10 Life Lessons from Movie Monsters

What Movie Monsters Can Teach Us About Morality

By Paul Asay

For nearly 100 years, they've dragged us into strange, fantastic realms where they've thrilled us, chilled us, and entertained us silly. From the days of the silent screen to modern CGI blockbusters, movie monsters have ensured we walk away with our hearts beating a little faster and our nerves a little jumpier. Monster movies, from the Depression-era Universal classics to more modern fare, have always been synonymous with escapism. And, with the recently released "Zombieland" and the upcoming remake of "The Wolf Man" (coming in February), Hollywood shows no signs of stemming this terrifying tide.

We've certainly never associated good life lessons with these nefarious creatures. But nevertheless, there may be a few to glean. What can Dracula, Frankenstein, the Wolf Man and others movie monsters teach us about morality? Check out the gallery.

Paul Asay is a freelance writer whose work has appeared in The Washington Post, Christianity Today, and Beliefnet.

Dracula: It's What's on the Inside That Counts

The tux. The cape. That awesome Transylvanian accent. Yes, Count Dracula of 1931's "Dracula" made quite an impression on London society, charming the ladies, intimidating the men, and sucking up all the attention for himself. He was a count, for crying out loud… rich, debonair, and oh so mysterious.

But underneath it all, who was Dracula, really? Did he like the count he saw in the mirror?

Of course not! He's a vampire! If Dracula was the sort to ponder, he might have seen the mirror—and his inability to cast a reflection—as a metaphor for his empty, parasitic existence. Dracula is a soulless creature who used people for only what he could take from them, giving nothing in return (well, except for eternal living damnation, that is). He sucks the joy from life and drains it of meaning, leaving little behind but the husks of his victims. He's a classic example of a hollow man with a great exterior but nothing going on inside to reflect on.

Frankenstein's Monster: Don't Mess with Mother Nature

According to the credits, "the Monster" in the 1931 classic "Frankenstein" is the big, hulking, flat-topped guy who lurched about and said "argh" a lot. But we beg to differ. Really, the reanimated corpse was doing just fine as a collection of spare parts before the good doctor and his assistant, Fritz, decided to steal them, stitch them together, and get them all moving again with a little electrical charge. He didn't ask to be reanimated, and he certainly didn't ask to be imbued with a terrific fear of fire. And maybe the whole movie would've turned out differently had someone simply told him that little girls do not float.

No, the real monster here is Dr. Frankenstein himself. Sure, maybe he was smarter than the average mad scientist. Maybe you wouldn't run away, screaming, if he stood behind you in the express lane at the supermarket. But can anyone doubt the man's less-than-honorable intent when he cackles, during a horrific, life-creating thunderstorm, "It's alive! It's alive!"? Frankenstein was a symbol of science gone wrong, which has been a favorite touchstone of cinema ever since: Sure, technology is great and all, but can't we take it too far? Frankenstein's answer: "Argh."

The Wolf Man: Beware the Beast Within

"Dracula" and "Frankenstein," as scary as they were for Depression-era audiences, were at least comfortingly predictable in their own ways: Dracula might drink blood, but you knew he wasn't going to make a scene at a dinner party. Frankenstein's monster, meanwhile, simply couldn't be trusted with the fine china.

The star character of Lon Cheney Jr.'s 1941 film "The Wolf Man" was a different beast entirely. Most of the time, he was mild-mannered Larry Talbot, a nice, honorable guy with a cool-looking cane. But when the moon popped up and the wolfbane's in bloom, watch out: You've got a ravenous monster on your hands, liable to tear into anyone who looks at him sideways (or, for that matter, looks particularly tasty).

While Talbot only turned into The Wolf Man under specific conditions, it reminds us all of the embarrassing, frightening, and sometimes destructive passions that roil inside us. The Wolf Man is Freud's Id unfettered—a mass of animalistic hungers, desires, angers, and fears that we've learned to master but never truly tamed. It's a good reminder that we should always be ourselves—as long as it doesn't involve biting people.

The Blob: Don't Let Small Problems Become Big Ones

The Blob in 1958's "The Blob," started its sojourn to earth innocently enough. Locked inside a meteorite, the jelly-like mass escapes after an old man does what any of us would've done: poke the meteorite with a stick. Alas, the mass climbs up the stick and attaches itself to the old man's hand, eventually consuming the poor guy with nary a burp. Soon, The Blob is digesting small-town citizens like realtors snack on breath mints. Only the creative use of fire extinguishers brings the creature to heel.

Of course, had anyone understood earlier that The Blob couldn't stand cold, more folks would have survived and the movie would have been much shorter. But really, it's not in our nature to nip many of our problems in the bud. We tend to let them fester and grow, until suddenly we realize they're devouring our time, energy, and (occasionally) our grocery store janitors.

The Mummy: Love Really Is Forever

Imhotep's in love. Granted, it's a forbidden love—one so forbidden that he was mummified alive for it– and on top of that, his main squeeze breathed her last breath several millennia ago. No matter. Because Imhotep of the 1932 film "The Mummy"—feeling surprisingly lively after being revived by a forbidden reanimation spell—has found the spitting image of his long-lost love, Princess Anck-es-en-Amon, in a woman about 5,000 years his junior.

