuals, not society or culture, are the source of violence. By habitually
marketing Bundy as the preeminent serial killer, consumerist culture
simultaneously stabilizes BundyÕs reliability as this recognizable, contained
source of violence and further obfuscates the socio-cultural nature of
violence.
Ted Bundy, Just Your Too Average Guy
As feminist scholar and cultural critic Jane
Caputi describes, ÒBundy himself was depicted as the fatherlandÕs (almost)
ideal son—handsome, intelligent, a former law student, a rising star in
SeattleÕs Republican party.Ó[3] In other
words, Ted Bundy fit the image of the All-American man, the ÒBoy Scout grown to
adulthood.Ó[4]
To most, he was undeniably normal. His arrest and subsequent trial severely
complicated this image and left people asking: how could a man so apparently normal
be so viciously deviant? In order for an audience not only to comprehend this
split persona, but also begin to feel comfortable with it, this contradiction
must be rationalized. A failure to rationalize this contradiction risks an
uncomfortable relatability with the so-called normal Ted.[5]
If BundyÕs appearance of normality is in any way genuine, then his deviance
cannot be divorced from his normality. This issue implies BundyÕs deviance and
normality share a common foundation: a larger cultural source that is far less
extraordinary than his own deficiencies. As David Schmid describes, the Òmask
of sanityÓ image, the theory that Bundy simply faked a convincing appearance of
sanity, is used to rationalize this apparent conflict.[6]
The three photos discussed below are all intricate pieces in this Òmask of
sanityÓ perception that allow an audience to distance themselves from Bundy,
subsequently allowing them to consume his image without feeling ashamed or
uncomfortable.
The first photo, Figure
1, is like many pre-arrest photos of Bundy: it depicts nothing more
than a typical, handsome young man with various girlfriends or smiling from the
pages of a yearbook. Taken sometime in the early to mid 1970s, this photo shows
Bundy goofing around as he washes the dishes while posing with an unidentified
female. What is crucial about this photograph is that it creates an
uncomfortable empathy with Ted. This photograph could be anyoneÕs photograph
and any handsome young man could easily replace Bundy in it. The audience could
most likely fondly remember a time in their own life similar to Ted and the
woman washing dishes. Whether the audience wishes it or not, there is the
possibility of empathizing with Bundy in this photograph.
Conversely, Figure 2 shows Ted Bundy enraged by the guilty verdict at one of
his two trials. Originally used in press coverage of BundyÕs trials,[7]
this photo is now one of the most famous of Bundy, appearing across the
Internet and more specifically in the best-selling novel about Bundy, The Stranger Beside Me.[8]
His wide mouth, creased face, and swooping hand create a dramatic and violent
effect giving him the appearance of a silent-era, Hollywood villain. With the
black and white medium enhancing the theatrical effect, Bundy looks nothing
short of a monster. In this photograph Bundy appears as people expect a serial
rapist and murderer to appear: unhinged and visibly ferocious. The emotions
this photo evokes in the viewer, such as fear, feel more appropriate to BundyÕs
identity as a serial killer because this villainous appearance is what an
audience expects from a violent psychopath. In many ways this photo resolves
the psychological tension created by the seeming normality of the first
photograph. In her true crime novel about Ted Bundy, Ann Rule rather tellingly
captions this photograph, ÒThe Ted Bundy who hid behind a charming mask
suddenly reveals himself in the Orlando trial for the murder of Kimberly
Leach.Ó[9] In making this statement, Rule
perfectly summarizes what these two images do when put in dialogue with each
other: they combine and compromise their individual arguments to create
SchmidÕs Òmask of sanityÓ image that allows the audience to distance themselves
from BundyÕs seeming normalness.
