Little Shop of Horrors: A Karmic Comedy of Terrors

[The following essay contains SPOILERS; YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!]

A mad scientist meddles in “God’s domain” and pays the ultimate price. A pair of irresponsible camp counselors neglect the children under their supervision, instead sneaking off for some quick “hanky-panky”—thus incurring the wrath of a vengeful mother. The government ignores every conceivable warning sign and experiments on that strange unidentified object that plummeted from the sky, unleashing cosmic forces beyond man's comprehension. From Frankenstein; or, the Modern Prometheus to Friday the 13th, the horror genre has always revolved around the twin themes of transgression and karmic punishment (whether that subtext is progressive or reactionary varies from story to story, of course). The stage musical adaptation of Roger Corman’s Little Shop of Horrors is among the most relentlessly entertaining examples of this kind of morbid morality play—an oppressively dark comedy that mercilessly deconstructs the traditional underdog narrative, exposing the rotten core beneath the fabled “American Dream.”

At first glance, Seymour Krelborn appears to be the quintessential “nice guy”: meek, mild-mannered, unassuming. An orphan coming of age on the mean streets of skid row, he’s been underprivileged and disadvantaged since birth; even his de facto foster guardian blatantly exploits him for free labor. That he wishes to escape from poverty is perfectly understandable; his relatable motives, however, hardly justify the macabre methods that he eventually employs in the pursuit of his goal. When he encounters a sentient, carnivorous plant that promises him fame, fortune, and the romantic attention of his beautiful coworker in exchange for a steady supply of fresh human corpses, our hapless anti-hero succumbs to temptation a bit too readily.

To his credit, Seymour is initially skeptical of the creature’s claims. Unfortunately, desperation has made him emotionally vulnerable, gullible, susceptible to even the most transparent manipulation. It’s not as though there’s a more favorable alternative available to him—and anyway, violence is easily rationalized. Certain people, after all, basically deserve to die—like, for instance, that aforementioned coworker’s sadistic, chauvinistic boyfriend. One small, insignificant act of murder will save her from the constant abuse that she endures; yes, this is retribution for every black eye and swollen lip, every sprain and fracture. The fact that she’ll be newly single is surely irrelevant!

As the plot unfolds, Seymour’s true character gradually emerges, revealing his underlying ambition, selfishness, and sense of entitlement. With each subsequent victim, his excuses become increasingly flimsy and unconvincing, until finally he’s brutally butchering his neighbors and acquaintances for no greater purpose than simple self-preservation. His corruption culminates in a tragic climax that is as predictable as it is avoidable. That, I think, is precisely why Little Shop of Horrors is such an effective horror-comedy: the audience is implicitly invited to laugh at our protagonist’s misery because it is entirely self-inflicted. Watching a “jerk” (to quote the lyrics of the show’s penultimate song) suffer the consequences of his own misguided choices is cathartic, because we would never behave so foolishly.

…right?