The woman, Helen Grosvenor, has no idea that she's the reincarnation of a long-dead princess, of course. Nor does she have a thing for Imhotep, and she's eventually forced to conjure him back to death again. But that's not the point. The thing is, we've long been told that true love, is the most powerful force in the world, able to break barriers, conquer obstacles, and even transcend death itself. Imhotep's foray into the 20th century suggests that we heard right: That all those romantic poets knew what they were talking about.

Next time Imhotep takes another stab at finding his beloved, though, maybe he should ask her if she still loves him, too.

The Phantom: Rules Aren't Always Meant to Be Broken

Let's be up front here: Erik, a.k.a. The Phantom in the 1925 film "The Phantom of the Opera" is kind of a jerk. He has a crush on pretty opera singer Christine Daae, and in order to make her rich and famous, he strong-arms the reigning diva into not singing, threatens the establishment of the Paris Opera House, and drops a massive chandelier on unsuspecting ticket buyers.

But if you're Christine and you're accepting all this diabolical help (and there's no question she is), the least you could do is follow the one incontrovertible rule he's created for her: Don't touch the mask.

So what happens? The minute Erik's back is turned (playing a tune on his organ that has an "undercurrent of menace," he says), Christine sneaks up behind him, rips off his mask and reveals the most horrific visage this side of Tom Petty. Erik gets mad. Christine gets panicked. The Opera House nearly gets blown up. We're not saying that Christine should have meekly followed this masked madman's wishes… but perhaps had she shown a little more consideration for Erik—who's obviously sensitive to his looks—he might not have tried to kill quite so many people.

The Zombies of 'Night of the Living Dead': Live a Little

Sure, being undead isn't always fun. But while Dracula seemed to enjoy his status and Imhotep had his reincarnated love to keep him occupied, the zombies that populate 1968's "Night of the Living Dead" are as mirthless a bunch of reanimated corpses as you're likely to meet.

You'd think these zombies would appreciate the fact that, though dead, they can still shamble around. So what do they do with their extra time on earth? See a movie? Watch a football game? No, they search with a slow, single-minded determination for the living in order to eat their brains.

We can all get a little zombie-like in our daily lives. We can lose track of our priorities, forget to watch the sun rise, and instead shuffle to our little cubicles, day after sunless day. The zombies on screen remind us that there's more to life than just walking, eating brains, and grunting. There's a whole world to explore and enjoy. We should remember to stop and smell the roses—before our noses fall off.

King Kong: Fame Isn't All It's Cracked Up to Be

Kong of the 1933 hit "King Kong" was doing just fine on Skull Island. No, he wasn't rich or famous, but he had everything he really needed: food, shelter, dinosaurs to fight, sacrificial maidens to play with.

Then along comes a big-shot movie director promising fame and fortune and, before he knows it, Kong's drugged and shipped off to New York – a story surely familiar to many an aspiring actor. The director knows that if Kong can make it there, he can make it anywhere. And indeed, Kong does make it—to the top of the Empire State Building, where he's promptly gunned down by a squadron of biplanes.

The chance to be famous has always haunted the American dream. And, in an age fraught with reality TV and YouTube, fame seems so much more attainable for most of us. Back in the day, we had to be really, really good at something. These days, you–um, don't. And really, who among us wouldn't want to be the next…Jon Gosselin?

But as we pursue fame, it's good to remember Kong's example: sometimes it's better to be a live, happy gorilla away from the bright lights, than a dead one in them.

The Invisible Man: Don't Do Drugs

Dr. Jack Griffin wasn't born invisible. No, as we saw in the 1933 classic "The Invisible Man," he made himself that way, through the use of a mysterious drug known as monocane. And, while being invisible might be enough to make anyone stoked, the side effects—notably cranium-cracking madness—are a definite downer.

Griffin wasn't a fun invisible man. He was downright scary, in fact, and liable to beat, kidnap, and kill the folks he came in contact with while reciting nursery rhymes. Eventually, the guy got his comeuppance, gunned down naked in the snow.

Griffin's story never made it to any somber PSAs. But perhaps it should. After all, the dangers of drug abuse often seem negligible—almost invisible—to users, and drug abuse itself often goes undetected. Griffin might actually be a fitting representative of the bad things drugs can do.

Count Orlock: Stay Out of the Sun

We've heard it a million times: "Too much sun can hurt you." "Wear sunscreen if you go outside." "Don't forget a hat." Count Orlock of 1922's "Nosferatu" knew the dangers of the sun as much as anyone: Vampires, after all, have particularly sensitive skin.

But, no. Just like the legions of enthusiastic tanners who toast their bodies to become more attractive, Orlock was drawn to the sun by a cute little thing named Ellen—a woman who left herself open to Orlock's nefarious advances in order to kill the vampire. It worked like a charm: Forgetting his SPF 5,000 sunscreen back in the crypt, the vampire vaporized in the rays of the rising sun.

Staying out of the sun might not qualify for some as a matter of morality. But taking care of yourself, be it eating well, exercising, or staying sensibly in your crypt when you're supposed to, are important to health. Feeling good is an indispensable part of being good. Just ask Orlock.