The third image, Figure 3, builds on the first two images by reinforcing BundyÕs
Òmask of sanityÓ image. Found in RuleÕs book, The Stranger Beside Me, this series of six headshots under the
headline ÒThe Many Faces of Ted BundyÓ act against each other to undermine
BundyÕs guise of normalness and make him appear unsettlingly inconstant. While
each photo on its own does little to raise suspicion or alarm, when placed
beside each other the photos lose their benignity and become an argument for a
suspect inconsistency in BundyÕs personality. The block of six images portrays
a man with a frightening, chameleon-like ability to change his appearance
fluidly while always appearing ordinary. BundyÕs identity now emerges as
unpredictable, unknowable, and ultimately disturbing in its malleability; his
exterior of normality is simply a plastic Òmask of sanityÓ that can be removed
or replaced when the occasion demands. This deviant fluidity reassures the
audience that their stable identity, their normality, is in no way like that of
Ted BundyÕs.
Bundy, Violence, and Male Heterosexuality
In order to make Bundy a safe product for
consumption, culture must also divorce his violent sexuality from ÒnormalÓ
non-violent male heterosexuality. Considering the primary demographic for
serial killer cultural products are young, heterosexual males,[10]
failing to unlink their sexuality from the violent and morally deplorable
sexuality of Ted Bundy makes him a difficult product to sell. Consequently, consumerist
culture presents BundyÕs heterosexual violence as exceptional, effectively
allowing heterosexual males to obscure any violence inherent in their own
sexuality.
This rhetorical move is crucial to
understanding the commodification of Ted Bundy because as cultural critic and
author Jane Caputi argues, ÒÉthe murders of women and children by serial
killers are not the result of inexplicably deviant men. On the contrary, sexual
murder is a product of the dominant culture. It is the ultimate expression of a
sexuality that defines sex as a form of domination/power; it, like rape, is a
form of terror that constructs and maintains male supremacy.Ó[11]
In making this statement, Caputi asserts that serial killers are not abnormal
creatures, but extreme products of a patriarchal culture in which male
sexuality and violence are inherently linked as expressions of power. Elliot
Layton, one of the most frequently consulted experts on serial murder, agrees
with Caputi when he says, ÒÉI shall try to show that the killers are not mere
freaks. Rather, they can only be fully understood as representing the logical
extension of many of the central masculine themes of their culture—of
worldly ambition, of success and failure, and of ÔmanlyÕ avenging violence.Ó[12]
With this statement, Layton affirms the link between male sexuality and
violence and further asserts that this relationship is key to understanding
serial killers. Ted Bundy particularly represents LaytonÕs themes of
masculinity; he was an ambitious student and burgeoning politician who was hurt
by the important women, both familial and romantic, in his life.[13]
While it would be far too simplistic to assume BundyÕs crimes were driven
solely by a desire for Òavenging violenceÓ against women, such a troubled
history with key women in his life is important to consider.
To deal with these issues of BundyÕs
heterosexuality, visual representations of Bundy make him anomalous by
exaggerating the most ÒnormalÓ aspects of his sexuality until they appear
deviant. For example, Figure
4, a dark caricature of the dishwashing photo above, exaggerates
BundyÕs all-American handsome features to the point where they appear
chillingly sinister: his masculine attractiveness becomes the most frightening
aspect of this caricature. In comparison with the dishwashing photo, his arms
and shoulders appear toned and more muscular, but instead of conveying
conventional male attractiveness, they become threatening symbols of his
violent sexuality—especially when one notices the bloody handprint on the
VolkswagenÕs rear window and the ÒLDY-KLRÓ license plate. Essentially, the
Bundy in this image is depicted as the ÒfreakÓ Layton argued against in his
discussion of serial killers, instead of a representation, albeit an extreme
one, of the violently misogynistic nature of dominant, heteronormative culture.
Bundy the Archetype
Since his capture and subsequent fame,
BundyÕs persona and story have served as the archetype for fictional
representations of serial killers in visual culture. Texts ranging from low
budget slasher films to award-winning primetime television dramas incorporate
key aspects of BundyÕs persona or story in some way. While the primary visual
representations of Ted Bundy (such as the ones discussed above) do an effective
job of distancing Bundy from the horrible reality of his crimes, these
fictional texts transform BundyÕs true-to-life persona into a mythologized and
depoliticized character with considerably different cultural significance than
the original.
The first set of relevant fictional serial
killer texts to consider are the ultra-violent slasher films of the late 1970s
and 1980s. Many of these films, such as John CarpenterÕs 1977 film Halloween and the Friday the 13th sequels, focus on a male killer who
stalks and violently murders young people, especially young women. While
murdering young women is not unique to BundyÕs profile or to slasher films, the
importance of these texts is that they emerged just as Bundy began to gain
notoriety in the mid to late 1970s. Although it is true a chronological link is
sometimes nothing more than coincidence, certain key texts suggest otherwise in
this case, particularly the 1983 film The
House on Sorority Row. The House on
Sorority Row follows a group of sorority sisters as they cover up the
accidental murder of their housemother, but die, one-by-one, at the hands of a
mysterious male killer.[14] The concept
of having a serial killer target a sorority house directly parallels Ted
BundyÕs most notorious murders: the Chi Omega Sorority murders at Florida State
University where he went room by room attacking the young sorority members as
they slept. The House on Sorority RowÕs
blatant mimicry effectively references this incident in Bundy history, but
removes it enough to call the film a piece of fiction.
Perhaps the most telling aspect of The House on Sorority Row is that the
killer is the housemotherÕs fatherless,[15]
mentally and physically underdeveloped son, Eric. Because the film implies that
his physical and mental failings are to blame for his deviancy, Eric epitomizes
Carla FrecceroÕs assertion that serial killers are figures whose dysfunctions
insulate the wider social order from any blame for the killerÕs violence.
Considering the parallels between The
House on Sorority Row and BundyÕs Chi Omega murders, the uniqueness that
EricÕs dysfunctions give him is reflected back onto Bundy. In effect, Eric
makes Bundy even more deviant, distancing him further from the ÒnormalÓ public.
Slasher films such as The House on Sorority Row have also influenced dramaticized
retellings of BundyÕs life. For instance, the 2002 film simply titled Ted Bundy relies heavily on slasher film
clichŽs and aesthetics to tell BundyÕs story. This influence is especially
noticeable in the scene where Bundy chases a woman he kidnapped as she tries to
escape. In the scene, a deep, quick-tempo drum beat sets an ominous tone while
the camera chases the scantily clad, screaming blonde through a remote forest
as if it were Bundy himself chasing her. The shot moves fluidly in slow motion,
reveling in its power over the nameless woman before allowing Ted to catch,
rape, and kill her.[16] Instead of
examining Bundy or the culture of violence in any significant way, the film
takes blatant pleasure in the superficial thrill of the murder and portraying
Bundy as a campy caricature. In Ted Bundy,
Bundy becomes a cheap copy of the very villains he inspired, moving his
representation in visual culture even further from who he actually was.
Bundy the Cult Figure
No aspect of visual culture better embodies
the current moral ambivalence toward Bundy than the numerous pieces of
murderabilia and fan art[17] found on
the Internet. These Ted Bundy collectables and pieces of both amateur and
professional artwork are the final stage of BundyÕs commodification. In the
cases of murderabilia and fan art, the creators are literally selling BundyÕs
image as pieces of pop culture kitsch. For example, Figure 4 in the section on
Bundy and male heterosexuality can be bought as a 23" X 35" wall poster
from a website called cafepress.com. The fact that there is a market for these
types of images means that BundyÕs image has been completely disconnected from
the implications of his true persona: people are willing to forgo safe,
fictionalized and exaggerated versions of him to buy his serial killer image
directly.
Another particularly disturbing image also
comes from cafepress.com: the Ted Bundy womenÕs thong, Figure
5. Because of the misogynistic and sexually violent nature of BundyÕs
crimes, the Ted Bundy womenÕs thong both epitomizes the disconnect between
BundyÕs image and his historical identity, and highlights just how problematic
this disconnect truly is. If the image of a violent rapist and serial killer
who murdered peopleÕs daughters, sisters, and girlfriends can be anything but
repulsive and ethically reprehensible, then BundyÕs image no longer signifies
the serious issue of vicious misogyny it once did. Instead, his image becomes a
depthless piece of kitsch; a pseudo-cool and faux-risquŽ product that reflects
more about the ownerÕs desire for ironically hip cultural capital than about
Bundy himself.
Conclusion
Ted
Bundy, for better or worse, will likely always be a cultural icon: the
sensational nature of his crimes guarantees this continued cultural resonance.
What matters now is how the public remembers him and his crimes. While there
are always some who look past the glamour of slasher films and murderabilia or
the obfuscation of the Òmask of sanity,Ó many do not see Bundy for the
sadistically violent and culturally problematic figure that he is.
Consequently, such people fail to create visual work that does what it
should—examine and critique the cultural environment that produced Bundy.
Figure 6, an Andy Warhol-esque print
of Bundy and one of his victims, perfectly encapsulates what Ted BundyÕs image
has become: a mass-produced cultural product that has been depoliticized so
that it may be safely and successfully sold to a mainstream audience.
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Caputi, Jane,
ÒThe New Founding Fathers: The Lore and Lure of the Serial Killer in
Contemporary Culture.Ó Journal American
Culture 13, no. 3 (1990): 1-12.
Feccero, Carla, ÒHistory,
Violence, Censorship, and the Serial Killer.Ó Diacritics 77, no. 2 (1997): 44-58.
Leyton, Elliot. Hunting Humans: The Rise of the Modern
Multiple Murder. Toronto:
McLelland & Stewart Ltd., 2005.
Rule, Ann. The Stranger Beside Me, 1980. New York:
Simon & Schuster, 2009.
Schmid, David. Natural Born Celebrities: Serial Killers in
American Culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005.
Ted Bundy, directed by Matthew Bright. 2002; First Look International, 2002,
DVD.
The House on Sorority Row, directed by Mark Rosman. 1983; VAE, 2000, DVD.
NOTES
[1] Carla Feccero, ÒHistory,
Violence, Censorship, and the Serial Killer.Ó Diacritics 77, no. 2 (1997),48.
[2] Ann Rule, The Stranger Beside Me, (1980. New York:
Simon & Schuster, 2009), 530. Original Emphasis
[3] Jane Caputi, ÒThe New
Founding Fathers: The Lore and Lure of the Serial Killer in Contemporary
Culture,Ó Journal of American Culture
13, no. 3 (1990), 5.
[4] Rule, The Stranger Beside Me, xlii.
[5] David Schmid, Natural Born Celebrities: Serial Killers in
American Culture, (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005), 213.
[6] Ibid., 213.
[7] ÒJury Recommends Bundy Be
Put to Death,Ó Lakeland Ledger (Lakeland, FL), July 31, 1979.
[8] Rule, photographic insert to
The Stranger Beside Me, 24.
[9] This photo was actually taken
on July 30, 1979 at the trial for the Chi Omega Sorority murders—not the
Kimberly Leach trial in early 1980. While Rule is mistaken on the date, her
reference to BundyÕs shattered veneer is no less valuable. Rule,
photographic insert to The Stranger
Beside Me, 24.
[10] Caputi, ÒThe New Founding
Fathers,Ó 1, 3.
[11] Ibid., 2.
[12] Elliot Leyton, Hunting Humans: The Rise of the Modern
Multiple Murder, (Toronto: McLelland & Stewart Ltd., 2005), 7.
[13] BundyÕs mother lied to him
about his true parentage until he was an adult and he was devastated when his
first serious girlfriend rejected him because she did not see him as ambitious
and successful enough. Rule, The Stranger
Beside Me, 18-20.
[14] The House on Sorority Row, directed by Mark Rosman (1983; VAE,
2000, DVD)
[15] Bundy himself
was illegitimate and never knew who his father was. Rule, The Stranger Beside Me, xxxiii.
[16] Ted Bundy, directed by Matthew Bright (2002; First Look
International, 2002, DVD)
[17] Although the term Òfan artÓ
is problematic because many of the creators claim not to be fans of Bundy so
much as interested in studying him, it is difficult to find another term that encapsulates
the enthusiasm and effort that appears to go into these pieces of artwork.